It was one of those mornings we all know about. Complete chaos and and multiple trips to different schools, finishing up homework, signing papers, and realizing I hadn't gotten myself ready to go to work. Everybody was late and I forgot my cell phone.
I came home a little early feeling sick. One of my colleagues is a little sensitive about being around sick people. Something about low white blood cells and leukemia. I was greeted with the electronic voice on my answering machine, "You have two new messages." The secretary at the school had called an hour and half before to inform me that my 9 year old son was throwing up. After frantically searching for 10 minutes, I finally found that my mother had been contacted and he was safely at her house.
I called my mom. She calmly informed me that she had picked him up and taken him to her house where she made chicken noodle soup served with saltines. He told me the sordid story on the telephone of standing in line for lunch and throwing up just before he got his food. Being 9 years old, he added the color and consistency then said, "Are you laughing?" I tried not to because regurgitation is a very serious issue in the 3rd grade. Especially in the lunchroom.
My mom got on the phone. She didn't want me to pick him up yet. She told me that it was privilege to take care of him. That's the kind of mother I have. That's the kind of mother she's always been. She sees it as privilege to be called in times of need.
Two hours later, my dad picked up my 11 year old daughter from school and brought her and her brother home. He thinks it is a privilege to pick them up from school every day. They can walk. The school is close by. But wants to do it.
Who is the privileged one in this family? Me.
I came home a little early feeling sick. One of my colleagues is a little sensitive about being around sick people. Something about low white blood cells and leukemia. I was greeted with the electronic voice on my answering machine, "You have two new messages." The secretary at the school had called an hour and half before to inform me that my 9 year old son was throwing up. After frantically searching for 10 minutes, I finally found that my mother had been contacted and he was safely at her house.
I called my mom. She calmly informed me that she had picked him up and taken him to her house where she made chicken noodle soup served with saltines. He told me the sordid story on the telephone of standing in line for lunch and throwing up just before he got his food. Being 9 years old, he added the color and consistency then said, "Are you laughing?" I tried not to because regurgitation is a very serious issue in the 3rd grade. Especially in the lunchroom.
My mom got on the phone. She didn't want me to pick him up yet. She told me that it was privilege to take care of him. That's the kind of mother I have. That's the kind of mother she's always been. She sees it as privilege to be called in times of need.
Two hours later, my dad picked up my 11 year old daughter from school and brought her and her brother home. He thinks it is a privilege to pick them up from school every day. They can walk. The school is close by. But wants to do it.
Who is the privileged one in this family? Me.
I've got one of those mothers too...but for all of her wonderfulness (and she is), she still makes me bonkers from time to time! Hope you don't get the gom-boo too!
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