Summer Thunderstorm

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Having kids has spoiled the pleasure I used to take in alot of little things.

It has spoiled swimming -- who can swim when they've kids to keep from drowing?

It has spoiled jewelry.  I usually skip it now because it gets tugged or bitten and I get pinched or choked.

It has spoiled fingernail polish.  I have no time to sit and let it dry  (plus I've got too many dishes to do).

It has spoiled showers.  I either have a little person under my feet crying about soap in her eyes or I'm rushing through my shower hoping the movie won't be over yet.

It has spoiled paying attention at Mass

It has spoiled sleeping.

(I could go on and on . . .: )

It has spoiled thunderstorms too.
I love summer thunderstorms.  I love the crackle in the air, the fresh, wild smell.  I love the cosy feeling of my house, the powerful rolling of the thunderclaps outside.  As a teenager, when the thunderclouds would be moving away, I would run outside, feeling cleansed and envigorated in the last of the rain.

In my life now, thunderstorms are awful.  There is screaming in fear, crying and wailing and barnacle holds onto nearest adults, terrified children under blankets and pillows, begging for cotton balls in ears, worries that the thunder is going to get us, worries that the lightning is going to blink too brightly.   Doors must be left open at night, lights all on. There is a inability for child or mommy to perform basic functions (such as go to the bathroom) because one must. not. move. (even. if. it. means. wetting. your. pants.).
Thunderstorms in my life now make me crazy. 
And I used to love them.

I love my girls.  I promise.
I'm just sayin' . . .