Code Orange

When Em was four years old, Baroy took her back East to visit grandparents; N was only 9 months old and I had to work, so we stayed home. During the five days they were gone, I found a black widow spider in the kids' toy box, I discovered an infestation of meal moths in our cupboards when the larvae began crawling up our kitchen walls en masse (and I do mean masse), and we had a minor but definite earthquake.

The night before they were to return, I called Baroy in tears. "Thank god you're coming home tomorrow," I said. "I can't handle any more of this by myself."

The next morning they headed to JFK airport for their 10 am flight. At around 6 our time, I got a call from a friend back East, asking what flight they were on, and whether I'd heard from them yet. Confused, I got up to turn on the TV, and saw these bizarre images that I couldn't at first understand. It was September 11, 2001.

Yesterday, Baroy left to go back East to spend some time with his mother, who is, um, having some issues. (It's not my story to tell, but boy is it a story.) He'll be back tomorrow. When he was leaving, I jokingly said, "Well, I wonder what fun is in store for me while you're gone THIS time."

Three hours later, driving on the freeway to a friend's kid's birthday party, a trucker began honking and gesticulating at me to pull over. Because I was near my destination, I continued on, but then grabbed several of my buddies and took them outside. The determination: My rear right tire was flat, and my two front tires too bald to be driving on. While the kids played, my friend A took me to the tire store and helped me figure out a) that I have wheel locks (who knew?) and b) that the key to said locks was in my dashboard holder thingy. I got two new tires, and had the flat repaired and, continuing to ignore the "check engine" light that's been on for about three months straight, I am now able to drive my car again.

This morning, I woke up with a raging headache and a sore throat, but had to drive both kids to their respective elementary and pre schools, and will have to pick them both up as well, even if I feel like something the cat drove over.

As I said to Baroy this morning when he called, that's it. I'm not taking any chances. If one more thing happens--even just one more tiny little thing--I'm calling Homeland Security.

[And in case you're wondering, yes, I am that self-absorbed. I've also spent the last 12 years convinced that the Northridge earthquake of 1994 was the result of the two-plus feet of hair I had spontaneously decided to have sheared off the afternoon before. Clearly, my drastic hair cut resulted in the shifting of tectonic plates. You got a better explanation?]