I very seriously enjoy this thing where Alexis is more and more fun to be around as she gets older. She's wiser and more conversational and just plain fun.

But.

BUT.

This thing where she gets older and wiser is leading to ... complications.

For example, she who once could be easily deceived is now a ninja with half-truths. She smells them from miles away and asks all of the right questions to get what she wants. Don't bother to tell her she can't sleep over at a friend's house because it's "too far away." She has fourteen solutions to that problem and half of them will leave you seeing stars.

And then there is my mortal enemy lightning. I WANT TO FIGHT YOU, LIGHTNING. I WILL PUNCH YOU OUT.

So. SO. Alexis learned all about lightning at school. She knows that it is electricity and she knows how it's caused and blah, blah, blah ... she knows it is dangerous. She knows that lightning seeks out metal. She knows that lightning can cause a fire.

Hello thunderstorm! Thanks for rolling into town and contributing to my kid's inability to sleep like a normal human!

We started this evening EXACTLY on schedule. Alexis brushed her teeth and went to bed like a perfect little angel. Minutes later, the lightning and rain started. That is how I found myself involved in this conversation:

Alexis, after ninja-ing her way down the stairs and suddenly popping up in my face, scaring the crap out of me: "Momma, I can't sleep."

Me: "ME NEITHER. EVER. NIGHTMARES. GAH!" That's how I respond when I'm clinging to the ceiling because kids shouldn't be able to just appear out of thin air like that.

Alexis: "The lightning is waking me up."

Me: "Close your eyes and you won't be able to see it."

Alexis: "But it's going to start a fire!"

Me: "No, it's not."

Alexis: "But there is a lot of metal in our house! What will happen to the cats and dogs if the house is on fire?"

I responded with a half-assed fire evacuation plan that included me swooping the furry things up on my way out the door. She responded by drawing a very elaborate fire evacuation plan which I will now be recreating in my own handwriting so I can claim it as my own work of genius. Once the plan was done, I told the kid to go back to bed.

Alexis: "But moooooom! The lightning is going to hit our house!" She proceeded to show me some of the metal that is inside our home. There was much fretting happening. MUCH fretting.

The only logical thing to do was to teach the kid how to tell how far away lightning is by counting the time between the lightning flash and thunder. I showed her a web page that proved I wasn't a liar liar pants on fire and then started counting.

There were no booms. We made it all the way to fifteen before we stopped waiting.

"See! The lightning is really far away!" I told her.

That seemed to be enough to calm her fears. I escorted her back to bed, tucked her in, and went back to whatever it is I do when there isn't a small human all up in my space.

Ten minutes later, I heard it. Thunder.

One ... two ... three ...

It takes three seconds from the time you hear thunder until your kid will reappear in your face. I don't think you can translate that to a distance, though. They can do that even if they are MILES away.

"MOMMA!" Alexis fretted. "The lightning is getting closer and it's going to burn our house down and FREEEEEAAAAAK OUT!"

She might not have actually said the words "freak out," but they were heavily implied.

"Did you count how far away it was? I bet it's still far," I replied.

"MOM. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. PENNY HAS METAL ON HER COLLAR AND SHE'S GOING TO BURN UP," Alexis scolded me.

Older. That part I stand by. Wiser, though? I think maybe I need to take that back.

RUN, PENNY, RUN!