Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Where the holy hell is my idiot son?

I've been waiting to hear anything... even a peep from that ungrateful child. We dropped him off at 7am on 9 July and that was the last time I heard anything from him. I know he's fine otherwise we would have gotten a call from the camp but you'd think we'd have crossed his mind for a fraction of a second during the down time I know he has.

I can hear you now: "But Karen, Elliott's a 15 year old boy, hours away from his parents for 3 weeks of freedom! He'll call when he's ready." Well, I reserve the right not to accept that. For the first week, fine. He's having fun, he doesn't even remember he's got a family let alone feel any inclination or desire to call them. Fine. I can accept that. But we're heading into week two and my patience has completely run out. I run for the phone whenever it rings. I freak when anyone's on the phone for longer than 5 minutes, I grump and grouch all day and I even called my wonderful cat a "stupid asshole" this morning.

It's even worse because I'm off to Toronto tomorrow morning and I won't get to yell at talk to him even if (and that's a big if) he calls home in the next few days.

Just an unfair comparison: Henry had a sleepover last night. The boy called home when he arrived here, again at 11pm to "say goodnight" and first thing this morning before he left for home. He called his parents 3 times in less than 12 hours. And he lives 10 minutes away. On foot. Yes, the boy is 11 but still it stung everytime that kid asked if he could use the phone.

Anyway, maybe getting that out will save me from screaming at him when if he calls. But it won't stop me from fantasising about stringing him up by his bony, ungrateful thumbs.

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