The Love of a Sarcastic Mother

I was sitting in my office today when a friend of mine sent me a text message on my phone that had little hearts and said "I love you". At the bottom it instructed me to send it on to all of my friends. So, I did. I sent that bad boy to everybody, including my teenaged boy, who hates that kind of crap.

About 20 minutes later, my phone rang.

"Hola!" I answered. I have caller ID so I knew it was my boy, Matt.

"Hey! Guess what!!!!" He said, all giddy and excited like.

"Uh... what?" I played along.

"My phone's workin!!!" He exclaimed.

You see my boy has a really bad habit of tossing, flipping, pitching his phone..(along with other various forms of abuse). About two weeks ago, the phone, in an act of ultimate retribution, just up and quit working. He could still send and receive text messages, but not talky talky.

"No shit?!?!" I get giddy with him. "You mean the phone you called me from works?!?!?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." he retorts. "But I wanted to let you know."

"Well, very cool, baby. I'm glad its workin." I tell him.

And I am genuinely glad it's working because he's been on an "I want a new phone" kick for about 2 months now. So right at this second, he's thrilled to have one he can speak into and hear from.

Then it hits me that he's calling from school, because I can hear all the chatter of teenaged boys in the background. So I ask him, "Why the hell are you in school?"

"Cuz we're rednecks and apparently we don't vote up here." He says as serious as can be.

"Did you get my text message?" I ask him all lovey dovey.

"Yah. Yah." He says trying to put me off like teenage boys do when they are confronted with the "L" word.

"Well? Do you love me, dammit?" I push out of sheer enjoyment knowing he was squirming in front of his buddies.

"Come on, Matthew. You can say it." I prod.

"Oh, God." He said. "I gotta go."

"Fine. Love you." I tell him. He knows I really do love him.

"Ya. Ya. Bye." He said and hung up. I'm pretty sure his eyes were rolling in back of his head too.

That's ok. He has to come home sometime.