Photo originally published on msnbc.com
Why return from your vacation when you can evacuate it? Yesterday morning before the sun would have risen if it were feeling up to it, we packed up our barely large enough SUV and stopped at the BP down the road in Surf City, NC to top off our tank. This morning, that BP looks a little different.
We made the 7-hour trip in about 9.5 hours, safe and somewhat sound. We tied down trash cans and brought in the outdoor furniture (and by we, I mean I unpacked while Daniel did such things). He visited five stores to acquire bottled water, an overabundance of snacks, shelf stable milk for our little milk addicts, propane, candles, whatever batteries he could find for our existing flashlights (no additional flashlights or lanterns to be found, much less procured), ground coffee, a French press and powdered creamer, and an embarrassing amount of canned goods. As my mother-in-law pointed out while giving me hard-won hurricane survival tips, I'm not really a "can person." When I tried to make the list for Daniel to take with him, I didn't even know what to put on it. He said, "We need SpaghettiO's and stuff." Oh. This is not the type of food my children are accustomed to and, while I do have somewhat fond memories of Chef Boyardee and SpaghettiO's from my childhood, I do not look forward to reliving them as an adult.
Daniel's preparedness so overwhelmed me when he returned after 10:00 last night, that I couldn't even put the stuff away-- there was nowhere for it to go. The prepackaged preparedness sits around my kitchen in boxes and shopping totes, hoping to get donated (though, with all the money we spent on it, dinner time might be a little different around here this week, power or not).
So far, we're getting drenched but little else. The rain beats rhythmically on our red tin roof while everyone else naps (thanks to my really good in a crisis, real or imagined, husband, I squeezed my nap in earlier in the day). Here's hoping Irene is gentle enough to make the preparation the most exciting part of the storm.
We made the 7-hour trip in about 9.5 hours, safe and somewhat sound. We tied down trash cans and brought in the outdoor furniture (and by we, I mean I unpacked while Daniel did such things). He visited five stores to acquire bottled water, an overabundance of snacks, shelf stable milk for our little milk addicts, propane, candles, whatever batteries he could find for our existing flashlights (no additional flashlights or lanterns to be found, much less procured), ground coffee, a French press and powdered creamer, and an embarrassing amount of canned goods. As my mother-in-law pointed out while giving me hard-won hurricane survival tips, I'm not really a "can person." When I tried to make the list for Daniel to take with him, I didn't even know what to put on it. He said, "We need SpaghettiO's and stuff." Oh. This is not the type of food my children are accustomed to and, while I do have somewhat fond memories of Chef Boyardee and SpaghettiO's from my childhood, I do not look forward to reliving them as an adult.
Daniel's preparedness so overwhelmed me when he returned after 10:00 last night, that I couldn't even put the stuff away-- there was nowhere for it to go. The prepackaged preparedness sits around my kitchen in boxes and shopping totes, hoping to get donated (though, with all the money we spent on it, dinner time might be a little different around here this week, power or not).
So far, we're getting drenched but little else. The rain beats rhythmically on our red tin roof while everyone else naps (thanks to my really good in a crisis, real or imagined, husband, I squeezed my nap in earlier in the day). Here's hoping Irene is gentle enough to make the preparation the most exciting part of the storm.
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