God Tried to Smite Me Today

I have long since said that God is just a little kid with a magnifying glass, and today proved it.

Today, He tried to smite me.

I am sure my daughter would tell you it was simply positive and negative charges.

No.

God was trying to take us out.

He just missed.

We had a storm today.

Now, my husband came to me with one of his doomsday-prepper-type things, which, honestly, I take with a grain of salt. But I took that as my opportunity to do something truly luxurious:

I went grocery shopping alone.

During a thunderstorm.

Without my children.

Military spouses, you understand.

And if you don't, consider this a pro tip: If you want to go to the commissary and not see anyone, go during a thunderstorm.

You're welcome.

So I left.

There was a particularly loud crack of thunder as I was pulling out of the neighborhood, but I kept going. It was a storm. We live in the South. Thunderstorms are basically part of the summer landscaping.

I was at the light turning into base, enjoying my solitude, when my neighbor texted me.

Are you guys okay?

Apparently, her husband said it sounded like lightning had cracked directly above them.

I thought, Well, that's a little dramatic.

About ten minutes later, my husband called.

"Do you have a login for the property management company?"

Now, when my spouse calls and the first thing they ask is whether you have the login for the property management company, you pause the cart in the middle of the canned goods aisle and ask what he needs you to do.

He told me we'd lost power.

The AC wasn't working.

So I asked, "Do we know why it stopped working?"

"We had a lightning strike."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Send me the pictures and I will put in the maintenance report."

End of phone call.

Look, I have a very eclectic relationship with my spouse. He hates the phone, so any conversation is short and to the point.

Lightning had struck a tree less than twenty feet from our house.

And apparently, in true Midwest fashion, my four-year-old son immediately walked over to the window to inspect it.

Because apparently the appropriate response to lightning striking a tree next to your house is not fear.

It's:

Well, let's go see what happened.

Cool.

Cool cool cool.

Apparently God had decided that subtlety was overrated.

At this point, I would like to remind everyone that I have survived four moves in nine months, rebuilt things that probably should have been left to professionals, raised children through chaos, not to mention numerous deployments and supporting hundreds of families during that time. I have also managed a house that occasionally seems determined to fall apart around me, and somehow made it through the Great Boat Saga of 2026.

You are never going to break me.

So keep at it.

I'm tired and I loathe boob sweat, but you can't break me.

I am iron.

See what I did there?

Currently, I have fans running throughout my house, which is great if your goal is to recreate the sound of an airplane taking off in every room.

And if you've ever been in the South during peak summer heat, you know exactly how much I love this for me.

Nothing says Southern summer quite like sitting in front of a fan with zero bra on because why wear something that is basically equivalent to wearing wool here?

I love boob sweat.

And because apparently lightning wasn't enough excitement for the week, my little one is sick. She came home from school sick on Friday.

Three days into her new school.

And they send her home sick.

Thanks, bro. Thanks.

Hurray for a growing immune system.

Nothing like sending your child into the world to make friends and learn things only to have them come home carrying approximately seventeen new germs and a fever.

The tooth fairy came again, too.

I can't wait to share that cute stuff with you.

Because apparently we don't get to have just one storyline happening at a time around here.

Meanwhile, the NEW boat saga has finally—finally—come to an end.

The OLD boat saga is going on to its final season.

Yes.

There are apparently two boat sagas now.

That deserves its own story, though, because after everything we've gone through with those boats, I refuse to summarize it in two sentences.

The gardens deserve their own story too.

So does homeschooling.

There are things happening around here that I want to tell you about properly, but tonight is not the night.

Tonight I'm sitting in a house that has been struck by lightning, listening to fans run because the AC is dead, taking care of a sick child, and contemplating when I can read a book or paint or write in peace without my kids over my shoulder asking why I like to write my own stories.

The answer?

I like to laugh at myself.

And then there's the part that puts all of this into perspective.

My best friend's son is in the hospital again, after an illness we thought he was recovering from decided to raise its ugly head again.

And suddenly my lightning-struck tree, my broken AC, my sick kid, the boats, the flowers, the homeschooling, the never-ending list of things that need fixing—all of it feels a little smaller.

Not insignificant.

Just smaller.

Because sometimes life piles everything on at once, and you don't get to choose what lands on your shoulders.

You just keep moving.

You fix what you can.

You sit beside the sick kid.

You support your best friend from miles away.

You turn on the fans.

You deal with the boat.

You water the flowers.

You teach the lessons.

You make dinner.

You laugh because apparently you can't cry.

And when the universe throws one more thing at you, you look up at the sky and say, as respectfully as possible:

Um... fuck off, bro.

Because apparently that's where we are now.

Soft petals.

Strong roots.