The meteorologists were all a flurry with talk of tornadoes and hail, rain and wind, and severe weather safety tips. I continuously checked the local new stations for information regarding the threat for tonight, and my little kiddos soon caught on. To keep them distracted and the constant questions at bay, I decided to we should be productive.
We headed upstairs after naps today to pack a little safety box for the basement. I had the kiddos grab a pair of tennis shoes, diapers for the younger two, toilet paper for the rest of us... and I grabbed my keepsake box-- trading in the gathering of bottled water, canned goods, change of clothes and flashlight for time with my daughters reminiscing of days gone by. Days that I once thought were passing much, much too slowly, but now I realize slipped right through my fingers like fine sand.
I hold the contents of this keepsake box near and dear to my heart. I figure these are things that insurance money could never replace. These items include all 5 baby books, pregnancy journals and yearly journals I keep for my girls. It also has a thimble that belonged to my great-grandmother, one of the only pictures of my mom& dad & me, and cards from my husband, grandma, sister and mom. I think one of my college diplomas is in there as well. Yeah, I know I'm sounding like a bit of a pack-rat, but that's what happens when you don't have a good memory--you write down everything and you save Save! SAVE! Maybe a good tornado would cure me from my habit.
The wind blew through the bedroom window slamming the door shut. I was brought back to real time and decided we better close the lid on the keepsake box in order to get back to business.
Mommy, my five-year-old asks, is our fence going to blow over again? I looked out the window where it seemed a precarious situation was looming over the horizon to our west.
I couldn't blame the little gal for her concern.No, darling. The wind isn't nearly as strong as it was last week. It may rain some here, but that's just par for the course when you live in Kansas, I told her trying to believe the words myself. I admit that the weathermen had me a little on edge after all the talk about the day's weather. I was packing up the keepsake box after all; so it must have been serious in my mind.
Mommy, I don't like thunder and lightening. Is it going to thunder and lightening?
Probably, but thunder can't hurt you and if lightening strikes... well, we will go get a lottery ticket tonight. I knew my attempt at humor was lost on my four-year-old, but I can't help but make those attempts-- I've gotta keep up my sense of humor despite the fact that I'm often the only adult in the room, and therefore the only person who could understand the funny comments I like to practice in case my kids ever do grow up and I have to be funny around adults some day. Catching my breath...
About the time I remembered that I was supposed to be packing a safety box, we hear the garage door open--- Daddy's home!!
In case you don't know, my peeps live for this time of day. And, of course, I do too! They love it because it's a break FROM me. I love it because it's a break FOR me! Let's just say Daddy offers up a good dose of testosterone to our otherwise feminine household. He tries to balance it out, if only just a little.
Crap, I think silently. I lost track of time and now my safety box isn't packed, dinner isn't started, baths need to be had and the news in the sky is looking grimmer by the minute.
My husband walks in to save the day as he always does. Upon kissing me hello and accepting several hugs from all the shorties in the family, he whisks all 5 of them upstairs for baths before the weather gets any worse. Finding myself in mostly silence for the first time since waking, I focus on my recipe for Creamy Broccoli Soup and begin sauteing onions in 6 tablespoons of creamy, unsalted, organic butter.
Enter drool cue here!
It may be deemed wrong by psychologists, nutritionists, dietitians and society as a whole to let food be an escape from life, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Am I seriously in the wrong if life's stresses can be eased by simply smelling onions melting into butter? What if I think chopping broccoli serves as the perfect task--forcing me to focus on the knife's blade, my fingers and the fine, green specimen of a vegetable rather than who is screaming I don't wanna take a baf! upstairs?
So what if I'm a junkie. Cuz baby, if loving food in all its yummy, sense-awakening glory is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
As the all the liquids, some cream and some broth, are being added to the pot, the wind begins to pick up. I'm hovering over our kitchen sink rinsing broccoli, gazing at the newly reconstructed fence my father-in-law worked on last week. I'm facing the same two windows as last week when I witnessed our fence posts being ripped out of cement and snapping in half.
I try to will my soup to come to a simmer faster than possible, as I'm sure some wicked weather is just waiting to throw me completely off again. This is all new to me. Anytime before last week, a little wind was nothing I batted an eye at, but that's what it's like to be a prairie dweller. You can live your whole 28 years on this land and never deal with a tornado more than listening to sirens blow as a distant funnel cloud spins in they sky some 30 miles away. The physical distance of the storm is only equal to the distance for which I feel from the possibility of destruction---far, far away. And then one day, as I'm cradling my newborn child in my arms, the winds for which my state was named plow through my own back yard-- as if to warn me that just because I've lived here my whole life, it doesn't mean I'm immune from Mother Nature's wrath.
I watch the soup, because we all know a watched pot boils, right...
No, it doesn't. But it does continue to provide a mind-numbing comfort that I so desperately seek at the end of these sleep-deprived days. I get bored after a few minutes--I know, my attention span ranks right up there with the most patient of house flies--and I see the mail my husband placed on our counter.
One of the articles featured on a magazine that came in our mail today boasts Quick Desserts. Ah, that's just the fix for this day, I think as I thumb through looking for what will please our palates tonight. And then I remembered the red, plump strawberries I picked up at the store earlier today.
These were the first strawberries of the season since I wait until organic ones become available. I smile as I recall that I bought 3 cartons (they were only $2.99)--more than enough to feed my family of 6. My grin widens when I walk to the pantry to find a box of semi-sweet chocolate baking squares... you know where this is going right?
Yep! Chocolate dipped strawberries.
In my book, this should be one of the first signs of spring--not the pesky storms that haunt my home when the atmosphere likes to shake things up a bit.I can still hear screaming and crying from my children--okay, mostly just Boushka as that is her main way of communicating since Little K entered our family 6 weeks ago--and I know that the others are worried sick over their poor fence being shredded again. I decide to go against my better judgment about food, and escapes, and numbing minds, when thinking the kids and I will dip strawberries tonight to distract us from what may or may not happen with the weather.
They came downstairs all fresh and clean in their jammies looking snugglier by the minute. We eat dinner, several bowls of creamy broccoli soup over baked potatoes topped with cheddar, bacon and tomatoes, and then I suggested we start dipping strawberries.
And that's just what we did. We dipped our hearts out. Some we put nicely and neatly on the parchment paper. And others we moved straight from the chocolate into our mouths. And I hate to brag, but I was right. Not another mention of weather, or fences, or storms, or wind was had. We forgot about the weather-- and it forgot about us too! But I won't forget these memories!
And for your viewing pleasure, I'm adding Little K's thoughts about the night...
ME: Your sisters are getting chocolate and strawberries tonight, do you want some too?
LITTLE K: Oh wow momma! Really???? Do you think they'll fit into this rather round belly I've seemed to develop?ME: Just kidding, you have to wait a few years.
ME: Oh, but that pout just might work on your daddy...
No comments:
Post a Comment