Weather changes are tricky for twitchy lungs.  Bring on the cold; bring on the breathing treatments.  Nothing to worry about since we’ve learned the signals, and Tuck is good at communicating when he needs some help catching his breath.

I got a call from the school nurse.

“Tucker needs his inhaler.  I don’t mean to alarm you, he’s really doing okay, but there’s a slight wheeze.  We could use your help.”

I know exactly the condition he’s in.  I’ll be there in five.

After Tuck was breathing easy and on his way back to first grade, she told me about their conversation.

He had called me from the office phone, listened to my voicemail, and said to the nurse, “No, that doesn’t sound like my mom.”

(It was though.  It was me, my phone, my voicemail.)

She made a second call, same number, same voicemail, and left the message.

“Okay, Tuck.  I told your mom, so now we’ll just wait for her to call back.”

“She won’t.”


“My mom doesn’t do callbacks.”

Nice, Tuck.

Where did he even learn that phrase?

It’s not exactly a motto I live by.  And yet he didn’t miss a beat.  He may as well have said, “Oh, it’s like my mom always says…”

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