I would never want my mother to think that I wouldn’t take her advice and use her sometimes insanity as blog fodder. So here we go. Let me preface this by saying I love my mother, and I wouldn’t make nearly as much fun of her if I didn’t. Also, she told me to write this, so it’s really on her.
On Thursday night, I went to my semi-regular dinner with friends here in town. They live slightly out in the country, so Dale had no cell service. My phone was dying, so I had it plugged it in. I also felt the need to DJ some Regina Spektor on the drive out there, so my phone was jacked in. And I left it in there since I had taken my knitting in with me (finished that scarf, by the way).
Prior to this, I had made a half-joking tweet/FB post on Twitter that said something to the effect that “My legs hurt so bad from CrossFit that I would gladly pay someone to walk Micah for me.” I didn’t give it a second thought, and I figured if anybody wanted more information slash wanted to volunteer to walk Micah, they’d text me.
What a silly boy I am.
We left dinner at around 8:45, and the green notification light was blinking on my phone. My notifications bar was full. Five missed calls. One voicemail. A slew of texts. Now, I like to think that I’m well-liked, but I am never in that heavy contact with people. And then I saw that all of the voicemails/missed calls are from my mother.
[pullquote align=”center” textalign=”center” width=”100%”]That time: 17 missed calls in 6 hours because she was convinced I was dead in a ditch.[/pullquote]
I have an abiding paranoia that one day, something terrible will go wrong in my family, and I will be notified by a phone call that I will miss. I believed it was a very real possibility that my whole family would perish in a car crash on the way to see my capstone in college because they were all in the same car and that would’ve been a great cosmic time to wipe the slate clean. How morbid, right? Obviously that didn’t happen. But the last time my mother gave me this many missed calls in a row, I forgot to tell her that I was extending a trip by a day and that I’d be back in Tifton late. That time: 17 missed calls in 6 hours because she was convinced I was dead in a ditch.
So, I called my mother back, completely expecting tales of rush to the hospital, someone has had a heart attack/stroke/attack of dropsy.
My mother had convinced herself that my back pain had gotten so bad, I had disappeared. She had sent my father (recovering from a gout attack) to walk Micah, and he couldn’t get anyone to come to the door. Since Dale’s car wasn’t there, they thought I had perhaps passed out in the back. She tried to call Dale, but because he had no service, it went straight to voicemail. My dad could hear MIcah barking, but couldn’t get me to come to the door. So my mother made my sister come home to see if I was there. She reported that I was not, so my father was then made to go to the hospital to look for Dale’s car in case we had gone to the ER without calling. When I finally called, my mother was getting ready to shower and put makeup on at 9 PM in case she needed to head to the hospital (because one must be presentable in a crisis).
I received all of this information and tried to hold back my laughter. My mother wanted me to feel comforted that if I was murdered/sick/dying/dead/missing, I would be looked for. Unlike the guy who was murdered in the Arias trial (which my mother has been obsessed with) who wasn’t found for like a year or something.
So I went by the house and gave her some computers. She gave me a cupcake. And peace was restored in panic land.
‘Til next time,