My Best Magic Trick Ever

At 7:30 p.m., on the dot, I told Babygirl, "Time for night-night." I kissed her soft cheek and placed her in her crib, along with New Dolly and Old Dolly (twins, separated at birth, but reunited by me--I found one at a Value Village, then found a new one at the local Fred Meyer and bought the new one because it was clothed), Tiger, two soft pink blankets and a heavy hand-knit baby blanket. Babygirl said, "Dolly hat?" New dolly has a hat, which Old Dolly must wear to bed. I switched the hat from New Dolly to Old Dolly and said, "Night-night, Sweetie."

On some nights, she says back to me in her baby-voice, "Night-night, Sweetie."

The love I feel for this tiny child almost suffocates me sometimes.

I close the door and flip on the fan in the bathroom for white noise because it will still be an hour or two before the boys are quiet. My husband is still gone (officiating at that wedding) and I step into my bedroom and sit on the bed and flick through a few channels, checking the Olympics, but settling on the news.

And then complete silence blankets my house.

The power was out.

The electricity very rarely goes out here. I suppose that's because most of the power lines are underground, but for whatever reason, we very rarely sit in a silent, dark house like pioneers in sod houses back in the Litte House on the Prairie Days, or like those poor post-hurricane souls in Florida.

For the first thirty minutes, my living room remained fairly bright with the waning light of day, so I sat and read (Rosie, by Anne Lamott) until I came to the end of a chapter and realized that this outage might last awhile. Better prepare.

My boys came filing out of their room, acting as if I had just done the most magnificent magic trick, making electricity vanish. I retrieved two flashlights from the laundry room--which miraculously had working batteries inside. Then I set to work lighting candles. My boys stood watching in awe, oooo-ing and awwwwww-ing with each match's s-c-r-i-t-c-h and the whoosh of flame. TwinBoyA said, "Cooooool!" as if I was a performer eating fire in a spectacular circus.

They sat at the kitchen table, staring at candle flames, holding their hands to the warmth until I said, "Don't! Don't move the candles! Do not get burned!" I'm such a kill-joy.

I washed dishes while they ate pretzels and gazed into the fire. They were actually arguing about who could stare at which candle, but fortunately, the sound of the water drowned out most of that insanity.

Then I finished the dishes and decided to clean off the avalanche of papers on the kitchen counter.

Flylady would call this a "hot-spot," that place where things just seem to collect, that spot which must be dealt with severely and swiftly less the clutter spontaneously combust. Or something like that. Darkness had fallen, so by that point, I had to lift each paper to my jarred Yankee candle (Hydrangea) to see what it was.

I remarked to the children, "You know, this is how people used to live, without electricity all the time."

TwinBoyB said, "Well, how did they keep their milk cold?"

I said, "They had cows."

TwinBoyA said, "Ewwwwwww."

TwinBoyB said, "Warm milk! Ewwwwww!"

They pondered this as they ate. I could clearly hear the "CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-MUNCH-CRUNCH" of my boys eating pretzels and it was all I could do not to stab myself in the ears with a butcher knife. Is it just me, or does the sound of mastication drive normal people insane? I kept saying foolish things like, "Would you please just stop crunching? Just eat! Quick! Don't dilly-dally! I can't stand the crunching! Argh!"

My poor children finally abandoned their pretzels and reminded me that I had candles in the living room fireplace that were unlit.

I lit those candles and the boys gathered pillows and afghans and settled in to stare at the flickering flames. I finished my project with the papers and realized it was bedtime for the kids. My favorite time of day!

I lit a candle in each bathroom so they could brush teeth and sent them to bed with a flashlight.

The silence of a house without power is so still, so loud, so weird. I borrowed a book-light from the twins and sat to read in the living room, feeling very disconnected from the outside world. Thank God for books. I was happily engrossed in the story when the buzzing started, then a hum, then clicks and purrs and lights came on and the voice of the television upstairs murmured.

The kids all came out of their darkness to say, "Mom! The power's back on!"

I said, "Yes, I know. Now, go to sleep."

How about that? My kids were perfectly entertained with flashlights and the glow of candles for an hour and a half--they did not die from not playing Nintendo and not watching television before bed. We would make horrible pioneers, though. Ewwwwww! Warm milk!