#1 – A phone call in the middle of the night is never a good thing. On a mid-September night, I fall into an easy sleep, secure in the thought that my daughter Catherine is settling into college life. A rude ring rouses me. Mother’s intuition, fueled by my overactive, overprotective gene, shoots into overdrive. I brace for bad news as my husband, Mr. Don’t Worry Be Happy, picks up the phone.
DWBH: “Hey, Catherine, how ya doing? Good. Yeah Mom’s right here.”
It’s midnight. Where did she think I’d be? At the mall? Out for cocktails?
DWBH: “OK. I’ ll tell Mom. Have a good evening, now.”
Have a good evening, now? Is he talking to his one and only baby daughter, away, alone, afraid…or the cashier at Stop and Shop?
DWBH: “Catherine wants you to read your email.”
ME: “She called at midnight to tell me to read my email?”
Are you kidding me?
Fool that I am, I kick off the sheets, find my slippers, and shuffle off to my computer. Her message downloads.
Subject line: Question
Text: My stomach is a little upset and I was wondering what I should take for it. Some Pepto or Immodium or just ginger ale? Please call.
For a moment, I wonder if this is some kind of freshman hazing stunt; a dare to do something well, just stupid. What other reason would there be for her to call the land line to ask her father to tell her mother to read her email, an email in which she asks her mother to call her cell phone? Now is not the time to crack the DaVinci code so I take the bait, place the call. My daughter is indeed experiencing mild stomach distress. Relieved that nothing is really wrong, I recommend a remedy and say goodnight.
Sleep eludes me as I struggle to comprehend the cause for such convoluted communication. Dear Lord, I hope she’s taking “Intro to Logic” this semester.
As I toss and turn, I remember another late night call.
#2 – I drop off Catherine at a sleepover for twelve of her eight-year old classmates. While I am sure this scenario has all the markings of imminent disaster, the perky mom-in-charge assures me that she “has it all under control.” She will call if any problem arises. I spy the sheet pan of Rice Krispie treats, the table loaded with markers, glue, glitter, and sequins. In the family room, a gaggle of little girls stare at the TV, mesmerized by a Mary Kate and Ashley video. It will be alright. Triumphing over my overactive, overprotective gene, I head home where the phone does not ring. Until three a.m. Caller ID flashes “Perky Mom.”
ME: “Get up Jeff, you’ll have to go get Catherine. She must be sick, homesick, whatever..come on, please get up and get going.”
As I pick up the receiver, my husband reluctantly rises, throwing on a jacket, shoes and the always necessary golf cap, ready to retrieve our daughter.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me, Catherine.”
I must tell her that “Hi Mom” suffices. She is an only child. Who else would call me Mom? Oh well, logic lessons later.
ME: “Catherine, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, whatcha doing?”
ME: “What am I doing? Well, I was sleeping Catherine. What are you doing?” I hold up my index finger to Jeff, signaling him to stay put for the moment.
“Not too much. The girls thought we should call up one of our moms to say hi. I said ‘Let’s call my mom. She won’t get mad!’”
Are you kidding me?
#3 – Not all alarming phone calls arrive in the wee hours of the morning. I am watching The Good Wife on a mid-July evening, when Catherine, interning in New York City, interrupts three times in short succession.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me, Catherine.”
Note to self: Catherine must fit a logic class into her schedule.
“Mom, my friends and I are having a picnic at the outdoor movies at Bryant Park tomorrow night. I’m making tuna sandwiches. How much mayo should I put in?”
ME: “Well, honey, it’s a matter of taste. Depends how moist you like the tuna. Just be sure to keep them very cold. It’s pretty hot outside. They could spoil, you could get sick.”
Overactive, overprotective gene at full throttle.
I return to The Good Wife…for a moment. Call #2.
“Mom, what should I put in the tuna salad?”
ME: “Celery’s good.”
“I don’t have any celery. How about a chopped up red pepper?”
I tell Catherine red pepper will replace celery nicely, providing the requisite crunch. I wish her a good night. Not quite yet. Last call.
“OK Mom, I opened up the tuna fish can. But, one more thing. How do I cook it?”
Are you kidding me?