Prediction:

Either a) my mother hasn't read the previous post yet, or b) she read it and passed out, clonking her head on the desk on the way down, and my father hasn't found her yet.

Because I haven't received the phone call in which she will tell me every single thing that could possibly go wrong with the trees, the roof, the insurance, the repair, the neighbor, the basement, and maybe a few other things I haven't thought of yet. I let her handle all the doom and gloom, and I focus on things like "Since our neighbors across the street have had no power since 6pm yesterday and we're babysitting the salvaged contents of their refrigerator, how many groceries can I snitch from their stash without being noticed? Not that I would, of course, but how many slices of cheese would it take to go from a 'Huh, didn't I have more than that?' to a 'Damn, you can't trust anyone anymore'?"

Now, if they'd just get the power back on at Liza's school so I can get her out of my hair for a couple hours, things would be peachy-keen around here. Except for the giant yardsale sign that's nailed and duct-taped to my roof, of course, and the huge pile of debris that used to be my side yard.