I should have sensed pending trouble. I took the trash out this morning, and noticed that only one lonely bag sat in front of a neighbor’s house. No one else put out their trash cans, or recycling bins. Suckers, I thought, trash collection was not canceled in our county. Braving a little drizzle, I deposited the giant trash receptacle on the curb. With a matching recycling bin. And scurried back inside.
I felt rather smug as I heard the giant trash compacter driving down our street. Pausing just once in front of our house.
A bit more time passed, and the weather was picking up steam. Quite a bit of steam, in fact.
So much so that I saw a cow blow by the window. Okay, it was really a bird, attempting to fly in the opposite direction of the wind. And failing miserably.
It seems we’re experiencing a Tropical “System.” A hurricane wannabe. It made landfall on the west side of Florida. And was expected to head up the center of the state, giving us over here in east Armpit, Florida, just a little extra rain.
Instead, Tropical Storm Fay, chose to veer right. And strengthen. Which is highly unusual, as the storm systems generally weaken when they make landfall.
As an aside, I would like to say that all Tropical Storms and Hurricanes should just be named after the fairer sex. Because of the propensity to do exactly the opposite of what is expected. I’m not being sexist. It is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.
For example, I wasn’t going to add that last observation. But then I did. So there.
Back to my saga.
I heard the trash can hit the side of our van. I raced outside in bare feet to stop it from taking off for parts unknown. Trashcan’s trusty sidekick, The Lid, went in the opposite direction. Divide and conquer. A clever ruse, but it didn’t work. With lightning fast agility, I managed to wrangle Trash can, The Lid, and Recycle Bin, all before they hightailed it to the next county.
We have had tornado warnings all afternoon, and I was able to spend some quality time with 3 high strung children hunkered down in the hall. Covered by one lame baby crib mattress. And a few pillows. Wishing I drank wine.
When the coast was clear once again, Emme decided to “decorate” the hall so that it would be more cozy. In case we had to live there for any length of time.
When she finished, and I looked around the corner, I saw that their rooms had been emptied of all priceless treasures. And no one was able to walk down the hall.
Which in my estimation, made the hall even more of a danger than, say, the oversized window of the Family Room.
The smiling newscasters are all saying that Tropical System Fay should be over Fiddledeedee’s house some time around 1 AM. Okay, they didn’t actually use my name, but they may as well have.
It’s just nature’s way of getting even about all the disparaging comments I make about living in the sunshine state.
Tropical System Fay is then expected to move out to sea, turn into a Category 1 Hurricane, turn around, and hit Florida again.
A mom’s life can be kind of like that. If you’re not chasing down trash can lids, you’re beating your wings against wind. Waiting for the next blow. Hoping the windswept look will come back in vogue.
We just weather the storms. And appreciate the rainbows.