In this new part time job I took in June (coinciding I think now with my fall off the blogmobile), I had to make sure that the boys could easily reach me at work. I keep my cell phone on my desk, but they also had my office number.
On the days that Husband couldn't work from home and they had to be at home alone for a short period, it was still important that they be able to call. We've done all the drills on what to do in case of fire, in case of a knock at the door, in case of a phone call, in case of a severed artery.
Ok, that last one I kid. Sort of. They all have passed their Boy Scout first aid training.
Anyway, those first few times they called at the office, I jumped to answer thinking this was it, some terrible thing has happened and I knew I shouldn't have taken this job and ohmygoodness how will we ever explain/survive/deal.....
Me: Hello? Are you okay?
Boy on phone: Umm, yes. We're all okay.
Me: Is the house okay? Anything on fire? Are you cooking in the kitchen?
Boy on phone: Umm, no, Mom. Everything is okay.
Me: Then why are you calling?
Boy on phone: Well, umm, what can we have for lunch?
And so it went. Every time they called, it concerned food. Lunch food. Snack food. If I left really early before they woke up, it was about breakfast food.
Folks, I don't hide the food in the house. Excepting that Mom's cabinet where chocolate and/or special crackers may or may not be tucked away. Ahem.
And most days I tried to leave a note detailing the where, what, and how related to meals, but whatever I did happen to leave out of said note always elicited a call.
And always about food.
This would be why I'm looking up at a 6 foot tall 14 year old and a 5' 10 1/2" 15 year old. The younger one calls to make sure he actually gets some food.
Someone send a side of beef. And leave a note about where you put it so I don't get the phone call.