I had just put on my pajamas when I heard the sirens blaring through mounted speakers up and down the streets of Boulder.

It was late morning, but almost all my other clothes were dripping wet. It was either put on my jammies or my suit.

I had been in Boulder since midnight, staying at my son Hunter’s house near the university and planning to attend the DFMie award ceremony in Denver starting at noon. But at 7 a.m. I woke up smack in the heart of the biggest news story in the nation, and had set out and do my journalist thing.

It was raining, and the Today Show said Boulder Dam had broken.

My mom was panicking from Redlands. She was watching the news.

“Please don’t try to go to Denver,” she texted.

I texted my executive editor to tell him I would have to miss the award ceremony, where I was to be recognized as the Journalist of the Year for Small Daily Newspapers, nationwide.

He told me to get my butt out there. I chuckled and changed into those dry jammies.

That’s when the sirens went off.

I lived in Boulder for several years, having gone to college, married and started my family there. I recognized those sirens.

In 1997 when my kids were 2 and 4 the sirens rang out. I worked at the Daily Camera then (now my sister paper), and called the newsroom to ask if I should get on my roof. The sky had turned dark.

No, there were tornadoes touching down in town, the news assistant told me, a block from my house. Get into the basement.

Fine system where the same sirens that mean get as high as you can mean get as low as you can, I thought.

The sirens have a potent emotional effect. I can keep calm and carry on, but give me an aural assault and I must panic.

So there I was with sopping hair and flannel legwear and everyone’s cell phones beeped with a text alert: “Wall of water coming down Boulder Canyon. Get to high ground NOW!”

It was the uppercase “now” that got me going. Professionals do not generally put words in all caps.

I got an odd chemical surge. I was on journalist Adrenalin from the morning, and that dumped out to make room for the mommy Adrenalin. I had to get my boy to safety.

Twenty he may be, but the experience of hustling him to a less dangerous place was the same for me as scooping his 4-year-oldness and running under the house -- same town, same child, same blaring soundtrack of alarm.

I grabbed my duffelbag and yelled “Get in the car!” As I ran to the door I grabbed the dog by the collar. The kids jumped in the front seats and we were off. I was tweeting the whole way.

By the time we were in Superior the sky was blue, the ground was dry and Hunter was commenting on where the namer of the town got off, what with Boulder right there.

I got a tweet from CNN asking for the story behind my tweets. We connected by phone and the reporter said he wanted to put my experience on Piers Morgan that night. He’d call me back.

With easy driving the rest of the way, I put my makeup on in the back seat and wriggled into my suit. Nothing to be done with my hair.

We got to the Denver Post about two hours late and I sat in the auditorium letting the day crash around in my head.

I listened to advice and experiences from amazing journalists and reflected on the coincidences of the day -- my being far from home on business, but with my son during his emergency, in a town I knew with a paper I’m connected to. Thank goodness I wasn’t watching from 1,000 miles away like my mom was.

The last hour of the event was the plaque giving. Sarah and Hunter showed up and we all sincerely oohed and ahhed learning what the awardees from more than 800 news products across the nation were being honored for. More than 250 people had been nominated and 32 were named winners.

We had all been notified in June, except for the one who would be named overall Journalist of the Year.

The ceremony was being broadcast online, and I got a text from my parents that they were watching from home. It was my dad’s birthday.

Finally DFM editor Steve Buttry read my nomination.

I squeezed Hunter’s hand and made my way to the wing of the stage. My executive editor, Michael Anastasi, wrote such an eloquent and exciting assessment I think it deserved its own award. In fact, I think my award was really an award for the best written nomination.

I felt dazed and touched and grateful in equal parts as I read 45 seconds of tips to other journos I had been instructed to compose.

I sneaked in a statement of gratitude for Anastasi’s assessment that I believe a paper’s job is to serve the community. I do, and it means a lot to me that he noticed.

Back at my seat I got a message from my husband, who was unable to watch at work but was rushing home. I was texting him back that I had already gotten my award and there was no point in tuning in, when people started standing up all around me, looking at me and applauding.

They had named the big winner, and in the echo of my memory I could hear “...it’s Toni Momberger.”