Stormy
Have I ever mentioned how much Chris loves weather? He LOVES it. He wants to marry it, but he got stuck with me instead. His dream job would be to analyze weather. Why he studied economics instead of meteorology is a mystery.
Last night, we had a storm barrel through our neck of the woods. No surprise, seeing as how we were face to face with a 40-degree temperature drop in a single day. There's gonna be friction when fronts collide.
The day was thick and moist, but at least the girls had a day for their dry, chapped lips to heal (I swear we go through a tube of Aquaphor weekly) and their eczema patches to also heal (coldest, driest air EVER! I have tried every product available and I can keep Lorelei's skin under good control without out too much trouble, but poor Charlotte needs CONSTANT lotion lathering.)
Anyway, clouds were dark and brooding but also patchy, and rainbows popped up all over (to Charlotte and Lorelei's delight--"Mommy, the rainbows are SO BEAUTIFUL," Charlotte said in awe). The wind started to pick up, as expected, and the girls were fed, bathed, and put to bed.
I noticed the lights flickering, but Chris assured me we wouldn't lose power. He kept his eyes glued to his weather center ("WOW! We just got a 44-mph gust!" he shouted) while I emptied lunchboxes, prepped the next day's lunches, and cleaned up the disaster area from dinner.
The lights briefly shut off then bounced back on, and I saw what looked like an alien invasion in the woods behind our neighbors' houses. "What is that?" I asked.
"It's a transformer," Chris said as the alien invasion vortex of light became more of a sparkly glow.
"Then why hasn't it blown?" I asked.
"Good question," Chris said. Then, "Holy crap, I think a tree fell on a wire. It's like . . . burning."
Mesmerized, we watched a bright, pulsating glow and debated calling the fire department.
"Our neighborhood is packed with Type A, on-the-ball folks," Chris said. "I'm certain someone has called." A good point--the glow was hard to miss, plus it edged on the main road leading into our town. By the time we paused in our bright-light oohing and ahhing to determine whether something a call should take place, we felt confident that someone else had put the good of the neighborhood ahead of staring at the bright, pretty light.
Chris, meanwhile, was as lit up as that power line. Crap flew through the air and he kept going outside to, presumably, "experience" the storm. While he was out on the deck, I opened the back door, stood in the doorway, and yelled, "On behalf of your mother and all who love you, will you PLEASE get inside before something hits you in the head?!"
He complied.
We continued watching the glowy light. Then . . . the lights went out. There was silence, followed by a mini fireworks show over the power line.
Followed by a shrieking Charlotte.
"Crap!" I yelled and stumbled into the dark kitchen for a flashlight while Chris blindly bounded upstairs. I followed with actual light and found Chris on the floor with an inconsolable 4-year-old. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" I asked, probably a bit panicky. After all, Charlotte had used her bloody-murder scream.
"I didn't know where to go!" Charlotte bellowed.
"Oh, honey," I said. "Because your night light went out? And it was dark?"
"YES!!!" she wailed. "And I ran into the book shelf!"
"She hit the book shelf, looking for the door," Chris explained. It was pitch-black dark in her room (she has black-out shades to boot). Of course she hit the book shelf.
I cradled my girl and rocked her, explaining the lights went out because of the wind.
"Why would the wind do that?" Charlotte asked. Her eyes were terror-filled. Absolutely terror-filled. So, it was time for a new approach.
"Because!" I joyfully said. "The wind is being SILLY! There are no lights in our WHOLE HOUSE! We have to use candles and flashlights for light! Isn't that silly?"
A smile crept across Charlotte's face. "Yes!" she declared. "It's SO silly!"
"Here," I said, handing her the flashlight. "You hold this and show me where to go." Charlotte jumped up and excitedly guided the two of us down the stairs, and we joined Chris in a kitchen full of candles. It looked like a séance was taking place.
"Daddy, the lights are being silly," I told Chris, using my pick-up-on-the-subtextual-meaning-and-play-along voice.
He got it. "The lights ARE being silly," Chris said. "Now we have to pretend like we're camping!"
Charlotte giggled gleefully.
We then went around and tested different light switches, so Charlotte could see just how silly the wind and electrical system were. "Mommy, this is SO FUN," she said, thrilled at the adventure and, I suspect, getting to be up past her bedtime.
Chris and I mentally high-fived and got our no-longer-terrified Charlotte back into bed, but only with the door wide open, a flashlight in her hands, and three battery-operated candles fake-flickering throughout her room.
Lorelei, of course, slumbered through the entire event.
Meanwhile, we had chili heating on the stove that we had previously frozen, left over from the Super Bowl. Chris termed it "Super Bowl Chili," while I more accurately called it, "Blowout VICTORY Chili" (go Hawks).
The power outage didn't affect the gas stove, so we had a delightful, candle-lit dinner.
We went to bed comparatively early, and the power came on around 1:30 a.m. We lost some trim outside our house (not the first time--the builder used a nailing method that my dad, also a builder, thinks is stupid and ineffective, and he appears to be correct), plus some roof shingles (I think they're ours), but the damage is what it is.
Chris got a "weather event" to analyze the crap out of, Charlotte learned storms are okay and the wind is not evil but silly, and I got a candle-lit dinner with my guy. Like, on a WEEKNIGHT. Not a terrible little mid-week shake-up.
