Sandy, One Year Later

Ellie and Leo surveying the damage, two days after Hurricane Sandy storm. This tree was across the street from our house. It, along with many others were removed, and our neighbor was very lucky that tree didn't land on her house--look how close it came.

A year ago today, the wind howled, the trees splintered around us like broken toothpicks and the lights went out. Hurricane Sandy arrived. 

After we lost power, our family piled into one big bed and listened, terrified, as the wind roared outside--it truly sounded like the world was about to end. I am not exaggerating when I say it was one of the scariest things I've ever experienced. 

When the storm was over, our lives ground to a halt. Without heat and electricity for ten days, schools were closed and all around us was evidence of the destruction: downed trees, power lines and homes. Our losses were minor in comparison to many others, and very much replaceable. Sadly, many others were not as fortunate. It was a trying time that I won't soon forget, and a sobering reminder of how fragile our little lives are--we really are just a wind's gust away from disaster. 

As they say, much was lost that day, and much was gained. And I think it's true what they also say, that God isn't the hurricane, God is the cleanup (it's an old Yiddish phrase my dad quotes often). In short, a lot of good did come out of that literally dark time. 

I wrote this last year, so I wouldn't forget.

I'm Dreaming of a Non-White, Actual Halloween

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy. For the past two years, we've had two major, life altering (at least temporarily, for us, thank goodness) storms on the same day. You can't blame me for perhaps hiding under the bed for most of October 29, 2013, right?

So far, the weather report for the next few days is good. And if all goes well, in a few days we'll celebrate our first Halloween since 2010.


Halloween, 2010. Ellie was three. Leo was six (and little did anyone know-including me-I was pregnant with twins). But look at these two! Look. How. Little.

In 2011, we lost power for five days and Halloween was cancelled by an unusually early in the season snow storm, which landed us in a hotel twenty miles from home with five month old twins (who unbeknownst to us had double ear infections, ask me how much fun THAT was). I remember on Halloween night that year, the hotel manager cheerily telling us there was a nice little residential neighborhood a few blocks away where we could take the kids to Trick or Treat. Just...no. Then there was the little Halloween party we'd planned. And the refrigerator full of food that went spoiled. And as the blizzard raged on outside our living room window (and the power went out), Ellie's sad little four year voice quivering, "Why isn't anyone coming to our party?"

Last year on Halloween, with our area still reeling from the after-effects of Sandy, our town put out an APB that trick or treating was strictly prohibited. This proved to not be that difficult to enforce since we had no electricity, (therefore no street lamps), heat or hot water and several giant trees were down all over our neighborhood. School was closed all week, so those parties were cancelled. We did, as a family, have a little at home celebration the weekend after our power was restored, but let's face it, dressing up at home doesn't have quite the same cache as school.



It might sound silly, but I'd been hesitant to get my hopes up about Halloween this year. And let's face it, TWO storms in TWO years on the same day? You might be a little uneasy too.



But yesterday, feeling confident and celebratory, we dug out the Halloween costumes. I had two tucked away that I thought would work for Harry and Lucy (no spoilers-you'll see them after the big day). For some reason I saved the twins' costumes from last year, which they did wear, as they paraded up and down our driveway before feasting on Munchkins--yes, that was our eventual family Halloween party, somewhere around November 9, I believe.


Harry's old bee suit was laughably snug on Lucy. But don't tell her (and yes, she insisted on trying it on and keeping it on in an insistent manner that only Lucy possesses)..

I'd forgotten about the stinger.

We are SO ready. Halloween 2013. Bring it. But can we keep our heat and power this year?

Stop Making Sense

It all started with Hurricane Sandy.

Surveying the damage across the street from our house, October, 2012.

Two weeks after it blew through our region and darkened our home for ten long, cold days, I was driving the kids to swim class and we passed a cavalry of electric company trucks. I burst into tears. Our power was back (it had been restored for a glorious three whole days!) but seeing that army of trucks was a stark reminder, as were the massive overturned trees that could be seen, well, everywhere. People were still suffering. Things were far from normal.

Then came Newtown.

I still find myself tearing up, more often and unexpectedly. I still think about Sandy Hook, every single day when I take Ellie to school. Amidst the bedlam and chaos of elementary school children, weighed down by backpacks and winter coats and hats, shrieking and giggling and hugging and wrestling--life and death feels close. 

