Distracted Mommy: 5,000 Watts of Generator Love

His name is Husky, but I call him Chunky, partly because of his rotund figure, his squarish face. I know he’s a male because he makes loud belching noises, chugging and sputtering without apology.

Besides, Chunky suits him as a name, because he cost us a chunk of change.

When the power went out for us on Sunday, , we opened our garage and there he sat, looking forlorn and forgotten. He’s our faithful fire engine red generator, purchased last year out of desperation after we lost power a few times.

Do you remember the excitement of a power outage as a kid? It meant shadow puppets on the wall with flashlights, candles; maybe some board games.

The wonder of power outages is lost to me as an adult. It means spoiled milk, melted ice cream and thawed meat. Oh yes, and crabby children. And an even crabbier Mommy.

I didn’t want to buy Chunky—I could think of so many things I’d rather drop several hundred bucks on—but he has become my favorite hunk of steel. He and his cousins were flying off shelves at hardware stores last summer, just as they are this summer. I’m just so glad we found him on a warehouse shelf and that he decided to come live with us. His heart is of pure gold—and beats on 5,000 watts of commanding power that keeps my fridge and freezer running, a few lamps and some fans. By Sunday night, after 7 hours of what would become 24 hours of powerlessness, I sat like Cleopatra in my little pool of light, surrounded by my kids, husband and panting dog. We gathered in our family room, bathed in lamplight in the cooling breeze of our box fans. We slept downstairs in our makeshift campsite, hearing the reassuring hum of our fridge and freezer keeping our little stockpile of groceries properly chilled. There would be cold milk in the morning for our cereal.

I know some are lured by the thought of a home standby generator, one that switches over to natural gas to keep all the home appliances running, even the central air conditioning.

That’s just fine. But for me, I’m loyal to my Chunky.

Chunky sits quietly in our garage, dust covering his solid paunch. He shares a corner with bicycles and partially deflated soccer balls. But when we need him, we don’t have to ask him twice. We roll him out to our driveway, where he still gleams red under his layer of dirt and grime. All he asks for is a belly full of gasoline and he roars to life.