I Hate Tornados

I have experienced hurricanes on the east coast, typhoons in China, wildfires and earthquakes in southern California but nothing, and I mean NOTHING in Mother Nature unhinges me like a tornado except perhaps those awful tree roaches in Texas.

During the week, I don't watch a lot of tv but last night, Dallas wanted to tune into the news and we left it on after dinner. We were watching something forgetful when a highly caffeinated weather team interrupted the program to tell us to

GET TO OUR SAFE PLACES RIGHT EFFING NOW!!!

At first, I wasn't comprehending what they were saying and confused it with some sort of new age directive to go to my HAPPY place. Since I am mother to one child bordering on adolescence and another who has made "Mum" a sixteen syllable word, I am quite familiar with every technique available to slow one's heartbeat.

Then, the sirens went off and it finally dawned on me that the weather guys were speaking in tongues because there was the distinct possibility that we were all going to Oz. And then I lost it just a little.

Earthquakes in San Diego involved a little toilet water spilling onto the floor and then playing chicken with the overpasses during aftershocks. In China, typhoon day meant being stuck inside a highrise hotel room while it rained horizontally. Perfectly manageable. But hearing those damn tornado sirens go off after the sun has set and understanding that I wouldn't be able to see the funnel cloud coming sends me into an incoherent, unreasonable, let's-get-in-the-car-and-drive state.

Dallas, quite camly asked me where we usually go in the house during a tornado. I had to admit that once or twice, I have not been able to find my car keys and thus, have resorted to throwing the children in the tub and covering them with a mattress. It hasn't mattered to me that the tub rests along an exterior wall (BIG tornado no no). All that I was thinking was that it might afford my babies some protection if they were hurtled through the air at 150 miles an hour. As if.

He quietly suggested that we might find it safer to be in the closet under the stairs. I did the math and agreed that I liked the odds of us being buried alive better than careening through the air in a builder's grade fiberglass tub but I still made the irrational argument that I thought it would just be wiser to get into a car and drive in the opposite effing direction.

And then the storm blew over like it always does. I got into bed fully clothed with my purse, photo albums, car keys and mobile phone by my bedside. I am a nut job, yes, but a prepared nut job, nevertheless.