Thursday, December 4, 2008

Part and parcel of the mother gig

That's a line I say to people who ask me why do I do this or why do I do that. It beats having to go into long explanations about love and sacrifice to someone that I know isn't going to get it or at a time when I know that I will go into sarcastic mode if I go into long explanations. " So, there I was in my kitchen minding my own business, cooking a bunch of fantastic tasting food to give away to anyone who needed it when the phone rang." That's how I would start out the story of my Tuesday if I was inclined to write a story about it.
I was indeed in my kitchen minding my own business when the phone did ring. It was my 20 year old son Jason calling from college. If it wasn't for caller ID and the fact that he called me "mom" I would never have known that it was my son on the line. This is significant because this is the son who tells me that "he has been taking care of himself for ______ months" (fill in the blank). Basically he can do it himself. It's what I call the "grown man manifesto". The more they protest the harder they fall, this is a case in point.
Anyway, I digress. With a barely there voice he lists his symptoms and then comes the coup de gras, the magic line, the words that lets every mother know that her son is still in need of her at least some of the time, "what do I do".
Long story short, after a bunch of phone calls, Doug and I drove two hours to school to get him and took him to the hospital emergency room. Five hours later we find out that he is severly dehydrated, has a sinus infection, and strep along with a migraine headache probably caused by the sinus infection.
So home comes my "grown up" son to be taken care of by mom.
So, when asked why I drove four hours to pick up my son and brought him home in the middle of a very busy day for me, why did I spend five hours in the ER with him, and why am I taking care of him now? My answer: It's all part and parcel of the mother gig. I love the dude and of course I would do that for him. Wouldn't you?

No comments: