It's almost 10 PM on Friday night. Our night has consisted of greasy Chinese food and cleaning out the basement, a project that was supposed to be completed before Griffin was born (for those who don't know me, he's now 18 months old).
Yes, it's 10 PM and we're cleaning. Well, Patrick and Duncan are throwing out junk and moving furniture around in the basement and I'm cleaning. Nervous energy, I guess. You see, I got a phone call from my mom about 4 hours ago. She and my dad got a call from the assisted living center where my grandpa lives. She said he fell and hit his head. The paramedics were taking him to the hospital. That was 4 hours ago, and I still haven't heard from her.
I feel awful because when the phone rang tonight, I was on the couch with Griffin comfortably lounging on my lap. We were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and I was daydreaming about the greasy Chinese food we were going to have for dinner and about the prospect of possibly getting a good night sleep, so I didn't answer the phone. In my defense, I didn't know who was calling. If only I had picked up, I could at least have spoken to my mom. When I tried calling her back, her cell phone had been turned off.
So all I can do is wait. I might try calling her in a few minutes. It's very typical of my mom to have good news and then not call because a) she's relieved she got good news and b) she doesn't wat to disturb anyone (like I'd even be able to go to sleep).
I hope everything is OK. I bought my grandpa a thank you card the other day because he always gives me some cash to help pay for all my migraine medicine. I haven't sent it yet. Another thing I regret doing. Hopefully the news will be good and I can pop the card in the mail tomorrow.