Law and Hoarder

You know how your stomach sinks when you’re at work and your kid’s school calls?  You see that number flash on the caller ID and your mind starts making manouvers: if you have to leave at that exact moment, what about the meetings, the report you’re supposed to review?  How and when will you pick up the other kid if it’s a bad virus? Those that have had to drive somewhere with a puking kid, one hand on the wheel and the other helping the puker hold a bowl under their chin, praying your upholstery doesn’t get hosed with smelliness know what I’m talking about.  

But maybe your kid just hit their head?  I mean, may glob strike you down for suggesting it, but you know by law (at least for the little ones) the school must contact you if a kid has suffered some sort of blow to the head or face.  I’ve gotten those calls.  It’s always been “so-and-so fell and hit the back of their head/got bitten on the cheek/was struck with a plastic doodad toy when kid A was playing space tornado.”  As a parent, I expressed the appropriate level of sorrow, concern, and most importantly, relief that my spawn is intact and well.  

You can move on with your day with those calls.  Puking/fever/rash calls mean you are screwed for at least 48 hours.  Your child is a big old bag of germs on those occasions -even more than usual- so they are expelled until fit for reintroduction to GenPop.  We parents all get why.  I’ve inwardly wished  vile things upon parents who didn’t isolate their own little darling carrier monkeys thereby exposing mine to whatever horrendous germ is going around.  But those calls – the “bad ones” – cause sphincter-tightening panic and a flurry of schedule and life reorganization unlike any other.

Anyway (Sorry.  Apparently I’m wordy today.) I got one of those school calls yesterday.  It was Felix’s teacher.  Oh shit.  “Is everything ok??”  What a stupid thing to ask.  These folks don’t call you to chat.  “Felix had a bit of an accident.”  Relief flooded my body.  Only a noggin bump.  “Is he ok?”  See?  Injecting that -for reals- parental concern.  “He fell off the top of the beehive (this wooden play structure the school has) and landed on a wheelbarrow wheel.  He landed on his face.”  Oh shit.  That sounds not good. “Well is he ok???”  Maybe a fever or puking would’ve been the better call this time ’round. “He’s fine.  I’m trying to hold ice on it, but he’s getting really upset because the other kids are trying to take the pile of stuff he’s collected while I’m seeing to his face.”  

Relief.

“So my son is more worried about his hoard than his face?” “Yes.  But he’ll have a pretty big bump on his cheek.”

We all have to have priorities.  Even you, Felix.

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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7 Responses to Law and Hoarder

  1. joey says:

    Bummer. Coulda been worse. Coulda cut open a cheek AND lost his hoard! lol
    My kids are now at an age where the text me seriously dramatic crap like, “I’m not okay!” or “OMG Mama!” or “I need help!” “Can you go outside and call me?” and then don’t respond for 20 minutes wherein I discover Moo has lost her lip balm or whatever petty thing seemed overwhelming at the time. *sigh*

  2. Andrew says:

    All is right with the world when the pigtails deploy šŸ˜€

  3. Erika says:

    Ooh, the ponytailed fucker is back! (Or can only Stella call him that?) šŸ˜‰

    I’m glad it was nothing too serious. Hopefully his stash wasn’t completely looted. (Little Man has a playground stash, too, and hides it in a whole in a tree, which he covers up with leaves and stuff, haha)

    • larva225 says:

      šŸ˜‚šŸ˜‚šŸ˜‚ No one is currently using that, but it will always remain in our vernacular!!
      And I cursed myself. Now he has a black eye AND a fever with the back-door trots. Serves me right.

      • Erika says:

        When he gets older, you can let him know that strange people (or strange person) on the Internet used to call him that, too. šŸ˜‰ Poor boy (and poor mama). I hope he feels better soon.

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