Ellie and my bedtime ritual used to include me reading her a book, rubbing her back for a few minutes, tucking her in and saying goodnight. Since December 14, I have stayed with her until her breathing slows and deepens, until she starts to snore adorably (as only those under age ten can make snoring adorable). Staying with her until sleep comes for what she calls our "Snuggle Time," it seems like the least I can do.

I still cannot wrap my brain around what happened at Sandy Hook. It is the epitome of unthinkable. How can any of us begin to grasp it? It simply does not compute, still does not seem possible. Yes, we hug our children tighter and we sign petitions and we give money. What else can we do?

Finally, less than a month ago, half a dozen of my co-workers lost their jobs (and hundreds more, within the company). Friends and esteemed colleagues. Here one day, gone the next.  Empty boxes sat outside offices, poised to be packed. Name plates abruptly came down and now hang blank. This was another kind of "does not compute" but still a very real one, to look around at our morning meeting and feel the void of so many faces. Then: Last week came the rumor that our company may be sold. Who knows what will happen if that transpires.

A hurricane. An elementary school massacre. Hundreds of people out of work. Hardships and horrors of different degrees of course, but tied together by one thread: You never know what's going to happen. You may think you have control, to some degree. But you really don't.

And so, I throw up my hands. Again. 

I learned to throw up my hands for the first time, thirteen years ago when my mother died. And again, when Leo was born, when I was reminded once more of our powerlessness in all of this, in this gift of life we have. You try to prepare and you just can't, no matter how much you think you can. The best you can do is hang on and hope for the best, hope that things are going to work out the way they are supposed to. That's what I'm doing. What choice do I have?

But for the record? I don't like this out of control feeling. Does anyone? I may try to keep things "tidy," with my organizer boxes for everything from toys to linens to Tupperware tops, but in my heart I know that I can't really control much at all.

I just can't recall a time where I have felt that so many things were so very much out of my hands.

Sandy's Lessons: Tales From Our "Prairie" Life

I'm pretty sure Ellie meant to write "Harry," not "Hammy" (although he is that). This is evidence of one of the many, many Hurricane Sandy-Power Outage creations. For days and days, our kitchen table looked like a scrap booker and an artist went on a wild bender. Hey, what else is there to do without Disney Jr. and PBS Kids?

It's only been a week since our power has been restored and already it feels like all of that dark and cold was a lifetime ago. This morning I self-indulgently cranked the heat to seventy, threw a load of lights in the washing machine and simultaneously ran the dishwasher. Because I could.

Only a week ago this was a mere fantasy. Did I tell you at one point during the power outage I actually dreamed about doing laundry (to be fair, it was almost waste-high in our laundry room. Hey, that's what you get when you don't do laundry for six people in ten days. Not pretty.)

And yes, I am still in love with technology and all of its conveniences.

I don't miss much about our ten day experiment with the prairie life. I don't miss the cold or having to quickly fetch milk or melting frozen pizza from the cooler stored in the mudroom before Harry and Lucy could come padding in to spill the dog's water or play in the kibble. In case you're wondering, the only reason we stored the cooler in the mudroom was because a certain toddler boy learned to climb and stand on said cooler (we dubbed this Cooler Surfing) which we deemed unsafe, especially in the dark. Yes, this is my life.

No, I don't miss bundling the babies in four layers plus a sleep sack and then lying in bed, wide awake at 2 a.m. thinking I heard a cry, convinced they were cold. Nope, sure don't.

Speaking of waking cold, I'm pretty sure Harry was. I don't think it's a coincidence that most mornings after we lost power, Harry was up between 4:30 and 5 a.m. In normal (i.e. heated) circumstances, I've been known to let a baby whine and fuss when they have the gall to wake so early. But when the upstairs is hovering around fifty-five degrees (which I realize doesn't sound all that cold but trust me it is), well, it just didn't seem right.

Which brings me to coffee. No, I don't miss how we were forced to make coffee in those days without power. I would creep downstairs in the dark with Harry and with one hand I boiled water on the stove (lit with a match), then poured it through our coffee pot. It worked well, except for the fact that obviously it didn't keep the coffee warm and, well, when your downstairs is fifty degrees, let's just say things cool down quickly. But at 4:30 a.m.? Coffee is not optional.

