I thought about that when we had a loud thunderstorm a few nights ago.
In the summer, our daughters usually sleep in the basement room right below our bedroom, because it’s cooler downstairs.
Maybe Timothy was disappointed that his sisters had likely missed the loud claps of thunder while snuggled in their basement abode. But the next morning he was in our bed at 7am when he started dropping his toy cars, one by one, behind our bed.
As each Matchbox car hit the hardwood floor, it made a loud sound in our room, and I can only imagine the resounding ‘boom’ that the girls heard down in their bedroom below. Probably sounded like a thunderstorm (or like an energetic little brother just trying to wake them up).
It was sweet of our little red headed Zeus to recreate the drama for his sisters.
Speaking of drama, in any good horror movie, there is a climactic moment at the end of the film where the heroes have finally dispensed with the monster, and look at one another, exhausted but relieved at their victory. Happy music begins to swell in the background…. but all at once the picture of calm is shattered as the monster suddenly appears to once again menace the heroes.
It was a dark and stormy night at a Hampton Inn in Connecticut in April, where we were staying as part of a college visit for Catherine. Timothy was not going to sleep easily. So Laura took on the task of lying down with him while Catherine and I huddled together in the bathroom watching on my iPhone as Notre Dame lost at the last second to Kentucky in the NCAA basketball tournament (I told you that this was a scary story).
After an hour, the bathroom door cracked open and an exhausted Laura snuck in to take refuge, having succeeded in her quest. We hugged and high fived her, as she breathlessly explained that Timothy was now safely asleep in his portable crib, secured by the forbidding three foot high, reinforced nylon crib walls that he had never been able to scale. We were safe. Our long Connecticut nightmare was finally over.
At that moment, I realized that I needed to get something from the other room, and so I quietly opened the bathroom door, but turned back toward the bathroom to whisper something to Laura.
Suddenly, I froze as I felt something touch the back of my leg and then heard those chilling words — ‘Da da’.
He was back.
Whether he’s throwing thunderbolts at his sisters, escaping a porta-crib to scare his Dad, or dancing with his refection in the mirror, this boy certainly has a flair for the dramatic.