It’s Tuesday now, and ever since the Tornado warning on Saturday, my alarm has gone off at 5 am, and all I’ve had to offer the morning is my resentment. I stayed up one night past midnight, and I’ve been ruined for days. My eleven-year-old just asked me to play Catan, it’s after 8 pm, and I almost cried at the thought of it. First, because it was really sweet of her to ask, but mostly because it sounded like something I would be utterly unable to do. This is 46 friends. Pretty soon, I’ll stop talking about how tired I am (maybe). The Hurricane warning was exciting, though. It came out of nowhere. Or at least it did for me because I hadn’t checked the weather that day. Little tip, if you live in Minnesota, you need to check the weather daily - it will change three times before you’ve finished your breakfast, but it’s still nice to know what the possibilities are. It feels a bit wrong to say I was excited, but I’m new here, so I feel like I get a pass. Plus, a friend told me locals stand on their porches and look up at the sky when the sirens go off, so I don’t feel too badly. Just so you know, I had gone to bed deliciously early on Saturday, somewhere around eight thirty. I woke up startled with a feeling that something was happening, something was occurring, something was wrong. I didn’t feel rested, which was the wrong feeling, and that was because I hadn’t slept. Equally confusing was the fact that it seemed someone was in my room flicking the lights off and on…off and on… nonstop - but no one was in my room but me. I reached for my phone to check the time; eleven something, and I saw the little red letters Tornado Warning written across my lock screen. I lay there for a moment, listening for the sound of a siren. I know what it sounds like because they test them on the first Wednesday of every month. But all I could hear was the thunder CRACKING, so hard it was shaking the house, and a growling, roaring, rumbling sound that seemed to be getting only louder and louder. There were none of the usual pauses between the lightning and the thunder. It made me think about when you’re almost done giving birth. I remember asking my L&D nurse, “Why aren’t there any breaks between my contractions anymore?” I had only been at the hospital for 20 minutes, and I couldn’t imagine why they had disappeared on me so soon. And she had said, “Because you’re almost done, darlin’,” I gave birth 15 minutes later like a freight train. I had read that if a tornado is close, it sounds like a train, so I went upstairs to see if this storm was about to deliver something unexpected. My room is in the basement, but the other bedrooms are on the main floor. I walked by Lorelei’s room, our five-year-old, and saw that Christopher had passed out putting her to bed and was snoring in the spoon position. That man can sleep through anything, proven now by the fact that he might possibly be sleeping through a tornado. My oldest daughter, Esme, was sitting straight up in her bed, staring out her window with all her lights off. When she turned to look at me, her face was wide-eyed and thrilled.” It’s the most lighting! The most ever!” she said. I crawled over onto her bed with her, and we sat silently and watched. The trees were swaying, and the rain was sheeting so hard we could barely see at one point, but the light was so bright it lit up almost daylight outside. We went into the living room and paced from the front window to the back sliding glass door - just watching, waiting to see if we’d hear a warning siren. We did this walk over and over slowly, taking in the view from both ends of the house. It was beautiful, and humbling and quieting. When you’re in the midst of something so powerful, it’s interesting how quiet you get. As if you’re listening to the moment, waiting to hear if it’s going to tip out of your favor. We sat on our little blue couch, silent, until one of us would be pulled back to the window, and then we’d pace again. We walked over and stood staring in the doorway at Christopher and Lorelei still sleeping, laughed, and shook our heads. We did this until almost 2 am, until we decided that it was safe and there wasn’t much left to see. We did not go out on our porches, I don’t think anyone would have, but I guess we’re still new here.
WOW. I bet Esme will always remember that night.