Earlier today we had a thunderstorm that very quickly knocked out our hydro (electricity, for those not local-ish) and the winds were crazy and the rain was thudding on the roof and windows.
I am, to put it lightly, concerned by thunderstorms. I sincerely believe that every single one of them is 1 second away from turning into some hurricane/tornado/monsoon even if I happen to be in an area where such weather activities are impossible.
The dogs start to bark and howl at the thunder and it’s all I can do not to join in and shout, “YES! GOOD DOGGIES! SCARE IT AWAY! GOOD! YES!”
Coffee has, on numerous occasions, had to basically talk me down from my hysteria. Whenever we read pamphlets about “emergency preparedness” I always imagine that he’s wondering how he can get a tranquillizer gun to use on me before I work myself up.
So today the hydro went out and the winds were whipping and I was freaking out.
Having kids, however, means that I am not allowed to run around the house shrieking, “WE’RE ALL GONNA’ DIE! WE’RE ALL GONNA’ DIE!” and I have to, instead, make polite conversation about how “neat” the weather is and “did you see that garbage can fly by?” while rubbing my face repeatedly to conceal my wide pupils and bug-eyes.
When the storm hit this afternoon and the power went out, Oldest One and Middle One went out into the solarium to play a game of some sort (because, clearly, they do not care if we ARE ALL GONNA’ DIE.) Maymo wandered around for a while asking whether he could do various things (“Can I play xbox?” “Nope. Uses electricity.” “Can I play on the Wii?” “Nope. Uses electricity.”) and looking increasingly concerned.
I couldn’t tell if his concern was due to the high wind situation or the lack of video games.
Every time he left the room to go wander around a bit, or talk to his brothers, I’d lean into Coffee and grip his arm-flesh with my fingernails and growl something about hating thunderstorms and ohmygodwe’regonna’die. And then Maymo would return and I’d paste on that happy smile of calmness and say something inane like, “Boy, the flowers are really going to like this rain, huh?”
Then, out of the blue, he began talking about “witches” and how they were “BAD WITCHES” and how the weather was, basically, really bad witches preparing to come and kill us. Or maybe they were outside already? BAD WITCHES.
I came very close to shouting, “WITCHES? YOU THINK WITCHES ARE BAD? JUST WAIT ‘TIL YOU’RE TRAPPED IN THE RUBBLE OF THIS HOUSE FOR A WEEK AND YOU HAVE TO EAT YOUR BROTHER’S FACE TO SURVIVE. WITCHES?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Then I remembered that we might have a thunderstorm again, someday in the future, and that rubble comment would totally come back to haunt me. Most likely at a time when Coffee was at work. So I just smiled and said, “No, honey, no witches.”
Seriously? Parenting is HARD.