One morning, I woke to Harry's cries and stumbled into the babies' room to fetch him before he could wake Lucy (if there's anything worse than one baby awake before sunrise, it's two babies awake before sunrise). I brought him to the bathroom, where Erin was showering and where I knew the steam would warm us both. Erin and I chatted briefly, and before we knew it, Leo and Ellie were both also in the bathroom too. Apparently Harry's cries had awakened them. I glanced at the clock: 4:45 a.m. and three out of four kids were up. Man, it was going to be a long day.

"Are we in hell?" I asked Erin.
"Pretty sure, yes," she replied, poking her head out of the shower, briefly.
But we were both laughing.

So maybe it will surprise you to learn that there are plenty of things I do miss about our little break from life on the grid.

1. No Distractions: I didn't realize how much housework takes me away from time with the kids until my ability to load the dishwasher, do laundry or cook anything more complicated than boiling water for pasta or heating pizza on the stove top, was taken away. Aside from trying to keep up with the dishes (admittedly, hand washing the dishes is tedious but since we were blessed with hot water it was a welcome way to keep warm) and trying to clean up toys from the floor before sunset every night, there wasn't much housework to be done. And since my phone was in a constant state of near-death since it rarely got fully charged (I charged my phone in the car before Erin left for work every morning which takes forever --see: never full charged) I couldn't really text anyone, email or partake much in the mother of all Mom Distractions: Facebook. It felt...liberating.


No joke, this photo was taken at around 5:30 a.m. Nothing to do at that hour in the dark but draw (by flashlight of course)!

2. Break from Technology: We warned Leo and Ellie that the power could go out before the storm (of course, little did we know...). Their first question was about the TV. The prospect that they might not have it seemed shocking. For the first few hours, they were in denial. Leo kept trying to turn it on. But by the next morning, it was not even discussed. Out came the pens and crayons and water colors. The kitchen table became Command Central for The Great Artfest of Hurricane Sandy. Ellie made paper dolls and paper fairies and paper princesses. Leo drew seventeen different versions of Spider Man and at least fourteen different renditions of the solar system. We don't let them watch a ton of television but they certainly watch it. It's not like they don't normally draw and color often, but when TV is taken completely off the table and it's not even an option? It's a no brainer that activities are going to get more creative (see above: liberating). It wasn't just art. As I mentioned before, there were many complex games involving fixing toys and dress-up and playing school.

3. Closeness: When it's cold and dark at 7:45, there isn't much to do but crawl into bed and snuggle to keep warm. Even when she was still eating dinner, Ellie would ask me "When are we going to go upstairs to cuddle?" We settled into a nighttime routine early on. As soon as the babies were down and dinner was over, I took the big kids upstairs (once it got dark we traveled as a pack-remind me to tell you the story of the first night of no power when Leo freaked out--he is not a fan of the dark) and turned on the hot shower in the bathroom for a little warmth so they could change into their pajamas. Then we'd climb into our bed (we had the kids sleep with us to keep warm). And Leo and Ellie would be snoring by 7:55. Side note: It was during one of these snuggle sessions that Ellie piped up the words that will go down in family history: "Leo! I can feel your tushy!"

That's when I would sneak out of bed to go downstairs and to clean up (I use that term loosely--there's only so much cleaning one can do by candlelight). Clean-up time usually involved a glass or two of wine. Like I said: those were some loooong days. That was some well-earned wine.

4. Life on Hold: I really don't think I'm cut out to be a stay at home mom but I have to say I really enjoyed that week home with the kids, when the trains and buses stopped and my office closed and New York City nearly ground to a halt. And when I say home I mean home. We have one car, which Erin took to work (poor thing worked before dawn to well after dusk in those frenzied, post-Sandy days) so there were few places to go. We took a lot of neighborhood walks. There was our infamous trip to the Red Cross Shelter. I referred to my week home with the kids as Extreme Parenting, because not only were we living without a lot of basic comforts (heat, electricity) but home with four kids for seven straight days and no television? I am here to tell you: It can be done. That morning three out of four kids were up at 4:30 a.m. (I still get chills writing that) I read the kids books by flashlight. I know! Once the sun came up and it was light enough, Leo and I played catch with his little foam ball.

