I spent the last six weeks in bed recovering from a torn, ACL, MCL, meniscus and a stress fracture down my right shin. In that time, I have finagled my bills, worried a lot and took myself to the depths of despair.

I  am yet to have surgery, but went back to work to bring an income into my household. After returning from work tonight, John and I decided to just get in the car and grab a little alone time.

Ten missed calls later, on each of our phones, I received a text from my teenage son that read, “Where are you, it’s late?”

Are you flipping kidding me? Do you understand how many nights I cried in my pillow worrying about your safety and your whereabouts until the sun came up?

I have spent six weeks in bed, and just for the record, I haven’t had a vacation in 5 years and it is blatantly obvious that I never go anywhere.

Where in the world do you get off telling me that I’m late?

I appreciate the concern, but my teenagers have led me to the total brink of destruction and have no idea the heartache their actions caused.

Wasn’t it only last week that I added a Silver Alert to my unknown bucket list which included:

A visit to my home, from:


Channel News 12

A Military Investigation

The local police

And, well can I say…It’s never boring here…by any means.

So, before any of my son’s put out the Silver Alert on me, just know that I am home safely and I just wanted a little breathing space.

And, just for the record….

Sorry I’m late.






2 thoughts on “Where Are You? It’s Late.

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