If you’ve wandered over here from The Bloggess‘s site, welcome! Kick your feet up and make yourself at home. We’re not judgmental around here, so if you want to unbutton the top button on your jeans and let your food baby breathe, go right ahead.
I’ll be honest, I’m a little freaked out right now. I’m spending the next couple of days three hours away from my family while I sit with my boss while she recovers from surgery. I wouldn’t normally be this worried, but the radar around our little neck of the woods is covered in red, swirly vortexes. Which means tornadoes.
And did I mention that this is the first time I’ve been out of town leaving Boo alone with Red? Yeah. I picked a great frigging time for a road trip.
When I left this morning, I asked only one thing of Red. “Just don’t burn down the house, okay?”
He just smirked and yelled over his shoulder at Boo, “Mom wants us to burn down the house. We’re having s’mores for dinner!”
That seemed funny at the time, but now I’m worried about having a house to come home to.
Having incredibly fast wifi at this hospital isn’t helping, because I’m able to watch this whole thing unfolding and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it but worry. And beg the nurses to drug me the eff up. Which, unfortunately, they won’t, but it doesn’t hurt to try, eh? At least the panic attack that I feel creeping up will be well-attended in the care of medical professionals.
The tornado sirens are sounding at home now. I talked to Red on the phone, and he’s woken Boo up so they can get ready to take cover. I need some prayers, y’all. Send your good vibes our way. Or sacrifice a chicken. Whatever. Just help me keep my men safe and in one piece until I get home.
Edited to add: It turns out this time my worrying wasn’t all panic-y hand flapping and hystrionics. I had a good reason to be freaked out, because TWO fucking tornadoes touched down around my family. What. The. Hell.
Luckily, though, the storms went both south and east of our house and the damage path was pretty limited. So, um, thank you late night chicken killers and you of the religious variety. Something we did worked and my family is safe–if a little annoyed by the 72 texts they all got last night.