Act: I Happy Family

Beautiful powder, schools are closed, intermittent sun breaks and we’re loving every minute of family fun sledding, snowball fights and, of course, the requisite snowman in the front yard … A Washingtonian’s dream come true.

We returned home famished and after a hearty meal settled in to a movie and posting pictures of our snowy adventures on Facebook, when 4-year-old Patrick calmly walked into the family room. He wore the vacant expression of the newly possessed as he opens his mouth and from what feels like left field spews his version of the “split pea” scene from “The Exorcist.”

“Mommy, the burrito made me sick,” he croaked followed by another tear.

Act II: It Wasn’t the Burrito…

Long into the night snow silently piled up outside as my brave little boy was laid out flat like a rag doll, lurching his head up every so often to begin a fresh peal of dry heaves.

The next morning Patrick is able to safely drink liquids. School is closed again and the local news warns us to stay off the roads and prepare for more snow.

I’m making coffee when I hear a “click” accompanied by the dreaded “short circuit” sound effect — the power’s off.

I’m lamenting my coffee when I realize I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

As if on cue, Sophie and Amelia like pods incubating whatever alien microbe Patrick picked up are running toward me with palms over their mouths.  Like Patrick they are taken down with the same force and immediacy that befell their brother.

All day we expect to hear that “click” again that will tell us power is restored. It never comes. But in all the chaos we receive a call from our neighbor Phil.

“Come on down, we’ve got a generator, hot chocolate and board games,”  Phil says.

Boy was it tempting. He didn’t even skip a beat when I told him about our sickness and told us to come over anyway!

But there was no way I could bring our crud to his family.

“Carolyn, it gets awfully dark by 5 o’clock with four kids. I’m going to check back in with you again,” Phil had said.

Act III: The Reckoning of the Lone Survivor

“All those candles are making me sick,” says Paul, pointing to my plastic IKEA bag filled with roughly one million tea lights because I couldn’t find one measly flashlight.

The sun began to dip below the horizon and panic began to seize my chest when I heard Paul say, “You know, I feel a little queasy.”

Our family had triaged behind the closed door of our master bedroom to keep in the heat generated by our gas stove.

With Paul down it was up to me to venture out into the darkness for supplies.

Obviously, I’ve seen too many genres of horror films because our cold, pitch-black house morphed into one of those derelict space ships floating alone in outer space.  All the crew are downed by some nefarious (and putrid) alien life form and I alone was left to troll through the dark, lonely expanse searching for a source of power . . . two laptops with batteries that couldn’t hold a charge, my old school cell phone and an Ipod mini I held aloft as a makeshift flashlight searching for another retching bucket as I too succumbed.

Epilogue

I don’t think Paul and the kids will joke about plans for the upcoming “Zombie Apocalypse” anytime soon.

We were without power for three days and the nasty stomach bug took all of us down one-by-one.  We had trees crash into our yard taking down part of the fence and almost knocking down the kids play structure.  Our car got stuck in our own ditch, and our sump pump went out.

The experience taught us two things.

1. We need an emergency plan.

2. The kindness of our neighbors.

Our neighbor Phil did check in with us the next day, offering us his house to use when they went on vacation.  Several other neighbors with generators called with offers to cook us supper and to make sure we were OK, even at the risk of getting themselves sick. Another neighbor came over with his chainsaw and he and my husband Paul worked together to cut down the tangle of fallen trees in our yard.

And, of course, a big shout out goes to all the power folks who drove into our neighborhoods with their big trucks like cavalry. I think I can speak for the more than 300,000 of us who suddenly found ourselves in the dark . . . thank you!

I love suggestions! If you know of people or places in Renton that surprise, delight and inspire the community, drop me a line at carolyn@pippimamma.com. Also follow Carolyn on her blog, www.pippimamma.com.