This Is A Test

This is a test. This is only a test. If this were a real emergency, you would be screaming by now. If this were a real emergency, you would be jumping out of your seat and running around in circles as you tried to determine what to save first before fleeing the scene. Kids, yes. Photos? Sure, but is it safe to go upstairs to get them? What a stupid place to keep your most valuable memories! Oh no! Your computer! Everything is on there! Can you save it? Don't forget to wear shoes. Of course you didn't leave them lying by the back door. They're in the closet under the stairs. Tennis shoes? No, not without socks. No heels. Geez! Hurry it up! This is a real emergency, right? Comfortable shoes, warm, easy to slip on. Get out there! Your kids are already on the sidewalk, waiting for you. But hold on a minute, do they have their shoes, or a coat? What if the house burns down? You'll need your cell phone. And a charger. Car keys. And license. Okay, do you think you have everything you need?

But what if the kids are hungry? What if they're not outside yet? You go to the foot of the stairs and yell their names. Nothing. But does that mean they're already in the meeting place, or that they're passed out in their beds - or in the basement. Better go check. You run upstairs, dropping the pile of coats and shoes at the foot of the stairs. The first door is closed. You reach for it slowly - so if it's hot you don't burn your hand - but then you realize that if it is hot, you are still going in there if your child is in there, and you push your way in. The window is open, and the room is empty. A mess, as usual, but otherwise normal. You suspect that your child may have been smoking; why else would the door be closed and the window open? But you can't think about that right now. You rush out and move on to the next room. That door is open, and the few toys sprawled on the floor tell you that either they left it there earlier in the day or they left their game abruptly when they heard the alarm. You hope for the latter and step out, then remember a third possibility - that someone is in the bathroom. And if this is an emergency, and despite needing to use the toilet, if your child still ran outside, someone is going to need a change of clothes (because what could be worse than losing everything you own in a fire and being stuck in soiled clothes?). You run back into the bedroom (which has no visible signs of any smoke, flames, or any other natural disaster at the moment), and you rush to the dresser to grab some clothes. But, not knowing which kid was prevented from using the bathroom, you have to get clothes for everyone. And actually, if the weather dips down much more, your children will be cold, and if your house is going to be destroyed, you really can't handle an ill child or two on top of that.

But to fit all this stuff, you're going to need a bag. So you run up to the attic (checking the door first, of course), and grab a large duffel. You run back down, three steps at a time, and slip down the last few steps. Cursing to yourself, you get up again, run back into your child's room, and randomly grab clothing from each drawer. Jeans are wonderful in any weather. A short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt should cover any weather. Three pairs of underwear, two pairs of socks, and a pair of pajamas for each kid. If they're going to be stuck in a homeless shelter, they'll be bored. So you grab a few of their favorite books, plus a couple of books they haven't read yet that you got for them hoping they'll check them out. Then you put them back because, if they've lost their home already, they won't be in the mood to read challenging books. You'll need to find the library card. But you throw in a couple books anyhow - for yourself (since you can't exactly share your romance novels with them).

You rush into your room, and grab clothes for yourself and your partner. But you have to be careful with your partner's clothes, because if they don't match, they won't be worn, even if you're all sleeping on cots in the middle of a school gym. You can't imagine how long you'll be gone, but surely a burnt down house will take some time to be rebuilt. A hairbrush, toothbrushes, toothpaste and soap. And a travel pack of shampoo. You grab a box of personal hygiene products just in case you're gone for a long time - or if it starts early because of the stress you're going through reassuring your children that their lives aren't over because life is about who you love, not about what you have, and the memories you make.

As you think about this, you are trying to zip up the duffel bag, and you realize you have room enough in there for maybe one or two photo albums. You hurry to the closet where you store all your photographs - not moving as fast now because really, the giant almost-full duffel bag is kinda heavy - and you sigh. How can you pick just one album? Maybe you can carry this box in the other hand with all the pictures that haven't made it into albums. And most of your pictures are digital now anyhow. So really you either want the pre-digitals and the ones that haven't been uploaded to the photo website. But you don't remember when you last uploaded pictures, so a lot of them could still be in the camera. But where is the camera? It must be downstairs, you think.

