Worst. Mother. Ever. Part Eleventeen.

Last night, Biggy and I took Lo and her friend K to Marietta Pizza Co. for dinner. JackMan opted out, since he's at that age where he'd rather dye his pit-hair pink than be seen with his family. When we left for the restaurant, he was watching Season 3, disc 3 of House: The Marathon Continues.

Before we left the pizza place, we ordered him two slices to go, and we stopped on the way home, as he'd requested, to get disc 4. But when we got back, the lights were off and his door was shut (He must have been really tired!), so I put his food in the fridge and went to get ready for bed, myself.

Around 1:00 this afternoon, I got a call from Jack. How lazy could he be--calling me from his room?

JackMan: Can you pick me up from BT's?

TR: "You're at BT's?! Since when?!

JackMan: Since last night. I tried to call you and Greg a million times, but y'all didn't answer your phones. I left a message on Greg's phone, but he never picked it up.

TR: I'll be right there.

Driving down the road, I wondered how I could have gone to sleep believing my son was across the hall. I didn't know whether to be madder at him or myself. When he came out to the car, the decision was easier. It's hard to be mad at a boy who's just so damned beautiful.

TR: When you couldn't get in touch with us, you should have stayed put.

Jack: I figured you had your phones turned off because you didn't want me asking you to bring me food.

TR: Well, first of all, I ALWAYS bring you food.

JackMan: Not that one time.

TR: Oh my god--ONE time--when we really wanted you to go with us--

JackMan: I'm still traumatized.

TR: --out of, what, thousands?

JackMan: Now there's no trust.



Who could blame him?