That'll Never Happen

“Oh, honey, we don’t really get earthquakes around here.  Don’t you worry.”

These are the words that I spoke to my 9-year-old son a couple weeks ago.  He asked me if we’d ever had an earthquake.  I told him that they didn’t happen in Virginia, although we did have a mild one several years ago when he and Little Meems were babies.  A very mild one.  And that's the ONLY time EVER in my WHOLE life of living in Virginia that we've had one.  

Seeing that he thinks I'm pretty old, he was mollified.

So what happens?  A 5.8 earthquake.  Right where I told him there wouldn’t be one.  Just two days AFTER I'd told him not to worry about ever having one.

He and his siblings were playing outside.  My husband was working from home while I was at work.  As soon as he realized what was happening, he raced out to them to make sure they were OK.

“Yeah, we’re fine.”  Quizzical looks.

“Did y’all feel that?  Did you feel that shaking?”

“Yes.”

“That was an earthquake!!  Are you all alright?”

“THAT was an EARTHquake??”

“Yes, pretty crazy huh?”

A shrug indicating that was really no big deal, and then back to playing, completely unfazed that what I told them would never happen actually happened.  Not bothered in the least.  No.
Big.  Deal.

Until I got home.  And of course, I was met with…

“YOU said we’d never have an earthquake…”