It has stormed here two nights in a row- loud violent storms that made the house tremble and light up with every flash of lightning. I’ve never been a huge fan of storms, though we used to sit on our front porch as children and watch them pass by. Last night as I climbed the stairs to my room, I heard the first distant rumble. Knowing the kids waking up was a distinct possibility and the fact that there was no way I would actually be sleeping before the storm hit, I decided to take up watch in the kids’ room. I dragged a sleeping C and her bed away from the window so the noise wouldn’t wake her up and I settled in for the storm. The lightning was intense, refusing to let the shadows settle before dousing the room in shades of white and blue. The thunder, sometimes crackling and sometimes rumbling, broke up the sound of the water hitting the pavement and grass below. The kids didn’t stir, their breathing was quiet and rhythmic. How they could sleep through such a display is beyond me, but thankfully they did. As the storm receded, I crawled into my own bed, closed my eyes and waited for the room to stop flashing from the then distant lightning.
This morning C came into my room yawning and complaining about how tired she was. According to her she had spent the entire night awake because she couldn’t get to sleep.
No, sweet one, you didn’t, because I sat in your room and listened to you breathe as the floor beneath me rumbled ever so slightly with each round of thunder. Trust me, you slept just fine!