Yesterday, I'm at work and I get a call on my cell phone from a number I don't recognize.
"Hello. This is Mrs. Chako."
"Yeah, is Son #1 there?"
"Um, well, no he's not. This is my cell phone and I'm still at work. Can I take a message for him?"
(I think the parenting handbook conveniently leaves out that you become your children's message service at age 9 or 10)
"Yeah. This is Ryan. I was, uh, wondering if I could sleep over at your house. It's Spring Break and I'm bored."
It was 4:05 p.m. on Friday. School let out for Spring Break at 3:30 p.m. on Friday, a mere 35 minutes earlier.
I pity Ryan's dad.
At least we're considered the "fun" house.