Mom and I are driving up to Round Rock to the IKEA store this morning.
She wasn't feeling well last night, so I suggested we could stay home and do other stuff instead. She said ok, but that she would call me in the morning to let me know how she was feeling.
We're supposed to leave at 8a, so I called after my alarm went off at 7:30a.
Now, you must know that strikes fear in my heart.
I laid there for a minute, expecting her to call me right back. She might have been in the bathroom.
But she didn't.
I started thinking of why she wouldn't have answered the phone.
She's been talking about some tree trimming, so she could be out doing that. Right?
So I get up and start getting ready. Do my bathroom stuff. Get dressed. Cook Gigi's breakfast (yes, cook). Turn on the computer. Not necessarily in that order.
I call again at 7:45a. Only this time praying, Please answer . . . please answer . . .
This time, she did. She was still asleep. I called you earlier. "You did? Oh, well, this phone rings soft and the radio was probably on." I could hear her leaping out of bed (as best her 83-year-old body can leap) and told her to take her time. That I'd see her when she got here.
And I thanked God for that.