. . . and I told my son to go back to bed.
Having grown up in California, and weathered more than my share of earthquakes, I tend to take them a bit more easily than the rest of my family. We had a rule when I was a kid: if nothing falls off the shelves, get over it. It wasn't big enough to talk about. If things fall off the shelves, go out in the driveway and sit in the car for awhile. Talk about it. Then get over it.
Not much drama was allowed around earthquakes when I was growing up.
So when we had a small earthquake in the wee hours of the morning the other day, I was ready to roll over and go back to sleep. I thought perhaps my kids had even slept right through it. But then I heard my New York born-and-raised son saying, in a less than manly-man voice, "Mom? Dad? was that an EARTHQUAKE?"
"Yup." I said, "But it was a little one. Go back to bed."
I'm a Mean Mommy.