The Storm

We had a great weekend playing in the river, joining our local pool, picking up a few things for baby girl, and attending the Senior Banquet at church. I had planned to post pictures of our fun at the river, but when we got there and I took my camera out to take the first picture, the "charge battery" sign came up. Dang. So no pictures.

Instead, a story. From early Sunday morning.


Storm's comin'.

The thought was in my head before I even opened my eyes. I had heard the thunder on and off in the night, but this one was different. Flash of lightning and thunder a second later. Almost here. I look at the clock: 5:17am. Will rolls over. I can tell he's awake so I say, "I'm going up to Tommy's room in case he wakes up." "Ok."

I slip out of bed, sneak up the stairs and in beside my sleeping boy. He rolls over, eyes closed. A second later there's a huge flash followed by thunder that shakes the house.

"MAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAA!" He screams before he knows I'm there.
"Right here buddy, Mama's right here. It's ok."
"Mama, I don't like thunder!"
"I know, buddy. It's ok. Wanna come down and get in Mama and Daddy's bed?"

He shakes his head yes, so I scoop him up, grab his blanket, and head back downstairs where he curls up in the middle of our bed, facing me, eyes wide, with hands tightly clamped over his ears.

"I don't like the thunder, Mama, do you?"
"I don't mind it, baby" I whisper. "You're ok here with me and daddy. Close your eyes."

He shuts his eyes tightly, hands still over his ears, while I watch the room light up over and over again. The thunder rumbles for seconds at a time. For awhile, the storm is right on top of the house, thunder and lightning happening simultaneously. Slowly, they start to drift further apart, and I count the seconds: two, five, eight.

I look at my boy, now falling asleep in between the thunder. I reach over and put my hand on his cheek, still baby-soft. I try to take his hands off of his ears so he can sleep comfortably, but he holds tight. So instead, I put my hands on top of his hands on top of his ears. Together, we keep the sound away. I watch him sleep as the light from the windows slowly brightens.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter for a second and he reaches for me, arms around my neck. We lay that way for a few perfect minutes before he shifts again, this time curling up against me, against his baby sister. I put my arm around him and pull him close.

I look at the clock again: 5:57. I consider getting up, but don't. All too soon, this moment will end and the rest of the day will begin. There will be breakfast, showers, church, a flurry of activity. I close my eyes and take in the quiet. Let it sink into my mind so I can remember it always.

A silent prayer: Thank you for this moment. For this life. For sending the storm.

The next thing I know, there are birds, light in the windows, and a boy sneaking out of bed to get his trucks.

The storm is a memory. The day begins. I remember.