storm season

Here in the middle west, storm season is approaching. Not that, frankly, it ever isn’t storm season in the middle. We just change the type of storms we are referring to. The approaching storm season I am referring to on this fine, cold afternoon is tornado season.


I can tell you I never, ever, in a million billion zillion years thought I would look forward to tornado season, but here we are. This crappy winter has me questioning my very essence.

Perhaps when my brain defrosts I will have other thoughts.

So when The Kidling mentioned tornadoes the other day and suggested that we don’t need to worry about tornadoes here in the middle, I told her that, in fact, we do. Truth be told, the spring after The Kidling was born was a particularly tornado-y one.

No, tornado-y is not a word.

No, I do not care.

I told The Kidling that we had many, many tornado watches and warnings when she was an infant.*  In this basement-less home,** The Dada and I spent a lot of time in the only room on the first floor of the house that didn’t have windows: the world’s tiniest bathroom. We hustled down there with blankets and toys on myriad occasions to wait out the weather.



But when I relayed this story to The Kidling, she was delighted. Before I had a chance to wonder why, she exclaimed, “Thanks for keeping me alive!”

Kidling, it was the least we could do.


* Does anyone actually know which is worse? Like, consistently know? Don’t bother saying yes, because I won’t believe you.
** No, basement-less isn’t a word either. And I still don’t care.


take this winter and shove it

“I really don’t like this winter. It’s the coldest winter I had this year.”


the festivication of Little Red

The Family lives in a charming and delightful home. It is tiny and it is red, hence its name: Little Red.

We are damn clever.

This weekend, The Kidling and I festive-ified (Festivated? Prepared our home for festivities? Decorated? Whatever) Little Red. We don’t do much, but what we do is important: a few planters with birch trunks and evergreen tips in the front and a few planters with spruce and pine sprinkled with tiny red berries from a shrub whose name I cannot recall in the back.  Toss up a couple of wreaths, and that’s the extent of our exterior… well… festive-ifying.

Because Little Red is on a corner, easy access is to be had travelling from our freshly festivated front door to the all-important festivication of our back steps. As we rounded the corner and entered our backyard, I spied a bird perched on our porch light. It looked happy there, and I wanted to make sure The Kidling saw our feathered friend. I held my arm up to stop her and put my finger to my lips in a hushing gesture. I pointed dramatically to the porch light and mouthed “look! a bird!” The Kidling understood and whispered to me, “They might think we’re predators, but we’re quite lovely!”

No, dear one. The loveliest. You are the loveliest.