A mama's day...

sometimes starts at 4 a.m., when the wind and rain thrashing around outside wake her and send her scurrying downstairs to check the internet and discover a tornado warning has been issued for her area and leaves her wondering exactly if and when she should wake her houseguests and preschooler and get them to a safe area of the house.

Then she lies awake for an hour, listening for the sound of a rumbling train (i.e., tornado), before falling asleep for a few more hours because her son does something he never does - waits until after 8 a.m. to come out of his room.  Still recovering from a head cold, she appreciates the extra sleep.

Her husband makes waffles and everyone enjoys a leisurely breakfast.

And then, the electricity goes off - for four hours.

During which time, she and her husband seem to be having problems communicating, resulting in sharp tones and bickering.

Until they notice the wet spots forming on the ceiling of the TV room.  (And learn that the gas oven actually does not work when the electricity is off.)

But she has little time to contemplate all this, as she has a consultation appointment with an oral and maxillofacial doctor about having an already twice-filled wisdom tooth extracted.  She makes her way into town, through flooded roads and windswept countryside.

When she sees the doctor, though, he tells her he can actually extract the tooth right then and there if she only wants a local anesthetic, head cold and all.  She hems and haws.  She waffles and wavers and ultimately decides it would be nice to not have to wait another three months before finding the time to actually have the tooth pulled using general anesthesia.

Barely an hour later, she's minus one tooth and making her way to Target with prescriptions in hand, gauze stuffed in the back right corner of her mouth.  Her husband and father-in-law meet her at Target to change vehicles, so they can take the truck to Lowe's to get supplies for repairing the leaking roof - supplies that include a 32-foot ladder.

Once she's home, she rests with preschooler on the couch before husband returns and proceeds to clamor up to the roof - while it's raining.  She wrings her hands and regrets arguing with him in the morning and really hopes he doesn't come tumbling off that roof.  She decides, despite recovering from oral surgery and a head cold, that making chicken pot pie for dinner would take her mind off the precarious work her husband's doing and give everyone a very comforting meal to enjoy once dry and safe inside.  Which, thankfully, everyone does.

She eats three big helpings, famished after not having eaten anything since breakfast.  Cleaning duties are delegated to others and she sinks into a warm bubble bath.  But her day isn't over yet.

The toothless hole in her gum continues to seep blood.  Her mother-in-law ends up with an awful stomachache, most likely caused by her "comforting" pot pie.

She does what she can for MIL before finally giving up and sinking into her own bed.  The saving grace at the end of this long day (besides a new episode of Modern Family recorded the previous night)?  One of the prescriptions written by the doctor earlier that afternoon - Percocet.  She pops one and floats on it for most of the night.   And learned Percocet is not for waking hours or when she's alone with her preschooler.  But works pretty good after a very long, twisty, curvy day.