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Oct. 15, 2006

Stormy weather


The lightning began to flash and the thunder to rumble just as we started brushing teeth before bed.

By the time we moved into the kids’ room for one last story, the storm was loud, with wind whistling around the corners of the house and driving buckets of rain against the windows.

Neither of my kids is terrified by storms, but they don’t really like them. With their beds nestled up under the dormer roof, sometimes the outside can seem a little too close—especially when all is not calm and the hailstones are rattling on the shingles.

So we suspended the one-story rule, letting Frank and Caroline each choose a story. I chose an extra one, for good measure.

By the time we were done, the storm had subsided a bit. We said our prayers and turned out the lights, and stayed a bit longer answering the questions that only seem to arise at bedtime: “Mommy, what if …? Mommy, do you know …?”

But with all quiet—or nearly so—we said goodnight and I left to go finish the dinner dishes.

I hadn’t yet turned on the water when the lightning illuminated the wet streets and the wind began to toss tree branches against the walls again. If Jesus had wanted to walk on water that night, he wouldn’t have needed to find a lake, as all the sidewalks were covered.

As I raced to get the dishes done—at least washed—before the storm struck in earnest, Caroline got up to ask for a drink.

I took her back to bed, and crawled in next to her. Frank came over and cuddled next to me, as we listened to the second wave of thunderstorms pass over us.

I sang lullabies and campfire songs and rubbed heads and backs, and I felt Caroline and Frank slowly relax, their breathing slow, as they melted into sleep.

Neither is a baby anymore, and I don’t often hold them as they fall asleep. Bedtimes now are more often a series of tasks to be completed and checked off before the lights can go out, followed by a series of reminders to be quiet, stop reading by the light of the night light, go to sleep you have school tomorrow.

But for one night, the storm brought back the peaceful evening routine from when the kids were small, and soothing them to sleep brought calm to me as well.

Of course, it didn’t last. Once Frank and Caroline were asleep, I got up to find my husband fighting the battle of the storm sewer, trying to keep leaves and other debris from clogging the grate and flooding the street, and watching the water inch up in the basement—stopping mercifully short of the raised platform where the kids play and where the washer and dryer sit.

For one night, a wet floor didn’t seem such a high price to pay for the privilege of waiting through the storm together.



Martin is a Catholic New World staff writer. Contact her at [email protected]