We’re still working out the specifics around here of what exactly constitutes an “emergency.” You’d think after nearly twenty years of family life it would be pretty well established, but that’s just not the case. For example, I recently left a phone number for where I’d be in case of an emergency and my son called me to let me know we were out of mustard and would I please stop at the store on my way home and pick some up. NOT an emergency.
However, the other day when my daughter left the stove burner on after she’d finished making her French toast, she was convinced it was “no big deal” even though I tried (yet again) to stress that one dropped dishtowel later and the house was up in flames. Now, maybe at that point, we would all be in agreement that it was an emergency.
Emergencies in a house of teenagers tend to be things like the running out of hair conditioner or someone’s favorite jeans being in the washing machine when they are summoned for the perfect date. Things that feel like potential emergencies to me (missed curfews without phone calls home and grease fires in the kitchen, for example) tend to get brushed off with a “Take a chill pill, Mom!”
I realize that our differing opinions about what constitutes an emergency can affect my ability to react and relate appropriately. Since I can’t get too excited about the fact that we’ve run out of milk (again) or someone’s favorite television program was pre-empted by a special news report, I can come across as a cold, unfeeling, out-of-touch old mother. But, that’s just not so–I’m saving myself for the shock and trauma of the real emergencies. I’ve got the first-aid kit ready and all the emergency numbers on hand. Let’s hope we’re not caught calling 9-1-1 when we get low on dry cereal.