Water Rocket Summer

It was one of those hot, sticky afternoons where even the air seemed tired.

The kind of day where you melt into the porch steps with a popsicle, and the only thing moving is the dog’s tail… barely.

That’s when the hose came out.
And the rocket.

Not just any rocket—the water rocket. Bright red, with fins that wobbled and a nose that pointed just high enough to promise something amazing.

A little pump. A few squirts of water. A countdown that got louder each time.

“Three… two… ONE—GO!”

Whoosh!
The rocket shot straight up, spinning, spraying water in every direction like a garden sprinkler that lost its mind.
Screams. Giggles. Bare feet splashing through puddles. Arms flailing under sudden bursts of water.

But it wasn’t just chaos.

Somehow, the rocket always landed near the tomato plants. The splash soaked the soil just enough. The flowers nearby got a gentle mist. Even the dog got a surprise shower and seemed almost okay with it.

And the kid?

Soaked. Hair stuck to the forehead. Shirt clinging. Smiling like this—this—was the best invention ever made by humankind.

After the fifth launch, someone from the house shouted,
—"You're supposed to be watering the plants, not flooding the yard!"
The answer came quick:
—"I am watering! Look—rocket style!"

They went on launching for hours.
By the end, the rocket sat on the grass, the garden was happily drenched, the kid was squeaky clean, and the sun was finally soft enough to stop hiding from.

No screens. No toys with batteries. Just a hose, a pump, a wild little idea—
—and a day that turned from too hot to too good to forget.