I swear I read on the pamphlet that the kids’ race started at 9am. I’ve had it written in ink in my calendar for months, since I reserved Peanut’s spot right when registration opened.

I get a call from my mom. Where are you? The five-year-olds are already lining up. Peanut is 5. Oh noooo! It’s 8:30 and the races have already begun. I race down the street and will the lights to turn green with my razor-sharp glare. We pull up and the 6-year-olds are already starting to run. Peanut is crying real sincere tears in the backseat as I share the news with him that we missed his race.

Peanut and I rush out of the car and run toward the crowds, my pregnant belly not holding me back yet. We race up just in time to see the 7-year-olds lining up. His cousin is in this group, so we’ll see about sneaking him in. I get Peanut in line to run and I race over to the registration booth to grab Peanut’s race bib. Without enough time to pin it on, I tell him to just hold it in his hands.

The whistle blows and the 7-year-olds and one 5-year-old bolt across the pavement. The route for 7-year-olds is quite a bit longer than the route for 5-year-olds, but Peanut holds his own. He even manages to pass a few little runners. With his height, he doesn’t even look the least bit out of place.

I meet him at the finish line, and the huge smile on his face as he shows me his medal helps me to feel a little less guilty. I high-five him and give him all the accolades about keeping up with the big kids. His daddy calls and gives him a virtual fist bump from work. He’s happy and proud and smiling. And that’s what truly matters.

Sunday morning, Hubster and I are signed up to run the corresponding 5k. I also signed us up way back when registration opened. I pick up our race packets after Peanut’s run and set out all our gear for the next morning. Being pregnant and tired, I plan on walking for most of the race, which suits my unconditioned Hubster just fine.

But Saturday night turned out to be the very epitome of “April showers.” April showers that didn’t relent for one second. April showers that filled our backyard like a built-in pool. The rains went well into the night and we prepared ourselves for what happens nearly every spring.

Hubster set up camp on the couch, checking and adjusting the pumps every half hour. I pulled a pump-watching shift from about 1-3am since I couldn’t sleep anyway and Hubster needed a break. The encroaching waters and the perceived threat on our garage and eventually our basement left me feeling wide awake in the middle of the night.

Toward 6am, the rains finally let up and the backyard drainage was actually getting somewhere. We were finally starting to feel that exhaustion seep in as the water finally seeped out. Sleep was much more needed than the gratification of finishing the race. Yes, the race is one of our family traditions, but so is pumping out our spring-fed backyard I guess, so we’re even. Ha. We’ll run again next year.

This morning we woke up to snow on top of our spring floods. It was like a cruel, yet beautiful-looking joke. With our natural northern instinct, we brush off our vehicle windows, pull out the snow pants again, and pretend like the snow will just vanish by the end of the day, hoping against hope that 70-degree weather will be in the forecast for next week again, yet knowing in the back of our minds that snow is possible well into May.

How was your weekend?