Monday, July 24

Liar, liar, transformers are on fire!

We were driving home from Kerry's Aunt's house on Saturday night when a big thunder and lightning storm hit. Well, OK, when I say storm, I mean maelstrom. My six-year-old, Ethan, was getting scared in the back of the minivan. OK, when I say scared, I mean just a basket case.

On a good day, he's frightened of thunder and lightning when well within the confines of our house. On Saturday, he was beside himself in shear terror and no amount of soothing voices or reassurances would calm him.

Thankfully, the storm started to slow down, and we were able to calm Ethan's nerves by explaining to him that the storm was moving away. We were doing the whole counting off between the lightning and thunder thing. Well, the words hadn't even completely escaped my mouth when the biggest, brightest, most vivid bolt of lightning hit a transformer on a pole less than 40 yards from our car.

I jumped. Kerry gasped. Ethan squealed. Sophia (log that she is) snored. Hell, the minivan even shook. I had never seen anything like it. And definitely not so close.

And as we drove by the pole and sparks were showering down onto the ground, a hurt little voice from the back said, "You said the storm was moving away, Daddy."

Thanks, Mother Nature.

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