The sky was dark and ominous. Clouds were looming.
Tuck was playing a computer game at the kitchen table. He looked out the window.
"I need to close the windows."
"No, it's okay, kiddo. It's not raining."
"But it's going to."
"But it's not yet. And the fresh air feels nice."
"I don't want to hear the storm."
"But it's not storming yet, Tuck. Let's keep the windows open for as long as we can."
He couldn't be still for more than 15 seconds, so worried about the storm, the rain, and the open windows.
Admittedly, I was rolling my eyes a bit at this oldest son of my husband. Robb was forever prepared as a boy scout.
He installed carseats when I was six months pregnant.
He brought rattle snake salve on a family hike.
He winterized our house at the end of August.
Prepared, prepared, prepared.
He had two weather stations installed in our home, since he moonlighted as a meteorologist. He had an app on his phone for up-to-the-minute weather reports, and he always knew what the high/low of the day should be, along with the barometric pressure.
I married a scientist. And his love for weather patterns definitely helped me with the daily decisions of cute cardigans and shoes.
If the sky turned slightly grey, Robb was ready. Batten the hatches, and close all the windows.
And here sat his son, telling me the same.
When I finally conceded, he rushed around the house closing every window he could reach. And I heard him shout from my bedroom, "Mommy? Mommy! There's water on the floor in here..."
He was kind not to use a sing-songy, I-told-you-so voice.
Turns out, it was a storm of the sideways variety. The water was pouring in horizontally with such gale forces that it had soaked not only the carpet, but also eight inches of the bed.
(This is not the first time this has happened. I have long ignored the warning signs. I made Robb crazy with my nonchalance about such things.)
Oopsie daisy. Towels, please.
The thing is, Tuck was always young enough (and short enough) to be exempt from the window closing frenzy when summer storms arrived. It wasn't his job.
But he took it very seriously yesterday.
I'm not making any formal statements about theology or communication in the hereafter.
But it wouldn't surprise me very much if Robb was watching the clouds, whispering to Tuck,
"Hey, buddy, tell your mommy to close the windows.
Tell her again, Tuck.
I know. Tell her again."