The principal went home to see his mom this week. He's a good son that way.
"Did you see the picture I sent you?" he asked at 6:15 a.m. this morning. I was still padding around in my penguin bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, staring out the window at another day of rain and wondering if spring is ever going to come.
"No," I replied. "What picture?"
"I just sent it to you."
"Well, I didn't get it." I replied shortly. I poured myself a cup of coffee and stuffed the freshly made turkey and cheese sandwich and bag of pretzels into the my son's lunch bag.
The principal has just joined the texting generation. He's quite proud of himself, actually, but he takes a lot of ribbing from the other more seasoned texters in our family.
"Dad sent me a text with nothing in it," my son joked the other day. "It was just a blank bubble."
"He's does that frequently," I said. "He's just learning. You have to be patient with him."
This was a big leap on the learning curve. He's never sent a picture before.
"We're having a blizzard!" he yelled from halfway across the country. "Everything's closed. There's no school and the roads haven't been plowed. I ran outside quick and had my brother take a picture. It's freezing here."
"Sounds cool," I said wistfully. "It's been raining for days here. The back yard is flooded, we've lost a section of fence, I've got a migraine the size of Texas and a million things to do."
"Well, we're snowed in. The roads aren't plowed and we're probably not going to be able to go anywhere today."
Sounds like paradise to me.