Really nothing to say

Seriously. I really have nothing to say. But I'm here at the computer paying bills and well, that is just really no fun at all, so I ran to my blog for refuge. How sad am I?

It's supposed to storm today. WAHOO!! Tater and I love love love a good storm. In fact, this time of year we are both continually in a state of anticipation at the storms that pop up. We are both storm fiends and there is nothing like a good run for the safe room or cellar to get your heart a pumpin'.

We are the stereotype - when the sirens go off, we go to the yard before we run for the cellar. We are just that crazy.

In May 2003 I was working at the Little League ballfield, running the concession stand. I called several Important People and they said that yeah, the games were on, even though looking at the sky I wasn't sure they'd actually happen. So I took the kids to Mom's and went to the field. I started the popcorn like I always did, started icing down the pop coolers when I heard the rain start. Then the metal roof sounded like it was coming off. I wanted to shout, "Hit the dirt, men! We're under fire!" It was hail. And it started off loudly enough on the metal roof, but it kept getting louder and louder. Umpires came running to my stand and I gave them refuge from the storm. We all stood in the doorway and watched the baseball sized hailstones hit my van repeatedly. With each rock of ice that bounced off my van I was regretting that decision to carry only liability on my van.

The hail finally quit and the Important People declared the games off. (Duh) I gave away what popcorn I could to the umps, dumped the rest, locked up and made a run for my dented van in the torrential rain that was still coming down. Soaked to the underoos, I drove to Mom's to retrieve my children. Mom got some nickle sized hail at her house while I felt like I was undergoing a plague that would rival anything God put upon the Egyptians back in the day. We stood out in Mom's driveway inspecting the damage. I mean, it's an Astro Van, it ain't no Caddy, but still it's my Astro Van and it has to last me, ya know? We checked the roof, the hood ... yep dents. But no big.

A few days later we stood on our own front porch and watched more baseball to softball sized hailstones hit my van again and this time Paul's Chevy that I'm still in love with even though he sold it. (*sigh* Man, I loved that truck.) This time we didn't fare so well - the back glass shattered in his truck, although no body damage was found. And my van? Oh I still, to this day, have a crack about the size of a kickball on the front windshield. It's the first circle-shaped crack I've ever seen. I guess we keep it there for a conversation starter, because we've not once really entertained a serious thought about replacing the windshield.

We saved some of those hailstones in the freezer for a few weeks because no one believed us when we told them how big they were. So we'd relate the story, people would say, "Oh you're kiddin' me!" and we'd say "No! Look here!" and run to the freezer to show 'em off. Because we're strange that way.

Wow, that was a really boring story about hailstones.

I hear thunder now, though, so I'm going to pay one more bill then shut down the computer and go play blocks with the kids while wearing an Army hat and a feather boa. Because I can.