We have a pretty decent chance of severe weather this afternoon and evening, which used to send me on hourly trips to the window to check for interesting looking clouds, obsessive checking of the radar, and a days long state of distractedness. That still happens now, but it's mostly because I'm terrified of my house, yard, and car getting pummeled by large hail.
We have already had our roof replaced once since we moved in eight years ago, after a storm nearly ripped our back door off its hinges, sent our neighbor's trampoline tumbling into our yard, and threatened to drop a tornado down at the end of our culdesac. I have a picture of me holding a toddler Charley and nursing a baby Wes in the closet under the stairs like some kind of dystopian suburban Harry Potter hellscape.
In the picture I am very sweaty. I seem to remember that Ryan and our dog were also occupying the eight foot by two foot space with us. We don't have our sweet puppy anymore but Charley is the size of a small man and there are two additional kids. Gracious.
So naturally I have spent much of today dreading the demise of my vegetable garden and the associated emotional breakdown that the kids (or *I* will have if that happens. I have been mentally concocting ways to cover the plants with something solid in the event the advertised big-ass hail happens (which, if it does, will probably wait until I decide to lower my guard and go to bed around two o'clock in the morning). Practical things like "drag kitchen table outside to cover plants". I mean. This weekend Mary ripped out one of the tomato plants Charley has been treating like his firstborn son for the last four weeks and I thought I was going to vomit. This is why we don't have chickens. This and the HOA.
(Interestingly, Charley calmly explained to Mary that we don't "weed" this garden, then put the sad plant in the compost bin.)
I'm also dreading having to be the Decision Maker should the time come to evacuate the upstairs and head for the (newly cleaned!) storm closet. Because apparently thirty graduate hours in meteorology coursework make me some kind of psychic who can tell whether it makes sense to get the kids all riled up after they've already fallen asleep (the last time we had to do that Ryan didn't even stop scrubbing the shower he was working on when I asked him if he, the family breadwinner, would be joining us in the safety of the closet downstairs. "Send me a text if the roof comes off" were his exact words. He appeared in the closet with the dog about twenty minutes later after the TV meteorologist practically listed our street by name.)
Ironically, obsessing about the weather is keeping me from making real progress on the study of extreme rainfall I am supposed to be working on (related: CLASSES ARE OVER FOR THE SEMESTER!!). I should get back to that. But first I have to look out the window like seventeen more times and check out the noon model runs and stare at the SPC discussion some more.