Apparently, we had an earthquake in Virginia yesterday. I didn’t notice because we were at Gator Water Park, and that place seems to be perpetually quaking with all the kids splashing on water slides. During one pool break though, I started getting texts from all over the U.S. asking if we were ok. We’re ok, depending on your definition.

It’s Wednesday. Matt came home yesterday and said that they might leave later today (instead of tomorrow) for their cruise, due to Hurricane Irene. They were planning to be back for Labor Day weekend, which would have worked out great, since I am running in the Virginia Beach half-marathon that weekend. Except that now they might not be back—I am told to be prepared.

I begin two full days of online work meetings today at lunch, after trying to cram all the kids’ schoolwork in. I have a presentation and will likely be expected to speak articulately through four kids entertaining themselves in the background. I am told to be prepared.

Hurricane Irene is supposed to be visiting Virginia on Sunday. My neighbor told me that she is evacuating to a hotel inland. She said if I stay to make sure I have an axe, because if there was one thing we learned from Katrina, it was have an axe. I have no idea what this means. She doesn’t realize that if I spend four days in a hotel with four kids and my storm-induced-schizophrenia suffering dog, that a hurricane will pale in comparison. My brother-in-law Chris, a Houstonian who we call Hurricane Pro around here, says in Houston, people buy water, toilet paper, and pop tarts to ride out a hurricane. I am told to be prepared—I have water, gas, flashlights, batteries, cash, and cereal—I couldn’t make myself buy a case of pop tarts, as I do not want my kids praying for hurricanes. I guess we are prepared.

And I am supposed to see my first students online on Monday. I have told my people to be prepared for me to not have power on Monday, as I’m pretty sure an axe will not provide remote wireless access for my laptop.

Sometimes, I get tired of being prepared all the time. I’m sure I will be laughing about this soon, like the time we were evacuated for wildfires in California and the military police were in the driveway, lights and sirens blazing at 3 am telling us to get out, but we couldn’t find Ransom’s monkey and we WERE NOT LEAVING WITHOUT THAT MONKEY. We drove to the Mitchells who lived across I-5 and watched with monkey as the fire raged on the hills above our house and the ash fell like snow for days.

Don’t worry. We are prepared. If you need me, I’ll be in the laundry room, buried under forty loads of laundry, and I dare Irene to come find me in there…