So back a while ago, after I graduated from college, I worked at Club Med for a year. I was in the Turks and Caicos Islands, which, at the time, nobody had ever heard of, myself included. During the summer months, it rained a little bit every day. Short, punishing rains that seemed to disappear before they even got started.
When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me great stories about growing up in Miami Beach. One of my favorites was the one about how it would rain in the afternoon there, so quick and out-of-nowhere that it could be raining where you were standing, and on the other side of the street it was dry as an oven.
Here in Charlotte, it’s been hot. And humid. At least 90° every day, with code orange ozone warnings and a big thunderstorm at the end of the day.
I tell you this in 3 acts to illustrate to you that I understand the summer storm. It’s in my history, it’s in my blood, it’s part of my life. It gets too hot, it rains. I get it.
But if I may speak for a moment as a mother of two 4¾ yr-olds, I would like to suggest to whomever is in charge of scheduling, that bedtime may not be the most optimal time for the daily violent, thunderous, lightning-filled pounding rainstorm.