I checked my mail box this afternoon and no fewer than fifty moths flew out of it. One moth can be cute. Two moths a nuisance. Fifty is a plague.
Last night storms rolled overhead and rattled the house in the dead of night. Rain fell in heavy sheets, thunder clapped loudly and lightening lit the sky. What woke my wife and I was not the sounds of tree branches cracking from their hosts or gutters overflowing. No, we woke to the rapid patter of four year feet across old wooden floors. The boy was brought from slumber to consciousness following one particularly jarring thunder clap. It always amazes me how quickly the wee ones can gain full alertness.
He ran into our room, Big Hero Six blanket in hand, and asked to sleep in our bed. We allowed it for about ten minutes before the rolling and kicking sleeper finally kicked too much and I took him back to his room. I waited out the storm with him for another few hours.
So it was a restless night. The baby slept through the whole thing. I suspect the added white noise kept him happy.
The fun part of midnight storms is the morning after. Everything is still soaked, birds are gorging themselves on wayward worms and whole earth smells nice. And seeing the world bright and early on little sleep is like watching a good buddy cop comedy. It doesn’t quite make sense, but it is amusing. Like Dragnet.
Of course it also means moths. And mosquitoes. And birds swooping around head height to eat moths and mosquitoes. I’m pretty sure this afternoon I saw birds hunting for sport after I opened the mailbox.
I thought of no better way to celebrate surviving the mothpocalypse than by playing with silly putty. The googly eyes were a pleasant surprise.