Last night, we had a storm barrel through our neck of the woods. No surprise, seeing as how we were face to face with a 40-degree temperature drop in a single day. There's gonna be friction when fronts collide.
The day was thick and moist, but at least the girls had a day for their dry, chapped lips to heal (I swear we go through a tube of Aquaphor weekly) and their eczema patches to also heal (coldest, driest air EVER! I have tried every product available and I can keep Lorelei's skin under good control without out too much trouble, but poor Charlotte needs CONSTANT lotion lathering.)
Anyway, clouds were dark and brooding but also patchy, and rainbows popped up all over (to Charlotte and Lorelei's delight--"Mommy, the rainbows are SO BEAUTIFUL," Charlotte said in awe). The wind started to pick up, as expected, and the girls were fed, bathed, and put to bed.
I noticed the lights flickering, but Chris assured me we wouldn't lose power. He kept his eyes glued to his weather center ("WOW! We just got a 44-mph gust!" he shouted) while I emptied lunchboxes, prepped the next day's lunches, and cleaned up the disaster area from dinner.
The lights briefly shut off then bounced back on, and I saw what looked like an alien invasion in the woods behind our neighbors' houses. "What is that?" I asked.
"It's a transformer," Chris said as the alien invasion vortex of light became more of a sparkly glow.
"Then why hasn't it blown?" I asked.
"Good question," Chris said. Then, "Holy crap, I think a tree fell on a wire. It's like . . . burning."
Mesmerized, we watched a bright, pulsating glow and debated calling the fire department.
"Our neighborhood is packed with Type A, on-the-ball folks," Chris said. "I'm certain someone has called." A good point--the glow was hard to miss, plus it edged on the main road leading into our town. By the time we paused in our bright-light oohing and ahhing to determine whether something a call should take place, we felt confident that someone else had put the good of the neighborhood ahead of staring at the bright, pretty light.
Chris, meanwhile, was as lit up as that power line. Crap flew through the air and he kept going outside to, presumably, "experience" the storm. While he was out on the deck, I opened the back door, stood in the doorway, and yelled, "On behalf of your mother and all who love you, will you PLEASE get inside before something hits you in the head?!"
He complied.
We continued watching the glowy light. Then . . . the lights went out. There was silence, followed by a mini fireworks show over the power line.
Followed by a shrieking Charlotte.
"Crap!" I yelled and stumbled into the dark kitchen for a flashlight while Chris blindly bounded upstairs. I followed with actual light and found Chris on the floor with an inconsolable 4-year-old. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" I asked, probably a bit panicky. After all, Charlotte had used her bloody-murder scream.
"I didn't know where to go!" Charlotte bellowed.
"Oh, honey," I said. "Because your night light went out? And it was dark?"
"YES!!!" she wailed. "And I ran into the book shelf!"
"She hit the book shelf, looking for the door," Chris explained. It was pitch-black dark in her room (she has black-out shades to boot). Of course she hit the book shelf.
I cradled my girl and rocked her, explaining the lights went out because of the wind.
"Why would the wind do that?" Charlotte asked. Her eyes were terror-filled. Absolutely terror-filled. So, it was time for a new approach.
"Because!" I joyfully said. "The wind is being SILLY! There are no lights in our WHOLE HOUSE! We have to use candles and flashlights for light! Isn't that silly?"
A smile crept across Charlotte's face. "Yes!" she declared. "It's SO silly!"
"Here," I said, handing her the flashlight. "You hold this and show me where to go." Charlotte jumped up and excitedly guided the two of us down the stairs, and we joined Chris in a kitchen full of candles. It looked like a séance was taking place.
"Daddy, the lights are being silly," I told Chris, using my pick-up-on-the-subtextual-meaning-and-play-along voice.
He got it. "The lights ARE being silly," Chris said. "Now we have to pretend like we're camping!"
Charlotte giggled gleefully.
We then went around and tested different light switches, so Charlotte could see just how silly the wind and electrical system were. "Mommy, this is SO FUN," she said, thrilled at the adventure and, I suspect, getting to be up past her bedtime.
Chris and I mentally high-fived and got our no-longer-terrified Charlotte back into bed, but only with the door wide open, a flashlight in her hands, and three battery-operated candles fake-flickering throughout her room.
Lorelei, of course, slumbered through the entire event.
Meanwhile, we had chili heating on the stove that we had previously frozen, left over from the Super Bowl. Chris termed it "Super Bowl Chili," while I more accurately called it, "Blowout VICTORY Chili" (go Hawks).
The power outage didn't affect the gas stove, so we had a delightful, candle-lit dinner.
We went to bed comparatively early, and the power came on around 1:30 a.m. We lost some trim outside our house (not the first time--the builder used a nailing method that my dad, also a builder, thinks is stupid and ineffective, and he appears to be correct), plus some roof shingles (I think they're ours), but the damage is what it is.
Chris got a "weather event" to analyze the crap out of, Charlotte learned storms are okay and the wind is not evil but silly, and I got a candle-lit dinner with my guy. Like, on a WEEKNIGHT. Not a terrible little mid-week shake-up.
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