A First For Everything

“Your son doesn’t feel well and needs to go home.”

My first phone call to pick up a sick kid. I got to the school in record time, only to walk in on a happy little boy who looked up and said, “Hi Mommy!”

“Hi Mommy?” I asked, visibly disappointed. “I expected a kid on his deathbed. What’s wrong?”

“My tummy hurts.”

“All right, sweetie,” I said, remembering others were watching, “let’s go to the doctor.”

His tummy was fine. While we were there, I thought about my low platelet count and wondered if my vegetarian boys might be borderline anemic as well. Let’s get tested.

“Owwwwww!!!!!!” my son yelled after getting his finger pricked.

Tears poured out and I felt bad for him. Not too bad, just a little. Turns out his iron level is fine. My parents will be disappointed, I’m sure; they’re dying to serve meatloaf again.

“Mommy, that hurt really, really bad,” he said.

I can smell a teachable moment a mile away.

“Well,” I said, wiping away his tears, “when you come home from school, we have to find out what’s wrong. That’s the way it goes.”

The doctor found an ear infection. So that’s something. I started my child on antibiotics and put him into bed.

“I can play when my brother comes home, right?”

“No, when we’re sick, we stay in bed all day.”

“This isn’t as great as I thought it would be.”

A few hours later, we went back to get his brother. Normally I pick them up in the cafeteria after carpoolers have gone home. Instead, I waited forty-five minutes in a line of empty SUVs and minivans, before his teacher came over and said,

“Oh, I’m sorry. Your son took the bus home.”

The bus?

“No he didn’t,” was all I could think to say.

My heart threatened to go on strike at any moment.

As his teacher talked, I kept thinking about how I told the boys to never, EVER get on a yellow ‘hound. I told them to chain themselves to the nearest pole and demand someone call me immediately. Was my precious son on a bus somewhere, scared and confused? What if he got off at some random stop and wandered around a neighborhood and ran into a pervert and OH MY GOD!?

“What kind of bus did he take?” I asked. “We live out of the area. How is it possible he just got on a bus?”

“Wait a minute. Is he in aftercare?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry! That’s what I meant, then. He’s just in his normal routine. If it’s aftercare, then he’s in the cafeteria. I’ll go get him right now!”

When I saw my little boy come around the corner with two teachers, a paraprofessional, and assistant principal behind him, I could finally breathe again. I thanked everyone for their concern, tried not to scream about lost brain cells, and drove home. I actually felt proud to have held it together.

The next morning, my oldest sold me out. When he walked into the classroom, he looked at his brother's teacher and said,

“Yesterday was a mess. When you went to find my brother, mommy said she was going to have a stroke.”

I’m just glad he didn’t repeat all the curse words.