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Chick Wit: Alarms and exertions

We know that last week's predicted monster winter storm did not happen. What did happen, however, was a monster winter storm between Daughter Francesca and me.

We know that last week's predicted monster winter storm did not happen.

What did happen, however, was a monster winter storm between Daughter Francesca and me.

We begin our story on a Friday night, when, as usual, I'm home working on a book. This is not a complaint. I love my job, and wintertime is writing time for authors.

We hibernate like bears, only less smelly.

While I work, I keep the TV on in my office, and during the daytime, it's tuned to CNN because I'm a news junkie.

But by Friday afternoon, I was starting to hear the alarm creep into the commentators' voices, reporting about a coming snowstorm, which got my attention because it was about to hit New York, where Daughter Francesca lives. The television was showing fast-moving white things, and the banners at the bottom of the screen were genuinely alarming if you have given birth to somebody in New York City.

What's a mother to do?

Especially for a child who's not a child anymore?

Remain Calm and Be Cool Mom.

So I played the part of Cool Mom, but it doesn't suit me.

By nightfall, I was Worried Mom, so I texted her thusly:

"Hello darling daughter, this is Captain Obvious texting you to tell you to get a lot of food in the house because you're going to get a big snowstorm. I love you very much!"

Francesca texted back, "OK, love you, too!"

So far, so good.

But then, during the late night, I began to pay more attention to the banners on the TV screen. They started as DANGEROUS STORM TO BRING WHITEOUT CONDITIONS, but I was not worrying, as Francesca does not ski.

Then they morphed to NEW YORK BRACES FOR EPIC SNOWSTORM, and I worried a little more because epic is a scary word.

When NY GOVERNOR DECLARES STATE OF EMERGENCY popped onto the screen, I got really worried because state-of-emergency is a scary phrase.

The only phrase scarier than state-of-emergency is bikini season.

I was getting more and more worried by the time we got to WORST OF MONSTER BLIZZARD ABOUT TO HIT NYC, and I completely panicked at COASTAL FLOODS AND HURRICANE-FORCE WINDS PREDICTED.

Francesca's apartment is near the river, and I was worried there was going to be another Hurricane Sandy.

So I became Hurricane Mom.

First thing in the morning, I called her, vaguely hysterical: "Honey, did you see the TV? There's going to be a big storm!"

"Don't worry, Mom," Francesca answered, too calmly for my taste.

"What are you doing? Did you go food shopping?"

"I'm working. I don't need to go food shopping. I have food in the fridge."

"But do you have canned goods?"

"Canned goods?" Francesca asked, chuckling softly. "What are you talking about?"

"Canned goods, canned goods!"

Francesca replied, "I think I have a can of beans. . . ."

"You need more beans, right away!"

"Why, what are you talking about? Please, you need to calm down."

"I can't! You need canned goods in case of a power outage! It's going to be a giant, epic, historic, emergency, monster blizzard storm!"

"They always say that."

"But they're right! This is CNN talking! Wolf Blitzer!"

"I'm OK."

"No, you're not! You're going to DIE!"

So you know where this is going.

Drama ensued.

Voices were raised.

Things were said.

Tears were shed.

Mistakes were made.

Bottom line, there was a lot of passive voice happening, which is never a good thing, whether it's a federal government or a mother-daughter relationship.

But it had a happy ending.

There was no epic winter monster blizzard storm.

I apologized to Francesca for terrorizing her.

Francesca apologized, happy that I loved her enough to terrorize her.

Meteorologists apologized for their predictions.

As for Wolf Blitzer, we're not speaking to him.