Do Not Call List

If you happen to have a child who is adept at dialing phone numbers, do not give her your cell phone number. Especially when she is home sick and Daddy is watching her. Sophie was diagnosed with strep throat on Monday, thus staying home from school Tuesday. Yay. She already stayed home last Thursday and had a snow day Friday. This much together time is wearing a little thin, thinner than Donald Trump's scalp.

My husband was home on a call with a customer in his office. Sophie was sufficiently supplied with antibiotics, Motrin, snacks, and fluids. I even made her own little bed out of the couch, with sheets, blankies, and pillows. She was set. Isabella likes going to the gym almost as much as I do so she and I were off to spin class. I brought my cell phone into class "just in case", which in my book means vomiting or blood coming from your eyeballs.

After starting my third exercise in core class (that's abs for those of you who don't ever aspire to have a six-pack, aside from the one in your fridge), I heard the telltale beep of my phone that indicated I had a message......... or six. All from Sophie. Of course I freaked, gathered my mat and exercise ball, and ran out of class. Then I listened to the first message....
"MMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! Whyyyyyyyy aren't you answering your phoooooone?! I don't feeeeeeeeeel gooooood! Please come home nooooooooowwwwww!"
Messsage two: "Mmmmmoooommmyyy!! Why aren't you answering your phone??!! I fell really bad and Daddy won't help me!! Come home NOW!"
Messages three, four, and five: "Mommyyyyyyyyyy!! I feel really, really sick! WHY aren't you answering your phone?! You need to pick up your phone and come home right nooooooooooowwww!!!"
Message six, in a serious tone at last: "Mommy, I am really mad at you. Why aren't you home yet? You need to come home right now."
I phoned her immediately. I admit I only listened to the first one and assumed she was projectile vomiting, the house was burning down, Daddy was having a heart attack, and there was bleeding from the eyeballs. I spoke to her briefly, assured her I would be home as quickly as I could. After dragging Isabella from her social hour at the daycare, I received ANOTHER call from my daughter on her presumed deathbed.
"Mom, why aren't you here yet?"
"Uh, Sophie, I talked to you 3 minutes ago. It takes at least 7 minutes to get home. Chill."

Upon entering my house, I witnessed Sophie glued to the TV, watching Hannah Montana, dressed in her sparkly summery shirt, hair down and sassy, perfume on, and toenails painted--with polka dots. Sick my ass.

"Sophie, what was so bad that you had to call me, sobbing, six times?!"

"Oh, I'm fine. I just didn't feel good, Daddy was too busy to talk to me, and I was bored."

Time for Mommy to change her cell phone number.