Not a whole lot has changed, except now I don't have basement to hide in, but I do now have a husband to drive a little crazy with my neurosis- although he's admitted to being pretty terrified of them himself, he hides it a whole lot better than I do.
Our house is pretty much terrible in regards to having any safe spaces if a tornado should come through. No interior closets- all rooms have exterior walls- and the only decent space in the closet within the closet under the staircase is directly adjacent to a giant Westward facing window- making it all but useless. I remember the first time I dealt with tornado sirens after becoming a mother, when Jude was about 4 months old. We were home alone, with Taylor working out in BFE Oklahoma at the time. Anxiety running a mile minute and my heart about to burst out of my chest, I packed Jude up in his car seat and all but buried him under pillows in the closet under the staircase, realizing in the process that the location of our "shelter" was worthless as the storm at hand blasted wind and rain and at the window across from us.
Since then, I've abandoned all hopes of finding refuge in that closet. Jude and I put together our tornado shelter in Taylor's closet in our room- stuffing it with pillows and a huge industrial flashlight- oh, and Hot Wheels and leftover Easter candy, should he get bored and need a snack while we are in hiding.
I can feel myself giving my son a tornado complex more and more for every tornado season he experiences. He went to bed both Friday and Saturday chattering away about tornados, up until the lights were out and he was laying down, both hands tucked under the side of his cheek on his pillow, whispering, "We need to be quiet incase the 'nado sirens go off mommy."
After the kids were in bed, Taylor and I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo- and it was not the best choice in late night movie vibes while the weather outside screamed potential for imminent disaster and danger. We later wound up staying up until 3 a.m. with the weather on, cracked out on Rick Mitchell, deliriously discussing what we would do if a tornado came through, ready to pluck our babies out of bed if we had to.
Of course, nothing wound up happening in the Metro, and we wound up exhausted the next morning when the kids woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed, unaware that their parents had lost valuable sleep that night over their safety.
Storm shelter installation- definitely on our agenda. SOON.
Yesterday while in Norman, Taylor and I went to Andrew's Park, which got pummeled by Friday's tornado. Many of the beautiful trees that adorn the park looked to have been effortlessly ripped out of the ground by the tornado, like we would rip a band aid off of our arm. Both gigantic and old and younger and still maturing lay on their sides with their roots exposed and people walking around surveying the wreckage, taking pictures and marveling the damage.
I gotta admit- it broke my heart a little. I played under those trees as a kid down in Norman at Andrew's Park- as I know that countless children had before me and have since then. We've all brought our own children their to play under their shade- play chase, picnic, hide behind and enjoy their glory.
They've witnessed generations of families and children at that park. Imagine the stories they could tell if they could talk?
Not to sound like a total tree hugging hippie, but I swear I could feel their pain a little. If you held still long enough and listened, you could hear them groaning.
Some people had their kids climbing all over some of the larger, older side-lying trees, and at first it pissed me off. How disrespectful! Can't you see they're dying? Can't you see they're in pain?
Then I thought of The Giving Tree- a favorite book of mine and now Jude's- and it made me relax and be more positive (a skill that I'm getting better at with age, but still takes a conscious effort much of the time).
My irritation was such a grown up thing. Such an adult thing. Sometimes we need to all take a moment and go back to thinking more like children.
I switched gears and imagined that those trees were enjoying the children climbing all over their fallen trunks. They found joy in hearing the children's laughter and feeling the families congregating around them for what will be their last days- because all they've ever known is how to be a tree in a family park and won't be long before the trees are hauled away from their home to face their next phase in this life- hopefully turned into something cool like furniture for families to sit on? Fire to keep them warm? Who knows, but The Giving Tree keeps coming back to me and has me hoping that they'll be able to live on somehow!
