My mom knows that whenever my dad calls and greets her with, “Guess where I am?” it means he’s in the hospital. Heart attack, broken ankle, you name it — that’s how she finds out. My husband is a little more creative: one time, his text said, “Well, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to ride on a hospital gurney and now I know!”
Granted, my mother and I like our husbands (almost always) and they are both relatively chatty individuals, so we receive plenty of phone calls that aren’t related to physical injuries. Calls, texts, and emails regarding my son, however, are another story altogether.
When my now-14-year-old boy (let’s call him “B”) was in Kindergarten, I was in a long-term substitute position in a Title I room (small group instructional support) and therefore shared a classroom with two other teachers. Consequently, there were witnesses when I received semi-regular calls from the teacher or principal from the elementary school in charge of my kid. I was eventually hired by the same school that gave me that long-term gig, and so I am reminded at least once a year by one of my former classroom-mates of the time that my B’s Kindergarten teacher called to tell me that he mooned a small group of girls. Good times.
When B hit first grade, my husband and I decided to transfer him to my elementary school. B was being labeled “a bad kid” by his classmates, and getting an awful lot of detention for a first grader. My school had many more behavior supports in place, and would also have the benefit of proximity to Mom. Lucky, lucky Mom.
I was receiving fewer B-related phone calls at that point, but now they were coming from Inside The House. One morning, my classroom telephone rang:
Me: Loeffler! (I’m extremely professional.)
Nurse: Hi, Susie, someone is coming down to cover your room. Could you come to the nurse’s office please?
Me: Ok, what happened?
Nurse: Just come down as soon as you can.
Geez. Turns out, my kid collapsed in class. All adults were a) unsure how this happened, b) unsure why this happened, and c) unsure if he hit his head on the way down. He seemed absolutely fine, but we visited the ER anyway. yep, perfectly fine. But he got to wear a neck brace and sit in a wheelchair for a bit, so he thought it was a pretty great day.
My Bestie-Who-Is-Also-A-Coworker reminded me recently that, when he was B’s teacher, B decided to lick a page of a book and then eat it. I don’t have any memory of this incident, which makes sense because apparently I made him call Dan.
One afternoon I got a call from our school office, telling me that B was in with the principal. Like me, B loved to bring leftovers from last night’s dinner to school for lunch. Unfortunately, we failed to explain to him that you can’t pack a steak knife in your school lunch, so the giggling school secretaries handed me the offending potential weapon and “scolded me.”
Second grade was fairly drama-free until right before Christmas. Just before lunchtime, my phone rang:
Me: Loeffler!
Nurse: I have B down here.
Me: Oh no, what happened?
Nurse: *PAUSE* It’s hard to explain.
After I dropped my class off at lunch, I speed-walked to the nurse’s office to find a miserable looking small boy. The nurse explained that B’s class had been making Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer projects, and it turns out that the little red pom-poms that were supposed to be Rudolph’s nose were exactly the right size to fit UP a nose as well. The nurse had B plug one nostril and blow, and also tried to retrieve the errant art supply with tweezers, but it was too far up in his nasal cavity and she was uncomfortable spelunking further. To the ER!
My B was pretty subdued on our way to the hospital; I believe he was hoping for a much different outcome from the situation. There was a young lady that year that he desperately wanted to impress, and being yanked out of school by your mom to go to the emergency room where they tried not to laugh as they stuck what amounted to a fish hook remover was not the way to her heart.
Speaking of fish hook removers and the ER: one fine summer day, my dear husband Dan drove me to the hospital to have some minor surgery. He went back to work while the procedure was being done, with the plan to be back with me when I came out of the anesthesia. He was… but he had A Look. Turns out, while I was sleeping, Dan got a call from our daughter. B was fishing and got a hook stuck through his finger. Miles away on a job site and getting messages that I was nearly done with surgery, Dan thought fast and called my mother. She was able to meet my daughter and B at the ER, helpfully taking videos of that procedure. While nervous about the shot of Novocain, B was pretty fascinated with the hook extraction.Once I was awake and ok, Dan left me to go check in on Mr. Fishhook. We all went home at about the same time, an exciting day all around.
Not all B-related messages are bad news! A lovely friend of mine was a paraprofessional when B was in Kindergarten. She wrote to me one day to tell me that he informed her one day that she “smelled comfortable… like a casserole.” He proceeded to stick his nose in her belly and follow her around like that.
One day several years ago I picked up a call that nearly killed me:
Me: Hello? (I’m more professional when I’m not at work.)
Male Voice: The is the Itasca County Sheriff’s office calling in regards to [B]. Is this a parent or guardian?
Me: (praying) … yes?
Officer Something or Other: He won a bike from the DARE spaghetti feed!
Me: (out loud) Oh! Wonderful!
Me: (in my head) Perhaps you should lead with the second part!
B just started his first year of high school, and is growing up faster than I can really wrap my head around. He’s a great, funny kid, and he is universally liked by adults and kids alike. Even his choir teacher says he’s not messing around this year! Just as I was thinking that the era of unbelievable messages was over, I received this email last week:
I should let you know [B] was in my office earlier for a bloody nose…. He was eating a Butterfinger and a piece of it got stuck up his nose (I’m still not clear on how that happened), he picked his nose and caused a cut in his nostril which caused the bloody nose.
I wonder which young lady he was attempting to impress this time?
Thanks for reading.
Love, Susie
Too funny, Susie, though not always at the time, I suppose. Love the photo!
That picture is priceless.