Aaron loves storms.
And we got a doozy of a storm Wednesday evening. We followed it on radar as it approached. We saw the clouds swirling and thickening from my favorite upstairs vantage point.
Aaron was happy.
Happy until our power went out. What’s strange is that our power vanished before the storm really hit our area. We were surprised.
Aaron was puzzled.
He was also a little irritated that he could no longer be on his computer. A loss of electricity is not his favorite part of a storm.
We were outside looking at the clouds when Aaron spied our neighbors outside on their driveway, and despite my admonishments he was over there in a flash.
“Hey, Colby!” Aaron yelled. “Is your power out?”
And off Aaron tromped through our yards, his ever-present sweater flapping in the wind, to stand on Colby’s driveway…eventually joined by me and Gary, and Colby and Amanda, and Derek and Gina, and all their children…and Aaron.
Our neighborhood storm gathering didn’t last long, but Aaron took full advantage of the short time to become even more excited, more animated, and definitely louder.
Sorry about the sweater on your head, Gina.
It was probably best that rain started falling so we could all escape inside to our own homes, where for us…and for Aaron…the reality of no electricity began to settle in. No lights…no television…no computer.
Aaron was unsettled.
He was full of questions and wandered around the family room and kitchen, asking said questions and wondering what to do with himself.
His main question?
“When will the power come back on?!”
We had no answer, until finally Gary got an email from our power company with the answer.
The APPROXIMATE answer of 9:15 for restored power.
Too bad Gary told us the time, out loud for all to hear.
Aaron doesn’t do approximate.
Times for Aaron are pretty much precise or nothing.
I should just say precise. Pretty much precise does not go together in Aaron’s world.
Aaron and I have been watching the TV series, Bones, at night. We watch one show every night. Aaron, now busy playing his Nintendo DS in the family room that was lit with lanterns, latched on to 9:15 as being the firm time that our power would be restored.
“So Mom, can we watch Bones at 9:15?” he asked. I explained that we weren’t totally sure that the power would be on at 9:15.
A short pause ensued.
“Mom, do you think we can watch Bones at 9:15?” he ventured again.
That’s when I started praying that the Lord in His mercy would allow our electricity to be on by…if not by some miracle BEFORE…9:15.
At 8:58, Aaron announced that he was going to bed at 9:00. He loves watching lightning out of his upstairs bedroom windows, leaving his blinds up so he can enjoy his perfect view of the western sky. Aaron sat in his family room chair until it was 9:00, on the dot, and just as he promised he got himself ready for bed by the light of our lanterns. I was thankful for the storm’s distraction from his certainty that the lights would be on at 9:15.
At 9:11, just as I walked back into the family room after saying goodnight to Aaron, the lights came back on! Aaron jumped out of bed, of course! And at, or very close to 9:15, Aaron and I were settling in to watch Bones. Thank you, Lord!
The next night we had a chance of storms, but none were on the radar when Aaron went to bed. Just as I told him goodnight and was closing his bedroom door, he asked…as he always asks…if it was going to rain. I told him it might rain but that we’re never sure.
The words “might” and “never sure” are never satisfactory to Aaron.
“Mom??” he asked through the baby monitor on my nightstand as soon as I was in our bedroom.
I pressed the Talk button.
“So it might rain?”
“Yes, it might rain.”
“Might?” he repeated.
Sigh. That was me.
“Yes, Aaron, might.”
“So what number?” he asked.
I quit pressing on the talk button so I could laugh.
“40%,” I responded.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means there’s a 4 in 10 chance it might rain,” I answered.
I knew he wouldn’t get that, but I did it anyway.
“So they’re not sure,” he said.
“Right, they’re not sure.”
“They don’t know,” he continued.
“Aaron, it MIGHT rain. They’re not SURE it’s going to rain. No one KNOWS if it’s going to rain. But MAYBE it will rain. Good night. I love you.”
Talk button off.
But Aaron’s talk button wasn’t off as I heard him muttering about the chance of rain as I escaped to the bathroom.
The next night, last night, saw us with that chance of rain once again. Aaron had already queried us over and over during the evening about the possibility of rain. As soon as our Bones episode was over, he looked over at me.
“Is the rain 4 to 10 tonight?”
I just didn’t even care at that point about precision and accuracy, about percentages and correct explanations.
“Aaron, I think it’s 5 to 10 tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
That was me…internally.
“It means there’s a half-and-half chance it could rain.”
“So there’s half a chance it could rain,” he repeated.
He was satisfied with that, repeating it several times as we got his bed all ready and made sure his blinds were open in case that 5 to 10 worked out the way he hoped.
But I can tell you one thing. There is absolutely a 100% chance that we will again be discussing our rain chances all weekend long…over and over and over and over and over.
There is also a 100% chance that we will have our typical highs and lows…and I’m not talking about the weather now.
Oh, and a 100% chance that we’ll see this image of Aaron walking through our yard at some point with his favorite sweater blowing in the wind…slipper socks on…oblivious to the image he leaves for all to see.
Free as a bird…outside…where it might rain.
3 to 10 today.
8 to 10 tonight.
I’m ready with answers today!!