And In This Corner...

I send Scott a text that I am wigging.

He immediately thinks it is because of something pertaining to the doctor visit. Please. That would not be wigging. That would be imploding. There is a difference.

No, I assure him it is not some grave medical problem or outlandish co-payment or heinous prescription only available in suppository form. It is a potential threat to the Birthday Trip.

I tell him I am trying not to burst into flame until I am sure of the details and try to focus on the dinner, laundry, kitty KP duty, garbage placement at the curb and the myriad other details that otherwise call to me.

While I am busy attempting to fold a fitted queen sized sheet (I can't believe our mothers used to actually iron these things!) I hear Pat on the phone with his father. He's asking about the trip. I eavesdrop however unsuccessfully for any smidgen of intel I can gather from his side of the conversation - and over the din of Miss Meowypants who is vying for the attention that she feels she's been denied all day.

I am straining to get clues from body language, facial expressions. Nothing.

Surely if there were a problem, Pat would be reacting. He's my son. A pit stain would surely be forming. I begin to feel it is safe to assume there is no problem.

Wrong again, sister! Pat, when he's through talking to his father, obediently hands the phone over to Hil so she can be similarly bored to tears with inane conversation.

As he does he gets my attention. "Mom," he says.

I look up, the fitted sheet still being held in place by my chin pinning it to my chest. My eye muscles strain to let the eyeballs roll sufficiently to see him. At least from the knees up.

"Mom, there is a problem. We don't come back until Sunday."

"Not if I can help it!" I say, quickly rolling the damn sheet into something that can be squished into something resembling a burrito.

By then, Hil is winding down the alternating "Uh-huh" and "Nothing" repetitive pattern of her conversation with Lars.

I say, more sternly than I intend, "May I have the phone? I need to speak to your father."

Pat is wringing his hands and Hil is rolling her eyes. It's show time folks.