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Pamela

Professional Human Being

I am approximately 35....ok, for sure 35 years old, with two beautiful spawn, ages 3 (drama daughter) and 5 (little tank), and a magnificant husband. I teach high school English, and have supposedly maintained my sanity in the process. I enjoy reading, lots of music, traveling and wine. That sounde...

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Rain Rain Go Away

in a minute....

There was a storm at our house last night. No, that isn’t code for family squabble or mommy erupting at spawn. There was thunder, lightning, water from clouds... the whole business. See, I like a storm, especially when I’m inside and there are no tornadoes or flying rabbit parts involved. I like night storms. I thought I always had. Until last night. I put the kiddos to bed a little later than usual, partly out of my desire to NOT unfold myself from my husbands lap, and also because they were being normal and I like them more that way. Anyway, as usual, I digress. Approximately 3 minutes after tucking said wee ones in, the house was rocked by thunder and some really cool blue lightning. The sound of sheets of rain washing the house soon followed. I turned the last of the lights off in order to enjoy the display for a moment, as I find peace in nature doing what she does so well. The rolling thunder was soon overtaken by the sounds of whimpering from the staircase. Dora was crying. Dora was afraid. I walked over to find her huddled on the stairs, blankie of life wrapped around her head. I picked her up and she twisted her arms and legs around me in a grip that would rival an anaconda’s. Asking her what was wrong (yes, I knew, but I like to allow her to communicate her feelings), she told me, with tears streaming down her face, that the thunder “scared her ears.” She doesn’t like loud noises of any kind, and I found myself wishing I had put her to bed 20 minutes earlier. But had I done that, I would’ve missed the chance to walk her over to the big bay window in the “diamond room” and dance with her to the sounds of the storm. I would’ve missed the chance to tell her the story of raindrops and what life there is in their arrival. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have been able to explain to her, that  when I was a small girl afraid of storms, I would pretend to be a blue fairy with see-through wings, and that my house was a giant but delicate flower that protected me from all that raged outside.

I am happy that I remembered. It seems that all we go through in our journey to “here” is what is needed so desperately from others (sometimes family, sometimes not) in order to make this life ride a little less bumpy.