There was a wind storm in the middle of the night. Our windows were open, so I woke at 2 a.m. to the sound of our bedroom door going

BANG! Swing. BANG! Swing.

I got up and shut the windows. My husband didn’t stir.

I went back to bed.

I started thinking about the kids’ windows, so I got up to shut those. From my son’s room, I could hear the awning on the back patio flapping in the gusts as if it were about to lift off the roof and fly away. (Which did actually happen once before.)

I went back to my room. I shut off the alarm.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My husband didn’t stir.

I went downstairs, into the backyard, and wound in the awning, which sounded like

Ee EEE Ee EEE Ee EEE.

This woke up my son.

MAAAAAAMMMMMAAAAAAA! MAAAAAMMMMAAAA!

Once he was settled, I turned the alarm back on.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

After that, I lay in bed for a while, waiting for all the beeping in my brain to stop.

In the morning, my husband said, “I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure you didn’t dream the wind storm?”

And then I had to kill him.