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So I sent this horrific text to my kid’s doctor yesterday:

“Do you want it spicy?”

To which he sent me this text back: “Woa. I’m telling my wife about this.”

Less than two seconds later, I was begging for someone to kill me.

But let me back up for a minute to set the stage.

So my kids having been coughing the past two weeks. Not a delicate ahem, ahem, like you might be thinking…but a hacking, wheezing, rib-cracking (because I have done this twice. Cracked a rib while coughing. Never knew this was possible, but it is.) cough that can seriously give anyone in a three-block radius a major headache. Not to mention what it has been doing to them. And consequently, to me. Because I now have this super-attractive ailment.

It sounds like a flippin’ infirmary around here. But I digress.

So being the awesome mother that I am, I finally took my daughter (who has so far suffered the worst) to the doctor on Monday of this week. Before you judge me, I’ll have you know that I once went nearly week without taking her to the doctor for a broken hand (but in my defense, she could MOVE it! isn’t that, like, the rule?? if you can move it, it isn’t broken??) (FYI: that isn’t the rule). And that was SOOO much worse than this.
So yeah, go ahead and judge me.

Anyway, she had bronchitis. I’ve had it twice. Bronchitis is the worst.

And my oldest son was coughing. And my youngest daughter was coughing. And I was coughing. And the only people not coughing were my husband and my youngest son, because I’m pretty sure they have some sort of immunity gene found only in ocean dwellers and aliens, because they never get anything. Not. Fair.

So the doctor put her on an antibiotic and some other medication I can’t spell. And by Wednesday, my oldest son sounded as bad as her.

So I texted the doctor yesterday to see if I should bring him in for a check-up. And since we’re friends with his family and he knows I have a lotta kids and that most likely they will pass diseases around like dinner plates at a buffet, he texted back “Nah. I’ll just call in the same meds for him.” And I texted, “Ok, thanks,” and that was that.

Until my son (who was home sick from school) texted me and said this: “Can you bring me a Chick-Fil-A chicken sandwich on your way home?”

To which I texted back: “Do you want it spicy?”

To his doctor.

And I screamed “Noooo!” as it sent, but there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. The text was out there in cyberspace, and it sounded kinda questionable. Like something one might say in a bar. As a sleazy pick-up line. When they’re drunk.

But here’s the thing. I do this ALL THE TIME! Text to the wrong person, I mean. Not long ago I texted, “Keep the baby awake,” to a friend. And she was shopping. And she doesn’t live at my house.

Another time I texted, “Get off the phone!” to my sister. She can talk as much as she wants to, because I’m not paying her bill.

And there’s the time I texted, “Dinner’s almost ready,” to a neighbor who most likely was eating her own dinner with her own family, and probably couldn’t care less that my lasagna was coming out of the oven.

And of course the time I texted “She’s driving me crazy!” to the person who was actually driving me crazy. I had to do some major dancing around to explain that one.

And I could keep going, but the list is way too long.

But this latest text…it’s the first time a text sounded inappropriate. Slightly racy, if you will. So I may never text again.

Because texting often makes me all kinds of embarrassed.

Then again, not as embarrassed as my sister was the time she climbed into a tan Suburban, threw a bunch of coats on the floor, slammed the door, and yelled at her husband for making such a mess of the car.

And then looked up.

And realized she was in the wrong car. Throwing someone else’s coats onto the floor. Yelling at a strange guy and his kids. Who sat wide-eyed wondering who the crazy lady was that boldly invaded their look-alike SUV.

My sister bolted out of that car that day. Then yelled at me. Who was too busy laughing hysterically in the middle of the parking lot to be of much help.

So I guess, in spite of my embarrassing text…things could always be worse.

Then again, there’s always next time.

Amy