Part 1
“Mommy! Why can’t I see anything?” The five-year-old had been waking up at 4:38 a.m. for most of that week. Who knows why? The power had gone out while we were sleeping. I found him a flashlight and tucked him back in with two books. I checked to make sure our phone alarms were set and that they had full batteries. Consumers reported 200 customers without power in a narrow band down a main road and estimated that our service would return around 7 a.m. I tried to go back to sleep.
When I gave up and got out of bed, the estimate for power restoration was 8 a.m. We did the morning by candle and flashlight. The boys ate dry cereal and I did the best I could with my makeup. We had extra time because no one was distracted by NPR or Youtube. Because our washing machine had puked the previous weekend, Malcolm had to be convinced to wear corduroy pull ons from the bottom of his drawer. In true If You Give a Mouse a Cookie fashion, the little one greeted Friday in a llama print shirt, clip-on bow tie and hair that stuck up in the front. He insisted on rain boots to complete his look. We all knew a storm was coming.
When we pulled out of the driveway, the estimated time for restoration was 9 a.m. Dropping off the big one was uneventful. However, due to circumstances beyond the control of mortals, my two elementary-aged children attend school in the same district, but attend two buildings. This would not require gymnastics of executive functioning on most days, except for the fact that the buildings are ten minutes apart and keep hours within five minutes of each other. As of the first day of school, the entire city is under construction. If I ever get arrested, the best odds are that something went down in the pick up and drop off line.
We have a routine that works unless something minute happens, and we made it to our second destination just in time to give my poor friend a heart attack. She observed my child, who every other day, like, ever, rolls in with bedhead and track pants, skip inside with a tie and concluded that she must have missed the memo about picture day. The joke is on her; she thinks I know what I’m doing. Her baby girl was doing her, after a lengthy conversation about whether a long top, athletic shorts, and cowboy boots were the right call for mid October. I just love them both.
I downed some much needed caffeine before seeing my first student. I checked my phone extra because the new washing machine was being delivered between an oh-so-specific window of eight and noon. Because I had a relatively flexible schedule that morning, and because I like to live dangerously, I trusted their promise of a twenty minute warning before delivery.
My husband texted to worry together about the inch of rain predicted that day and the new restoration estimate of 11:45 a.m. Would we be able to run our sump? Our property backs up to a river. The basement flooded when I was pregnant with Malcolm. The resulting mess instigated major drainage redesign to the tune of several thousand dollars and half our yard exhumed. Flooding is an understandably touchy subject. Many people in my town have a touch of flood trauma. Our town includes several rivers, and has been flooding with increasing regularity. The sun was still shining, but we knew enough not to trust it.
The chance of rain was one hundred percent.
The storm was most definitely coming.
