Sunday night Dale and the children had left for church, sucking all the noise from the house as they went out the door.
Quiet... ahhhhhh.
I was just contemplating my next move (Is 6:25pm too early for jammies?) and eyeballing the hot chocolate packets in anticipation, when the phone rang. I checked the caller ID (I LOVE that feature!) and found it was a solicitor. Not just any solicitor.. THE solicitor. The same toll free number that has been calling two or three times a day for the last three weeks. Not only are they persistant, but it is one of those automated kind that say "please stay on the line until a representative is available to speak with you."
Yeah, right.
As if they have an armada of reps busily taking calls at shiney cherry wood desks, ringing phones, fancy computers and wearing expensive italian suits. In reality, they were probably all sitting around in holey jeans (and I don't mean the sanctified kind) and sweatshirts, drinking coffee or soda and smoking, and a two room shack somewhere and making bets on who the first materialist american will be to answer the phone.
So you ever wonder where they are? Most of them have some sort of foriegn accent. This one that keeps calling us had an indian accent. My husband once "stayed on the line" and told the rep that answered not to call our number again. That was over a week ago. Are they illegal immigrants? Are they part of a large group tryint to scam unwary customers? Are they in the USA, and legit? It doesn't seem to make sense that they would be overseas since that would seem to set them up for bancruptcy. The cost of an 800 number, plus the fees for international calls, would seem to be prohibitively expensive. It doesn't seem like that there would be enough foolish people to actually fall for whatever con job they are attempting to make the effort worthwhile. Then again, Bill Clinton did get elected not once, but twice in a row....
Anyway, back to the ringing phone.
I let the answering machine pick it up, but of course no message was left. I find that irritating. They want me to respond to their machine, but they won't respond to mine. Isn't that bad answering service etiquette or something?
Not two minutes later the phone rings again. Okay, now I'm really annoyed. I'm ready to pick up the phone and rem out this telemarketer when I notice the number on the caller ID.
My mother. Guess I'd better not ream her out. I have some very vivid memories of the "Magic Hand" when we were growing up. It seemed almost like a superpower, along with the usual other Mommy powers such as the ability to see from the back of her head, how to read my mind with alarming accuracy, and the strength to leap piles of Legos and laundry in a single bound.
"Hi, Mom!"
"Hi honey. How are you tonight?"
"Ummm... fine..." I am getting distracted by the thought of hot chocolate.
"What's wrong?" Uhoh.. she is getting suspicious... only after 5 seconds of conversations. Her MommyPowers are apparetnly still sharp.
"Nothing, Mom" and I get a mug from the cupboard, trying not to clatter it.
"It's so quiet there! Everyone must be over at church."
"Yeah." I shut the door very quietly and make my way to the sink.
"So what are you up to this evening with the house to yourself?" I can practically hear her listening to every move I am making. Must be quiet.. must be careful...
I turn the water on to a mere drizzle and fill my mug.
"Oh, you know, just hanging out. Reading email, taking it easy, that sort of thing."
CLUNK.
I grimmace. Ooooh, that microwave door!
"What was that?" My mom is suddenly extremely alert.
"Uh, what was what?"
"That 'clunk' sound?"
"Ummmmm...." I am trying to hedge my way around this.
"Was that the microwave door?" Ack.. busted.
"Yes," I sigh.
"Are you drinking hot chocolate AGAIN?" I wonder why she is even asking.
"Well...."
"Honey, how many times have I told you that stuff will give you zits if you drink too much of it. Not to mention constipation..."
I am laughing at her now.
"Next thing you know I'll have to put you in a 12 step program..."
By now we are both laughing. We go on to some serious chatting about how I am coping, how our days were, how the kids are, and she even listens to me vent about a comment someone made, how I feel guilty about my heart being so heavy I can't function. She says comforting words that I need to hear. We laugh. We cry. We chat.
Aren't moms great?
I hang up and get my pj's on. It is 7:30, and surely that is late enough for jammies! Then I curl up and enjoy my hot chocolate.
No comments:
Post a Comment