The weather forecast this weekend includes a blow from tropical storm Hanna.  Our home lies right on the southeastern coast of our state, at the mouth of Long Island Sound and that little pond, the Atlantic Ocean.  When I say we live near the water, I don’t mean we’re within an hour’s drive of the beach.  I can actually see the Sound from my living room window.

Normally, this facet of our community makes for good times.  However, our entire little city is on alert.  It’s been a long, long time since this area faced down a hurricane or tropical storm, and frankly, we homeowners are worried.

I checked a topographical map this morning that indicates our home sits just 25 feet above sea level.  Bad.  Our basement is already prone to damp spots during big storms.  Bad, again.  This storm, while not predicted to stick around long (yes, that’s a good!!!) the expected amount of precipitation falls somewhere between 4 and 6 inches over a few hour span.

Bad, bad BAAAAAAAAAAAAAD.

Granted, we aren’t in the path of a deadly storm, like Gustav, at least not yet since Ike is predicted to make a turn up this way, but it’s still a bit too early to tell, and we’re not currently stressing over a potential great loss of property or worse, of life.  I’ve already contacted my folks, who live far inland, who will graciously put us up in the event we ditch, so we’ll be safe all around.  We also have Sharpie’s home as refuge as well, so literally, we’re covered.

I’m trying to keep positive, and if it were just D and I, we’d be the crazies taking a drive during the height of the storm to assess the damage.  But, with kids?  It’s a whole new can of corn.  The amount of worry and over-analytical planning jumps skyward.  I’m flipping between panic and attempts to assure myself it’ll be nothing.  I think I’d panic less if my husband hadn’t gotten a broadcast email advising their company’s campus is shutting down completely as of late this afternoon, and no one, except critical lab personnel (he works for a Pharma) are allowed through the gates until Monday morning.

Think of us this weekend, pray for those in the Carolinas who’ll experience the worst of Hanna, and tell me what the hell I should have on hand to prepare!

What more is there to say.

Aside from brief grimices from both Max & Sara after I informed them of my looming departure, all seemed to go swimmingly well at the first, official day of Preschool.  My husband played classroom parent, so that may have lessened the blow a bit, but from all accounts, he spent as much time with our kids as he did with the 11 other 3-year-olds in the class.  Needless to say, he’s napping at the moment.

After we said our goodbyes, a friend, who also has twins in the class, and I headed out to Tarjay, getting used to spending some time alone.  We each shed a few tears on the drive out of the parking lot, but I think we both held up well.  Sometimes, it pains me to think how little credit we give our kids.  Convinced her kids would put up the fight of the century, my friend drove her van, stunned, at just how receptive her little ones were to the notion of separation.

We arrived back a little early and the teacher let a few parents into the classroom.  I stepped in and noticed the book The Kissing Hand on the front shelf.  Do you know this book of which I speak?  It’s one of  Sharpie’s favorites and the mere thought of it makes me sob.   Of course, it’s a totally appropriate book for this first drop-off day, and the kids not only read the story, but made their own “Kissing Hands” for us to take home.  Max and his little smiling face ran over, clutching his craft, and as soon as I caught a glance of what it was, I started to cry.  Not following far behind was Sara, with hugs and smooches, but both toddled off to complete whatever playful task they were into before I arrived.

They’re napping now, surely dreaming of what the coming days of school will bring.  Despite how well everything went, I hugged both my babies a little tighter today, knowing they have begun to need me just a little bit less.