Wednesday, May 30, 2012


I’ve been unbelievably busy this week.  I feel like I’m living a clichéd movie script. Where I’m the driven, workaholic father who abandons his kids and wife and, after a lot of slapstick, learns the true meaning of life.  I keep expecting to find myself suddenly being played by Jim Carrey.

Long story short, I haven’t been able to write any blogs because, well, that involves being in the same zip code as my family.

I went to my iphone file that says “Blog Ideas” and scrapped the bottom until I found an old story that hasn’t been reported.  It’s called “Storm.”

A few weeks (Months?  Years?) ago I came home on the train during one of those freak Spring Chicago storms.  As I walked up Dempster street, I had to leap over torrents of sewer water.  There was one awesome moment where a cab literally splashed me with a giant puddle from head to toe.

After getting home and wringing out my jeans, I noticed Elijah was watching the Weather Channel.  You gotta love a child who is so obsessed with TV that he’ll gleefully sit in front of a man pointing to a map.

I realized the man was point to Illinois.  After a scary alert noise (which didn’t seem to bother Eli) a disembodied voice informed me that our town was under a severe thunderstorm warning.  Not watch.  Warning.  The voice was so kind as to tell me when the “high winds and human head sized hail” would be hitting us.  7:46PM.  Exactly.

And what time was it?  7:44pm.

I began to speak in the voice I reserve for when Eli and Luca splash water out of the tub.

“Everyone!  We are moving to the basement!  NOW!  This is not a drill.  Listen to my angry voice.  Go downstairs!”

Eli looked at me like I was nuts.  I told him, “If you go downstairs right now you can watch this dude point at maps on our big TV.”  Done and done.

Luca wasn’t as easy to convince.  I had to chase him all around the house.  When I snagged him, his smell indicated something awful had happened in his diaper.

I scooped him up and ran upstairs.  Why I felt like my son couldn’t face the apocalypse with a poopy D, I’ll never know.

But I became irate with Luca’s lack of cooperation with the diaper change.  Out his window, I could see the face of an old man in the clouds breathe in and make a blowing face.

I threw on his diaper (probably on his face) and literally ran down stairs, past Diana, who was standing in the kitchen ignoring my demands, and found Eli watching the big TV.

Di eventually joined us and we did the countdown to the storm.  3…2…1…nothing.  Not even a thunderclap.  I shrugged the shrug of an overenthusiastic father and put the boys to bed.

I drove to Whole Foods ten or so minutes later, where I was pounded by an epic hail storm. 

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