One reason I cannot determine this information for myself is, I don't understand radars. The fact that there is some red stuff over to the left of us does not answer the question of should I climb into the refrigerator.
You might not know this about Richy, but he loves him some weather. He spent 10 minutes looking at radars and called me back. "Oh yeah." he says, "It's coming."
He thinks for a minute. "Might not be any big deal. Just go to bed and check the radar when Tristan wakes up at night."
I am not convinced, asking when, exactly, do we hide under a mattress.
"Well." he says, thoughtfully, "You'll hear the roof ripping off... just keep an eye on that radar. You'll probably have plenty of warning."
"If it hits our house, I'll find a way to get back to you," he says, like Daniel Day Lewis or Keanu Reeves or something.
It ended up being only thunderstorms, but I stayed up till nearly 1, watching the radar with a Ms. Teen America Puzzled Face.
He arrived home this morning, an hour before all of Kansas City started getting their ammo and heading for their basements, as there were, according to the Twittersphere, tornados all around us. Again, I am concerned. If most of our neighbors were holding prayer vigils underground, would it maybe be smart to join them? Richy is unconvinced. "It's not like, an F5," he says.
I pulled a reversal of my usual "submissive" shtick and headed downstairs. Toby and Brynn were in the process of watching Toy Story instead of doing their schoolwork. "Hey guys!" I said cheerfully. "Let's go hang out in the basement!" They were okay with that, as long as the movie came, too.
"It's probably no big deal," says Richy. "But put on shoes. Oh yeah, you're gonna need shoes, because if it hits us, there'll be broken glass everywhere. " He wanders off to find matches or to update his Twitter or something, casually.
We hid out for a couple of hours, most of which time he was outside watching for funnel clouds. He was right, it didn't touch us. But still. Somebody has to obey the weatherman.