My Blackout Wish

Paul Bunyan was in a bad mood. The freight trains kept rolling up the valley, making his hard work dance in the 80 mile an hour gusts. His wood shed swirling in the snow. The pieces of metal roofing keeping his woodpiles dry flew like large black crows to the tops of trees. The alpaca tent flapped in the breeze, leaving the animals sitting in snow drifts up to their backs. He raced to fix it all, only to come back to the homestead to find the grill pulled mercifully off the porch, it lay on the ground in rusted pieces and his beautiful red pines laying lateral. Paul Bunyan was in a bad mood.

Luckily for us the kids were at school and we could sit and listen to the trains race past and watch the tamarack tree sway like some drunken sailor. But when they arrived home and what, "no power?". We watched as the transformer lit up a fourth of July firework display, right in front of us, free, no admission and POP.

But who would have thunk that as darkness invaded the spawn got lost in the corners of the house with their headlamps on and they clamored to sit on each other's laps by the fire to have Claire read to them and at dinner, which miraculously made its way from pasta water to paper plate, they gave thanks (by the nature of eating dinner by candlelight, which we only do on Thanksgiving) for:

"I'm thankful Claire let us read with her," said Timmy.
"I'm thankful Claire read to us," said Auggie.
"I'm thankful I could read to the boys," said Claire.

And they were all thankful for having an excuse, finally, to not flush the toilet or wash their hands after going pee. And for having candles in their rooms.

But Paul Bunyan was still in a bad mood two days later when we arrived home last night to find out that it was all still dark. But by 9 p.m. the help arrived.



And they shined their little light on us.




And they made the darkness go away by replacing a small little fuse. Hmm. Paul Bunyan wished he could have done that.

But when the lights came on last night and I saw the mountain of dishes in the sink and the scum in the toilets and the detritus all over the house, it made me want to sit in the dim light again, and in the quiet, and knit by the whistling Hearthstone.



And so I did. And I left the Polly Pocket's farm equipment and the remnant of the party Polly was having with the cows sitting in the corner hoping that the kids might put their headlamps on tonight when it's dark and play with each other like there is no other option. Just as long as they flush the toilet and wash their hands when they are done.