Tweet Okay. You know how I dropped my 8-year old off for a week in the middle of nowhere? The plan was she would have fun swimming in the lake, walking on trails, skipping to the dining hall and singing camp songs... well, how was I supposed to know a tornado would find them?
I sat unblinking at the television set all evening listening to the reports, constantly yelling at Big V: Where is camp compared to this map? Point to it! And he'd point and say, "See where it says Eagle? Right next to that." And I'd get all mad and yell things like why would you tell me that? That's right where the bad part is! Now I'm more scared than I was before! Just get out of here you big jerk! And he'd say something like "I'm sure they have a plan for this type of weather activity. They can't be a successful camp if they let campers die out there." And I would yell What do you mean die? She could die?! I was just worried she was scared and afraid - thanks a lot you jerk - now I'm scared she's going to die! And he would yell back, "Look, if it's making you upset, change the channel." And I would yell That's just like you. Change the subject! Just put your head in the sand and pretend there's nothing wrong! And he would yell, "Oh, geesh. You're going to have a heart attack if you keep this up." And then Cletus the Used to Be Fetus started gagging and I was all See! You made him upset - he's worried, too -- OH MY GOD! HE'S CHOKING! DO SOMETHING!" And Big V saved his life by fishing out a piece of carpet shag from his mouth, but there was no way I was saying thank you because he still thought I was acting ridiculous so instead I said something along the lines of, "You should really pay more attention to your son when I'm obsessing over the weather forecast." It truly was a lovely example of love-centered communication.
Eventually the warning passed and I waited the obligatory 30 minutes to allow for emergency placed phone calls to reach me. I was assured by Big V that it wasn't anything but a little storm, that the meteorologists always get a little trigger happy at the start of storm season, and if there had been any problem someone would have called by now - I was, once again, making things bigger than they actually were. So I went to bed.
Fast forward to this afternoon, when my good friend, Rebecca, managed to (literally) hold her head above water over at The Office of Eternal Stench long enough to post a link of this little photographic evidence of the destruction and damage aforementioned tornado caused. Which, of course, I saw, and which, of course, I noted had touched down literally right next door to the campgrounds, and which, of course, raised my blood pressure a few points, and which, of course, made me want to hop in my car and go grab my child and tell her that smart people sleep in concrete bunkers - they do not go to summer camp! The only thing stopping me is the fact that my car is out of gas and my hair is a fright and, well, let's be honest, the kids are safe and I have margaritas waiting for me...