We live in a wind tunnel. It must be something about the way our neighborhood sits on the hill, something about the fact that it’s a relatively new neighborhood with very few mature trees to ‘catch’ the wind, something about the way the surrounding hills are situated. All I know is that when a storm front moves in, the wind whips through our neighborhood with incredible force and lots of noise.

(Surprisingly, the sellers never mentioned this fact when we were buying our house. There was nothing on the disclosure form letting us know we should nail down anything we put in our yard.)

I could tell you stories about me being seven months pregnant, chasing boxes (which had been set out for the garbage men), garbage can lids, and flower pots down an icy road at 2 a.m., because a mighty storm had picked up and my husband was out of town. I could tell you those stories. But I won’t. Not today, anyway.

I’ll just tell you what happened two weeks ago.

It was a Wednesday night, and the four of us were enjoying some family time in the basement. The kids were running around, I was relaxing, and Chad had settled in to watch the U.S. Men’s National Soccer team play Mexico. Before I knew it, it was 7:30, time for L. to go to bed.

“Okay, kiddo. Give daddy a hug and a —”

Darkness. And Silence.

Just like that, the lights went out, the TV went off. The power was clearly and utterly out.

As we all stumbled up the stairs, we quickly realized something: the cold front predicted by the local weathermen had arrived in full force.

The wind was howling around our house like a hurricane. Our wind chimes were clanging and banging against the house. And the entire neighborhood was dark.

Somewhere, a tree had gone down, or a telephone pole had toppled, but surely the power company was handling things.

We figured it would all be resolved in half an hour or so.

But we figured wrong.

I decided to let L. stay up a little later, since he was a bit concerned about the fact that it was “very, very, very dark!” We lit candles, and then we did something that amused me.

If you guessed D, you are correct.

C. went to get his new-to-him Palm and keyboard. L. requested “his iPod” which is really my iPod, and asked to watch some Wow Wow Wubbzy video podcasts. Chad got out his portable speakers and we plugged in another iPod, putting on an audiobook (Rikki Tikki Tavi) for all to enjoy.

And we all settled in to enjoy the technology. At least until the batteries ran out.

Look — here are my kids, in the dark, with their electronic devices all aglow:

Clearly, we are not cut out for pioneer living.

The closest thing to any kind of old-fashioned living we did was this: Chad picked up one of our candles and headed to the basement to check on things. And since I was suddenly struck by the thought that he reminded me of Charles Ingalls when he was holding a candle, I asked, “Where are you goin’, Pa?”

Chad was not amused. But L. thought it was hilarious, and at least once a day since then, he bursts out with “Goin’, Pa!” and giggles hysterically.

The power did not come back on for about 10 more hours. Chad and C. slept fine. L. and I…not so much. Howling winds and lack of heat made L. restless. And as for me, well I’m just crazy. I laid awake much of the night, convinced that the power would come back on any second now, and I’d need to go around the house turning off lights and re-setting clocks. So I stared at the ceiling, waiting, and waiting, and waiting… and finally got about 90 minutes of sleep before the power came back on for good early the next morning.

We were all glad to have electricity again. It meant we could have warm showers, toaster waffles, and a functional garage door.

And, of course, we would be able to recharge our electronic gadgets.