My friend Ian always says that I’m a breath of fresh air. He’s the only one who says that to me and I’ve always assumed it’s a good thing because I like him. Our families are crazy about each other. So a breath of fresh air is a good thing, right?
Today I got a phone call from camp. Alexander was there complaining of an upset stomach and I know something is wrong at camp. I know it’s not his stomach. I can’t tell you how I know this, I just do. It’s a mom thing.
So I explained this to the camp director and I could almost hear her nodding. She volunteered to talk to his counselor and see if anything out of the ordinary was going on. Just as she was about to hang up the phone I said, “One more thing.”
“You know I picked him up from camp yesterday and he had an icepack on his knee. I love my son. I love him a lot and I don’t want to ignore any physical injuries.”
“Of course not.” She replied hesitantly.
“I just think that there’s a pretty good chance that his knee wasn’t actually hurt too much and I don’t want to sound offensive, but I don’t want to turn my kid into a pussy.”
Which is when she told me I was a breath of fresh air. I’m hoping that means she didn’t hang up the phone and call CPS.