Last night, at about 2 a.m., we had an earthquake. By earthquake standards, it was mild. In fact, their were two.

I was up because Coco was throwing up. She came home from school with a fever and starting throwing up not long after. She continued throwing up - here and there - literally everywhere a few more times until she woke again just before the earthquake.

My daughter is a difficult sick person. One habit she’s gained is screaming my name out loud whenever she feels pain, which is often. She also wants me to sit with her until she gets better, which could be a few days.

As she drifted back to sleep last night, the bed shook. Whenever we have an earthquake, it takes a second to be sure it isn’t my imagination. The first one didn’t last long. There was a pause, and the second started. The bed shook; my eyes shot open; and I began to weigh whether or not to get the kids out of bed and run out into the courtyard. I

It kept going. I placed one foot on the floor. Then, it finally stopped.

Coco didn’t feel a thing. She’d dosed off. I gently began to depart from the bed so I could return to mine.

Mami?

The kid can sleep through an earthquake, but the moment I make a move, she’s all over it.