Nature is a Mother

So the past few days I've had a little secret. Two little secrets if I'm doing the math. Their names are Nammy and Pop: My husband's parents but my own personal ninjas.














They've been here since Tuesday night.














Just in time for the recent snowstorm that ate trees and made grown Pepco men cry. Only six inches of snow but it must've fallen like kettlebells on to tree limbs that needed only one more reason to call it a life and crack in half over someone's silver Toyata. Evidently the roads here were utter anarchy with freezing people walking away from their own vehicles in search of a warm drink and a direct link to Facebook. Nuts-o. I wouldn't know because once the Nammy and the Pop arrived, I was lulled into a false sense of wonderful. They brought presents for Christmas, food for our refrigerator, and relief for the crazy woman living inside me.


I even had the audacity to tempt fate and pour myself a glass of Ries, crack open a new book, and prop myself up on the couch to be a bystander instead of the main event. The calm lasted minutes. Between sighs of relief and happy "OooOOOoohs" of kids opening gifts they liked, all the lights flickered then held their breath. That's all the crazy woman living inside me needed to completely mom out and begin disaster relief efforts in my son's bedroom. Flashlights? Check. Sleeping bags lined up in descending order? Check. Four pairs of everything for children in case we have to jump ship and sail the high seas to Cuba? Check. Cooler packed with peanut butter (protein), Fruitables (veggies), and crackers (sanity)? Check, one, two. Before I could even start packing my own things the power shut down for good and quiet shook around us like a big ole moose in headlights. Or maybe that was just me.

"I want a show!" demands Abby who obviously has a remote control for a lovey and seeks comfort in the warm glow of Dora the Explorer.

"It's getting cold in here," says Grayson who is already a little too much like his mother.

"I know, you guys. We'll be just fine. We'll climb into our sleeping bags and have a campout except we're inside! Fun!" I scream like the crazy woman living inside me. She's getting a little too much air time for my comfort lately. Perhaps an hour or so of living like Laura Ingalls will bring her down a notch. The quiet hums along as I fumble around the piano for our candles. I click each one on (oh yes, battery operated candles from Grandma Nonia saves the day!) and commence bed time routine while not believing for one second any of us will actually get any sleep.

-To be continued in the a.m. God and Pepco willing -