5. The constant reminder that if you don't laugh at the situation, you might cry (not that there is anything wrong with crying). One morning I had the brilliant plan to warm the babies' bedroom before their morning nap, with steam from the shower. I carefully closed all the bedroom doors upstairs and turned the water in the babies' shower on hot and high. Ten minutes later our neighbor came over to check on us. That's when all three upstairs smoke alarms went off at the same time (apparently the steam combined with the cold air and set off the alarms). I've never seen Leo turn a whiter shade of white, poor guy. In other news, it seems I'm not a Girl Scout, after all.

That time at home with the kids in the cold and dark was intense, exhausting, ridiculous, frustrating and often  hilarious (at least, in retrospect). And as I have been telling almost anyone who will listen: I am now pretty sure I can do almost anything.

***

Last night as I stood, wiping down the counter in our obscenely bright kitchen, watching Ellie eat the last few bites of spaghetti and feeling suddenly oddly nostalgic about how just a week ago it would have been close to "cuddle time," I asked Ellie if she liked it better with the power on or off.

"Off," she replied, with instant certainty.

"Really? Why?" I asked, assuming she'd mention the thrill of sleeping in our bed for ten straight nights or missing a week of school.

"Because it was an adventure!" she said.

And isn't that the truth.

You Knew It Would End Well

Our street this morning.

The snow started falling yesterday around noon, small, wet flakes blown sideways by the Nor'easter's powerful winds.

Perfect, I thought to myself. Not only do I need to leave work early to avoid the parking lot of the turnpike, but it will be an even colder night, thanks to the storm's high winds and blowing snow. All made that much more painful, due to that small detail of no power at our house.

***

The walk from the bus to my house took twice as long as usual. The snow had accumulated quickly, making the sidewalks slick and treacherous. I could barely see-it was almost white out conditions and the snow was blowing straight into my face. At one point my glasses were so coated with snow I had to take them off and clean them.

Normally, I would feel festive: The first snow of the season! I got to leave work early! I'd come home to a cozy house in time to make a nice, comforting dinner, maybe some kind of stew (if I were the kind of person who made stew). But no. I knew I was coming home to a cold, dark house. The scramble to get everything picked up in time for darkness would begin, the rush to consider dinner and its few simple ingredients. In no time the house would go from gray, to purple to black. The twins would get lost behind a stairwell or an end table "Where's Harry? Where's Lucy?" A diaper would need to be changed, by flashlight, and then the bundling of four layers would ensue.

Just then a utility-truck of some kind passed me. I'd started to spot them as though some kind of mirage--could it be? A repairman? An angel? To rescue us from our darkness? Was it even real? It barreled along, its turn signal on. Where would he turn? My plan was to catch up with him, to flag him down and see where he was headed and if he had any prognosis for my street. "Sunshine State Electric" read the sign on the truck's door. As quickly as I reached him, he turned down the culdacac across the street from my house.

That's when I saw two of my neighbors, laughing and smiling. My heart raced. Could it be?

One of them spotted me.

"He said it will be about an hour and a half," she said. "He's never seen snow!" Clearly, she felt celebratory too.

I instantly loved these Florida electrical crew snow virgins. I was giddy-filled with more hope than I'd had in ten days.

Thirty minutes later, as I held Lucy in my arms and watched the men work on the street outside my picture window, the lights in my living room and kitchen flashed on, then off, then back on again. The whole house whirred back to life. Digital numbers on appliances blinked yellow, green and blue. The furnace kicked on. Leo and Ellie, in the backyard playing in the snow, rushed to the back door, clamoring to come in, pink cheeked and with enormous grins.

"Mommy! The lights are ON!" Ellie squealed. "Do we get to have our "The Electricity is Back on Party?" (I'd promised this event,  which would entail pink and chocolate frosted cupcakes and the wearing of Halloween costumes, the ones the kids never even got to wear, because of the storm).

Leo jumped up and down and flapped his arms so high he could have ascended to the second floor of the house.

Life, as we'd known, was back.

Losing It

Surveying some of Sandy's damage, October 31, 2012.

First, the disclaimer. I know we were incredibly lucky. I know there are so many people who have it worse than we do. We are lucky the structure of our home was unscathed and that no major trees came down. We have our lives, for goodness sake. Some people were not so fortunate.

But. We are on our tenth day without power. Without heat or electricity. Did I mention there is a nor'easter forecasted for this afternoon? The kicker with that? The workers who are scrambling to reinstate power to those who are still without, will have to stop once the storm hits. Not to mention the possibility that people who have power might lose it again. I think if that happened, I would just drive myself straight to the closest mental hospital. I mean, really.


