The worst of the worst storms almost always hit at night. Oh, how I loved to scoop Willa up when she was very little and carry her off to bed, curling around her under the covers to wait for the bone-jarring thunder to pass. Being older and having two capable sisters to be with has usurped her need for me. I yearn for that squishy little body and muffled giggling (once she felt safe again), but I do not cling to it. These days we get to watch as the three girls band together to brave the loudest, most violent crashes of thunder. Often it means they don’t go to sleep quickly, but it’s worth it to watch them grow up and become each other’s support system.

This picture was taken just nights ago during our latest house shaking storm.