Yesterday afternoon during a thunderstorm, I was brought back to the time where my biggest worry was whether or not I would be able to play thirty extra minutes before dinner.

When I was a child, I was obsessed with the weather. Fascinated with it would be a better description, though. I probably owned every children’s book about how thunderstorms and tornadoes formed, what happened when lightning struck and how thunder made the noise it did. Obviously, I was awesome/nerdy.

One summer afternoon when my little sister was taking a nap, my mother and I were making chocolate chip cookie dough. I couldn’t have been any older than five. From the kitchen, we observed an afternoon shower pop up out of nowhere.

And for whatever reason, we made the decision to go out onto the back porch and watch the storm as it passed as the dough chilled in the fridge.

My mother turned on the television before we walked out the door to sit on the covered patio. She left the back door open so we could listen in case the storm became severe. (I would have secretly loved this, but she made it clear that if it was declared severe, we were heading back inside to the center of the house and grabbing my sister so we would all be safe.)

We sat cross-legged on the cool cement patio together, not saying a word, and ate cookie dough off spoons.

Whenever there is a summer afternoon storm, I’m brought back to that day, for whatever reason. It stands out in my mind, and I am positive it was the only time my mother and I did that. It was a treat.

So yesterday while it thundered, lightning-ed and poured outside my apartment, I opened the screen door to the covered balcony. Lucy and I sat inside my apartment with the door open, listening and watching the storm pass by.

It was incredible. And the only thing that could have made it better would have been cookie dough.