Fierce

In the spring of 2005, Harry was still a wee baby and Sophie was a sophisticated four year old who always asked before painting her nails and brand new shirt peony pink at a playdate (ahem). One day, we'd spent the afternoon at a nearby park but needed to leave because the wind was picking up and the skies were darkening and getting that weird warm-weather thunderstorm green cast.

As we were hoofing it home, the wind REALLY picked up and it was becoming easier to walk quickly because were weren't walking so much as being blown home by a storm. The plastic cover I'd placed over Harry's stroller billowed up and acted like a parachute, catching the wind and nearly turning the stroller-and baby-upside down.

I clutched Sophie's hand under mine and steered the stroller into a driveway then made my way to a corner behind a car. I shoved the stroller as far as it would go against a concrete wall, pushed Sophie against the stroller and covered everyone and everything with all my weight (thank god for baby weight!). The wind was even stronger now, garbage cans were rolling all over the place. Leaves and litter were flung every which way. Sophie started crying. Poor thing was scared to death stuck three blocks from home in this pseudo-tornado. It felt like three miles when the only thing you have to protect your kids is your post-baby flabby butt and a fierce will to keep them safe.

Yesterday we had another strong storm. It had gotten dark as I was grilling a nice london broil for dinner. John had taken the kids out so I could finish cooking. It started to drizzle, then thunder a little bit. It wasn't too bad but knew they'd be home any minute.

Then the lightning and thunder got closer and closer and I finished setting the table and getting things ready for dinner. I thought about a book I just read, about a woman who gets struck by lightning and just as I was about to open the (metal) door to step out onto the patio which is under a (metal) trellis and touch a metal grill, I saw a VERY bright flash of light which was instantaneously followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

Chicken-shit that I am, I ran and hid in the bathroom with the phone and began dialing John's cell phone. But then that fierce will to keep my kids safe kicked in and I decided to stop hiding go look for them. Funny how any fear you might have is eclipsed by wanting to keep your kids safe.

I heard them before I saw them. They were two houses away when the thunder sounded and to them it was the loudest, scariest thing they'd every experienced. They were crying and Harry, who usually prefers dad to anyone else, clung to me on one hip while Sophie wrapped her arms around any part of me she could.

I half-dragged/half-walked them into the house, calmed them down, dried their tears, gave them a drink of water and held their hands a little bit longer.