If there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who ya gonna call? Your Mother!

Monday-

CNN Breaking News. Fifteen minutes ago, an out if control fire rages in downtown Seattle. The Fifth Avenue Plaza is burning. Crews have responded and are on site.

Grabbing the phone, franticly dialing my son’s cell number I break out in a cold sweat, counting each ring until I hear Ryan, my firefighting-boy’s deep voice say, “Hi Mom, what’s up?”

Instantly relieved, I casually mention the high-rise fire. He patiently explains that he is safe at home and that burning building is located a good eighty miles away. We briefly chat and hang up.

Thursday-

The first thing I do when I get home is make a beeline to the answering machine. Caller ID displays that Cory left a message! With a racing heart and tunnel vision, I start pounding every button with sweaty fingers. This stupid machine needs to tell me why my middle child would call when he knew I was gone. What happened, what does he need, is he okay?

I hear his laughing voice. “Hey it’s me. You haven’t called yet. A plane crashed into a New York apartment building this morning. You’re probably wondering if I’m dead. I’m fine! Click.”

I know what you’re thinking. I’m well aware that I may be a tad bit neurotic. To be honest, I’m really okay with it. I believe it’s my job as a mother to make sure my children are safe at all times. My son’s are in their thirty’s, but as you see, they do humor me.

Actually, I believe Ryan and Cory enjoy talking to me. Hey, I’m a freethinking flower child from the 70’s. It’s all good. I’m cool. I’m down with it. They can do whatever they want, they‘re adults for pity sakes. I only ask, as their mother, “Let me know you’re alive”.

Sunday-

The phone rings. “Hel-lo?”

“Hi Mom!” a baritone singsong voice greets me.

“Ryan,” I warily reply. “Why are you calling me so early? You always call on Sunday nights.”

“Oh. Well, we have lots to do today,” he quickly explains, “and I wanted to get you out of the way.”

“Excuse me?” I snap back, continuing for several minutes with some fun loving bantering.

Finished with the phone call, I stop to self-analyze my silly behavior. I’m sure that my children label me phobic, irrational or just plain wacko.

Well, they may call me anything they like. As long as they- CALL ME!

Pamela Vanden Bos, Mom Writers Literary Magazine Intern

Comments

[Veronica]

Okay my husband hasn't talked to his mother in at least three weeks. He hasn't made the effort to call, nor as she. When I ask, when was the last time you talked to your mother? I always hear, she never lets me talk so why bother.

[Alyssa]

Good story, way to go Ryan for callin :-)

[Terry]

Great writing. Kids keep you sharp!

[Keelyn]

Wonderful fun filled Story. Love the title. Hope my kids gown up and call me as well.