When we were leaving for swimming last night I checked the radar and was delighted to see a giant supercell coming straight for us. "I was going to water the grass tonight" I thought. All through the lessons I scrutinized the clouds, willing the storm to hold together long enough to give my grass a good soaking. I am kind of an idiot.
We came home and put the boys to bed and I leisurely made myself some dinner before I flipped on the TV to learn that we were in a tornado warning. Again.
Into the closet we all went and closed the door.
The only way to get Charlie to stop fiddling with the little TV so I could attempt to discern fine bits of storm structure from the grainy black and white radar image was to let him turn on the four-million watt flashlight attachement. Every time I thought (based on my haphazard interpretation of a barely visible radar image) it might be ok to come out of the closet (heh), which due to the limited ventilation and four-million watt flashlight was very, very uncomfortable, but better than, you know, being ripped out of the house by a tornado, they would say "Numerous reports of a tornado near [intersection three miles from my house]."
And so we sat. And then we started taking pictures to pass the time and distract Charlie from the array of outgrown toys with annoying music that we have stashed in that closet.
Sweaty! Like I had been exercising. What an amusing thought.
In the end there were no tornadoes at our house. I cuddled Charlie in bed and sang him the song I used to rock him to sleep to when he was a baby. He fell asleep easily. I was worried that he would remember the storm as scary, but when he woke up this morning he asked me if he could "go watch TV in the closet again."