With that thought, you grab one of your older albums and force it into the duffel bag. You zip the bag up, yank it up onto your left shoulder, lean way to the right side to balance the weight, and walk downstairs - one step at a time as briskly as you can manage - and make it down to the bottom step, where you see the pile of jackets and shoes. You pick them up in the other hand, double check your purse for the keys you can't remember even picking up, realize you never grabbed your purse and run to grab it, dropping everything. You grab your purse, slip on your shoes, grab your keys (still hanging on the key hook by the back door), run to the giant mound, pick it all up again - duffel on left shoulder, shoes and jackets all enclosed in your own jacket and tied criss-cross sleeve to opposite bottom front corner and knotted, carried by the knot - and rush to the front door. You rush out, panting from all the weight, down the steps and along the sidewalk, all the way to the tree lawn, wear you find...nobody.

Your family is not waiting outside at the meeting spot you've all practiced and talked about every Thursday evening before going out for pizza, and again first thing every Sunday morning. You know they know the drill. You know they don't need your reminders, because you have stood outside and watched them, stopwatch in hand, as they take turns calling the drill - one child "leading" the drill each week. You've got the notebook in your office to prove it, page after page listing the date and time of the drill, the child leading it, the response time, and notes about what could be improved. You've even jotted down comments and suggestions that they've made to make the drill run more smoothly and more quickly.

And yet, you're the one who panicked. You are the one who mistakenly responded to the fire drill instead of the tornado drill. Of course! They would be down in the basement, not out on the sidewalk where they would have been swept away by the twister by now.

You look to the sky. It does look dark, but not particularly ominous. But then you realize, perhaps your children are simply running a drill - and how incredibly proud you are of them at the moment for taking the initiative to run this drill at an unscheduled time to really get you prepared. You can't be sure, however, so you head inside.

You hesitate a moment before deciding to carry your Most Important Belongings back inside (because it surely would not help to have your most prized possessions blown away if the house got razed during the tornado). You lug them back into the house, and into the basement, where you report to your safety spot - under the ping-pong table in the middle of the room, away from the windows, far from the television, and far enough away from the unused gym equipment that they couldn't topple over and land on you. To your surprise, you are alone. Your children are not there.

Now, you panic. You cannot think of anywhere else that your children could possibly be. You stop and listen. The alarm continues to sound. But its message is unclear.

Still crouched under the table, resting on your knees with your hands locked and covering the back of your head, you close your eyes. You take a deep breath. You exhale through your mouth, feeling your shoulders relax. You turn onto your side, pulling your hands forward and easing into the fetal position. You turn over to the other side and notice the sound is a little louder.

You become aware of your surroundings, and suddenly notice that your shoulder and hips are not as sore as you would expect from lying on the floor, even though it is carpeted. You feel strangely comfortable, even cozy and warm, and smile at just how nice that little bit of relaxing breathing makes you feel. You tell yourself to sign up for a yoga class if it really makes you feel this good. Perhaps a nice soak in a bubble bath would be nice after all this stress.

As you relax, you notice that your senses are heightened. The loud buzzing takes its place in the back of your awareness, and you notice happily that you don't have to panic. You can survive any disaster if you just breathe deeply and stay focused. You decide to keep the bag packed for next time (boy won't the kids be impressed?).

You try to concentrate on the sound. Where is it coming from? What type of situation is this? Medical emergency? Is that an ambulance? You still cannot figure it out, but you are calm. You have no doubt that you will be able to work it out as long as you stay relaxed.

And then you notice another sound. A voice. Coming from behind you.
"Will you turn off your alarm already?! It's Sunday, for crying out loud. Let me sleep in."