Mom, I Think I Have An Emergency

Most of my husband’s family—5 of the 6 siblings, plus spouses and four of their kids—are joining us for the eclipse on Monday. They are predicting an extra million people in the DFW area this weekend, and let’s just say that the stores are not prepared. So last weekend, I asked TJ to drive to the grocery store and get a few things—water, Dr. Pepper, chips, and toilet paper (nightmares of COVID are a real thing!)

He called once from the store—I had written “3 – 12 pks Dr. Pepper” and he wasn’t sure if that meant “3 twelve-packs” or “between 3 and 12 packages”—and told me he was almost finished shopping. (He came home with everything I asked for, plus a couple of cartons of ice cream, which was a really good idea.)

He called again, and when I answered, said, “Mom, I think I have an emergency!” I’m thinking he had a wreck, got pulled over (yes, he drives too fast!), or the like. He said, “when I was loading the groceries into the back of the car, I laid the keys on the inside and then when I closed the hatchback it locked.” I asked him to walk around and try all of the car doors—I drive a Mini and it’s . . . quirky sometimes, especially the door locks. He did, and the rear passenger door was unlocked. He said, “Okay, Mom, I can just climb over the seat and reach the keys. Be home in a few minutes.”

No panic! A clear, understandable explanation of the problem. The wherewithal to call me and then, when he realized he could, solve the problem himself. I was amazed! I told his older sister what had happened later and she said she wasn’t sure she would have been that calm. And I might not have been either!

Twice this week, memories of meltdowns significant enough to make my social media accounts have reminded me of his not-that-long-ago reactions to stressful situations. Reminding me, yet again, how far he’s come.