Even during the day, the house doesn't seem all that light.

I want to cry. I'm wondering around in a perpetual fog and feel stretched so thin that it's as though if I stood side ways I'd be transparent. I'm not sleeping well. I lie awake and think of those cold little babies in their seven layers. My spirit feels like it's being slowly crushed. I know this is irrational but the prospect that the power will come back is starting to feel out of reach, impossible. When I hear of friends getting their power restored, I am thrilled for them and don't begrudge them their power, but I am envious. I don't think: Why them? I think, Why not them AND Us?

Erin was able to download a movie on the iPad (she had to do it in the city, our signal at home is too weak right now) the other day and it was as if the heavens had parted. By the way, according to Leo and Ellie  The Secret of the Wings is not to be missed.

One bright spot in all of this: I will admit that I sort of love not having a TV (that is of course until the kids go to bed and I want to watch My Shows--Oh wait, there's another bright spot! Think of all the TV I have saved up to watch! Weee!.) Without a television, the kids are forced to be creative. They draw, they play "Animal Hospital" and "Fix the Toys"--you should have seen Ellie making casts out of white printer paper, for all the stuffed animals. They come up with complicated scenarios: "Leo!" Ellie calls, "Let's play Fairies!" And we all know about Leo's love of dress-up. There has been plenty of that.

The only reason we are able to stay in the house is that our neighbor (who inexplicably, has power--that's another kicker, most of the houses on our street have power restored) offered to plug in an extension cord to his outlet, so we're stringing one to our electric fireplace. Of course we're not able to keep that overnight (hello, fire hazard), so it is getting very cold in our bedrooms. The daytime temperature in the house hovers around fifty-eight degrees. We wear many, many layers.


Thankfully, our gas stove works (we turn on the gas and then light it with a match). We plowed through our supply of frozen pizza in the first few days. And yes, in case you were wondering, you can heat pizza on the stovetop (see above).

Some good news? The kids finally went back to school yesterday after missing seven days. As you can imagine, we were all thrilled. I usually pack their lunches (which they prefer) but since we are dealing with some rather extraordinary circumstances, had counted on them having school lunch until life goes back to normal. Food has been tricky, we have a cooler packed with ice (which at this point seems silly--I could just save the trouble and store the food outside in the freezing temperatures.) I've been doing a little shopping every day but am certainly not in my usual Bento lunch box form.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I got the email from the school district yesterday afternoon saying there would be no school lunch available today.

In the end, I was able to cobble together two passable lunches. I think I will always remember Election Night 2012 as the one in which  I listened to the returns on the radio and packed lunches by candle light, while I dined on Cheese Nips and wine. Try not to be jealous.

Last night Poor Erin got caught in hours of traffic coming home. Why? Because there was a downed wire on the turnpike. Of course there was. It feels like the End Of Days around here lately. Like, if it can go wrong, it will.

I keep thinking how easy life will feel once we get power back. But I did not need this reminder of how wonderful modern conveniences are (I already loved my dish washer and practically want to make out with my extra large HE washer and dryer). That reminds me. The laundry that has accumulated? Oh my goodness. It is epic.

"Why do we have to go to school?" Ellie asked this morning. "There's no power."

I explained to her that while we still don't have power, her school does. "It will be warm at school! And there will be lights!" I practically cheered. Lights and heat! Imagine the novelty.

"But why don't WE have power?" she asked.

Yes, it could be so much worse.

But I'm still waiting for it to get better.

I called our town mayor today. I call the electric company every day. I wish I had a good answer. If you'll forgive the pun, I feel so incredibly powerless.

Safe, Cold, Still in the Dark, But Grateful

We are emerging from the Hurricane Sandy fog. Still without power (today marks day eight). Which means no heat. Which means our upstairs (bedrooms) goes down to about 55 degrees tonight.

Luckily, the park didn't lose power.

But. We are safe. Our house is safe. Which, as everyone knows by now, is more than can be said for a great many people. And so for that I am of course very grateful. Complaining about no heat or lights seems petty in the light of the many heartbreaking stories that have come out of Hurricane Sandy.


Although New York was without subways for several days, there was no shortage of hot dogs.

I'm still processing everything. I have a lot of stories. More to come, soon.