The kids and I were exhausted by the end of the day. I put them to bed at 7:30, and they were happy to oblige. Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.
I sat down to blog about losing my sweet five-year-old. Tomorrow David turns six. (How I have loved five-year-old David!) He is nervous about first grade, and, to be honest, so am I. I would spend a few minutes reflecting on my beautiful boy. And then I would sink into bed. Did I mention the exhaustion?
But before I sat down at my computer, I noticed the sky outside. This is not the first time I have lived in the Midwest. I know what a sky like that means. And the shuddering of the house. And flickering of the lights.
I hated to wake my sleeping angels, but I knew we needed to move to the basement. So I scooped up my babies and carried them downstairs. Soon enough, I heard the tell-tale sirens.
Mary was dazed. David was hysterical.
I prepared a safe, protective spot for them. I would tell them if they needed to crawl into their special spot. Meanwhile, we cuddled on the couch. And, at David's request, we prayed. And, with my heart full of gratitude that we hadn't lost power like much of our town, we watched the storm unfolding on the television. David was comforted upon recognizing his friend's dad, who is a local newscaster. (Somehow, I found the familiar face comforting too.) We watched the storm pass on the fancy doppler radar, and we heard it easing away above us.
Finally, I declared it safe to go to bed.
I couldn't bring myself to put us in three different beds in three different rooms. And the basement feels safer tonight, at least for a few more hours until all the pockets of the storm have passed on. So I put David and Mary into the guest bed, and I'll sleep on the couch nearby.
Good night.
P.S. Of course, the night that we get funnel clouds and tornado warnings is the night when Greg is out of town. Ladies, isn't that how it always is?
