There are a handful of phone calls you do not want to receive. You don't want to receive the phone call in the middle of the night from a family member or friend because that inevitably means someone passed away or passed out. You don't want to pick up the phone when a perky telemarketer from your college asks you for a donation that you inevitably give due to scholastic guilt. And you don't want to answer the phone in the middle of the day from your child's school.
As I was finishing up my lunch, the phone rang. It was the preschool. My heart jumped a bit because the mixture of parental anxiety and chili cheeseburger was a bad combination. The kids' teacher was on the phone and said, "Hi Scott. I need to talk to you about Emma."
Oh crap. What happened? Did Emma get injured? Did Emma injure someone? Did Andrew bitch slap her on her head again?
"Emma?" I gulped. "What's going on with Emma?" I tried to keep my voice calm as I anticipated the worst.
The teacher continued, "While Emma was eating lunch, she noticed that I was making macaroni and cheese for myself. She asked if she could have some of my food. Is that okay?"
"Umm..yah. Sure," I answered.
I hung up the phone a bit perplexed. I built up this stressful anticipation of bad news when all it came down to was permission for a bowl of macaroni and cheese.
All I can conclude from this situation is that Emma really knows how to rile me up, and Emma really loves pasta.
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