I was awakened early this morning by my husband having a seizure. I swear that's what it was. Except he started talking, asking me what's going on. Even in my groggy state of mind, I knew that people can't talk when they're seizing. So my next thought was that it must be one of those baby crib vibrators going off - the kind you can clip to a crib and gyrate baby to sleep. Except I don't sleep in a crib, and there was no vibrator when I went to sleep. And I could hear other things in my bedroom vibrating, not just my four-poster. So I stumbled out of bed and clumsily walked over to the wall, to see why the mirror was shaking. In the dark. Like I could see anything anyway! But it made sense to me. That's when Dan said, "Earthquake."
I said, "No." Because that just didn't make sense. Seizures make more sense. I went to the bathroom to try to wake up, and heard one of Jackson's toys rattling. I climbed back in bed, and Dan said he was going to go investigate what had happened. I just mumbled, "Okay" and fell back asleep. When Dan came back to bed, he told me there had been an earthquake. Turns out it was a 5.2 on the Richter scale. Wow.
I've never felt an earthquake, and it's pretty weird and disconcerting. Wobbly and rhythmic. All day I've been wondering how the house looked from outside while it was shaking, or maybe what our neighborhood pool looked like, or the trees. I wish it had been during the day so I could observe what happens during a (thankfully mild and not very destructive) earthquake.
Thank God for my hero of a husband. Anytime there's a big storm or nature's wrath lets loose, he gets out of bed to investigate the possibility of a tornado or an earthquake. I blissfully and groggily drift back to sleep, knowing he's fighting the danger for me. I trust that he'll protect me (and wake me!) if it gets too serious. Thanks, sugar!