Twister!

Last night Big Mama needed some ALONE time. J let me know that he was invited to attend the Mavs game tonight, so I asked if he would mind if I ran to Target for a few minutes. (Because Target is like an Hawaiian vacation on those days when your child whines incessantly and WILL NOT BE MOLLIFIED, even with a truckload of puffs and Elmo DVDs. Christ.)

So off to Target I went. I bought a latte and headed for the books. I selected a few and sat in an aisle. In Target. It was a silent 30 minutes, and I walked out refreshed.

Until the ferocious wind nearly knocked me down.

"J!" I call, as I wander back into our house. "I almost blew away out there."

And as if ON MOTHER EFFIN' CUE, the sirens blare.

Now, I've been in Texas long enough (er, 7 weeks?) to know that a tornado watch is NBD. They happen. They don't really touch down here. We even had a plan! Which consisted of me saying:

If it happens, we'll get in this closet.

To which J replied, No, the bathroom.

J, there are windows in the bathroom.

No, Snooze's bathroom.

J! That's on the second floor. You can't be on the second floor!

Obviously, a solid plan.

But I haven't heard the sirens yet, though we know they exist. So I pick up my phone, and find the Weather Center app.

"Shit!" I exclaim, my adrenaline beginning to pump. "We're under warning. That means it's been spotted somewhere."

J, only slightly interested at this point, grunts. I run upstairs to the playroom, site of the only TV we currently have up and running in the house.

And I learn that the twister's been spotted in Saginaw, and is headed due east.

Straight for us, y'all. Straight for us.

J starts to get serious in his try not to alarm the hysterical wife voice. "I'm just going to put my shoes on," he says nonchalantly. "Just in case I have to run out." (No, I don't know why he would be running out either, but it really is best to be prepared.)

We run through the house collecting flashlights and matches, and I wonder when I should grab our sleeping babe to bring him downstairs to our "safe" closet. I am also listening to the meteorologist beginning to panic, as she laments on camera: "If my neighbor is watching, please call me. Let me know my house is okay, let me know my dogs are okay." She lives in our small suburb.

"It's okay, babe," J assures me. But as he says this, things start to get darker outside. The wind picks up.

And a few minutes later, hysterical weather lady yelps, "Excuse me, I have to step out. I have to make a call. This thing is headed STRAIGHT for my house!"

I run to Hendrik's room, grab him as gingerly as possible, and run down the stairs. We huddle in the closet together, J standing guard at the door, ready to jump in if the windows start shattering. The wind howls outside, and we watch - through our picturesque floor to ceiling windows in the "great room" - our lawn chairs flying into our pool. Hail - golfball size - hammers our roof. Hendrik groggily lifts his head as I soothe him, rubbing his hair and telling him - and myself - it will be okay.

It has to be, right? I think. I DID NOT move to Texas to buy our dream house and die in the great room closet, dudes.

And almost as quickly as it started, the winds begin to cease. My heart continues to pump loudly. "Is it over?" I ask J repeatedly. "Is it over?"

From upstairs, I hear our now-composed meteorologist saying to the anchor, "The dogs are okay!" And I know that the worst is probably passed. Our electricity goes out shortly thereafter, and eventually I feel safe enough to put Hendrik back to bed. The storms continue throughout the evening, and I sleep fitfully, waking to check my phone to ensure that another twister isn't on its way to our once bucolic home.

Welcome to Texas, y'all. Eff me.

*Author's Note: I should have posted this last Wednesday, guys, I'm a jerk.