In 2004, a tornado hit our house and nearly knocked it down.
Okay, not a literal tornado with swirling, wind-fueled debris brought on by adverse weather conditions. Rather, it was one of my own wind-fueled words brought on by the dangerous combination of too little sleep and too much frustration.
And maybe too much caffeine.
When I cup my hands onto the windows of our families’ life at that time, I see more specific things fueling my storm, things such as:
The stress of caring for three little ones largely by myself while my husband worked crazy long hours.
Loneliness because I had not yet been able to make friends in our new place of residence. (This was during the “desperate woman seeks friends” era).
And the clincher: a strong inability to be thankful.
And so the storm within me simmered and brewed until that fateful Sunday afternoon when a surprise rainstorm blew through town and doused our plans to visit an outdoor festival. My husband, always having more work to do than time to get it done, announced he would use some of our extra time at home to wrap up a project. And that’s when my disappointment at not getting to enjoy family time outside and my frustration over facing another afternoon like all the others rotated tighter and tighter ’til I threw a fit of epic proportions.