I have 5 words for this post: Thank. God. For. Happy. Husbands.
If you will compare my husband's childhood to mine, mine would be a complete blah. Sure, I was happy. I had awesome toys. But I never learned to ride a bike, I never learned how to swim, and I never played in the rain. My formative years were so sheltered. Primarily, because I was a sickly kid and my grandmother (Wonderful woman. Bless her soul.) believed that the best place to raise me was in a comfortable, gilded bubble. I don't blame her. I do blame myself for acquiring her overprotective streak though.
At first, I had to be a killjoy. But my husband assured me that the rain is just water, that it's clean, that it's not cold and windy, that he'll be with them to make sure they don't slip on puddles or fall into unseen street cracks, that they will run back in as soon as thunder and lightning get in the picture, and that they will shower immediately after.
What's the point of getting wet after getting wet? Your body temperature drops when you play in the rain. Bathing in a bathroom regulates it. And so you don't get sick. A little bit of trivia there. Something I also learned from my husband.