Confession

I am a deeply superstitious person.

I am convinced deep down in my gut that being prepared for something bad to happen can effectively ward off potential disaster. (This conviction is not particularly useful when it comes to interpersonal relationships, but that's another story altogether.) So, this morning when the local NPR station interrupted Diane Rehm with a tornado warning a couple of counties over, I sprang into action.

I put on my sneakers. (You do not want to be without your shoes in a tornado.) I unplugged the computer and the Wii. I plugged iPods and my cell phone into chargers. I put my purse, Max's Nintendo DS case and a big bottle of water in the hallway which is our interior, window-less space. I found the lantern, batteries, candles and matches.

I called Frank at work to fret about Max, who is on a field trip! To the Alamo! Surely the Alamo is not a safe place during severe weather?! It is old! The walls are so delicate you are not allowed to touch them! And what about the school bus? A school bus is certainly not safe...

Frank, who deserves all the credit in the world for being the most consistently sane person in our family, talked me down off my terrible tornado-at-the-Alamo-ledge and after several moments of quizzing him about his own tornado-at-work plan, I let him go back to work.

And all my tornado mojo totally paid off. The sky grew dark as night and took on that crazy tornado-gray-greenish color. The rain pounded and the wind blew, but there was no tornado.

You're welcome.