We were all shook up. It was January of 1980. I had felt the earth go round and round under my feet. My school age children had experienced “duck and cover”. Except it wasn’t a drill. It was for real. My husband had been on the 6th floor of his office building when it swayed back and forth. After the quake was over, we gathered together at home and shared our experiences.
My three-year-old daughter explained earthquakes to us. “A Nerf is a big bird that goes under the house and goes ‘k k k k.’ and shakes the house.” (She moved her hands back and forth over each other.) “He moves his wings and shakes the house.” She paused and looked at me. “I wish someone would spank that Nerf.”
There are many things—both big or little—that have the potential to shake me up. I can be fixated on “what if’s” and worry about all the things that might happen. (Most of which probably won’t.) Or I can look at a possible scenario and decide what I can do to avoid that disaster, and I can plan my actions if that thing should occur.
Having lived through several earthquakes, we know what to do. Check on our children. Check for gas leaks. Call relatives and let them know we are safe. We also have a plan for “if there is a fire” in our home. That plan was needed when we actually did have a fire. My teenage daughters knew what to do: Call 911. Stay below the smoke level. Exit the home and meet on the front driveway. The plan worked.
In the days before GPS was so readily available, I had maps in my car and home. To avoid being lost, I would write down my route, including the names of streets that were beyond my destination. That way if I missed a turn, I would know that I had gone too far. When our family went on long car trips with our children, I could anticipate that they would be bored. So, I packed snacks and simple toys. I often took a book that I could read to them. We all remember the trip when we read The Amazing Mrs. Pollifax.
Keeping track of seven children while being tourists was challenging. People on the trolley going to the Dinosaur National Monument in Vernal, Utah, laughed when I counted my children—one to seven. It didn’t bother me. I knew where my children were. We had a policy that if we ever got separated, the youngest person would stay put and the adults would look for them in the last place that we were all together. That worked too.
Time spent worrying about what might happen is wasted time. Unless there is an action that I might take to avoid it or handle it. Once that plan is in place, it is time to move on to other things.