Thunderstruck

If you've ever lived in the Midwest, then you know we have stupid weather. Since I have been old enough to listen to the weather, I can recall maybe four or five times when our weathermen accurately predicted the day's forecast. More likely, they are completely wrong.

And when we do have weather, it tends to be odd. For example, we don't usually get snow -- we get 10 inches of snow, which immediately melts the next day because the temperatures soar into the 50s. Or we don't get rain -- we get torrential downpours that last for 5 minutes at a time.

Yesterday, the weatherman predicted severe thunderstorms in the morning. Nothing.

The forecast changed to slight chance of severe thunderstorms in the afternoon. Nooottthhhinnnng!

Then about 7 p.m., it rained for 10 minutes, then we had thunder and lightening -- for four hours. That's right, four hours.

The ball-of-fire hates thunder, not because he's scare more like extremely curious and refuses to stop talking about, even when he's supposed to be in bed, which he refuses to sleep in and instead sleeps in my bed. So, we all went to bed at 8:30 last night.

At 9:30, he was still talking about the thunder. "See, I told you it was going to thunder. I told you!"

Finally I muttered to myself, "Son, please. Be quiet and go to sleep so I can put you back in your bed and get laid!"

He thought about that for a minute and replied, "But momma, you're already laid down."

It's the little moments that make it all worth while.