Thunderstorms tonight.

M freaks out less if he can see it, I’ve learned. So we push the couch in front of the sliding glass door and watch the light show.

What if it comes closuh?

You’ll be ok.

What if it comes wight above ouw house?

You’ll be ok. It’s just energy and sound.

What if it’s too loud?

You’ll be ok.

Finally he sleeps, wedged between me and the back of the couch, stuffie covering his ear. Once he’s asleep, even “right above our house” doesn’t wake him, though it makes me jump.

Abandon the To Do List for post-bedtime. Thunderstorms have their own immediate beauty. He won’t fit on my lap forever.