When the School Shows Up on Your Caller ID

Yesterday one of the more dreaded numbers showed up on my screen: the upper elementary.

Hello?
Mom?
Hi Princess. What's up?
I need some pants.
(Long involuntary silence) Ummmmm, there are some in your backpack.
No, I had to use them when I fell in the mud puddle.
(Deep inward sigh) Ok. I'll be right there.

So I took in the pants. However, now my entire insides were liquified, because I know something. I know that Princess has the world's most incredible kegel muscles. Which means that, although she rarely uses a toilet, she can hold it in like you would not believe. In fact, because she's so skilled at letting out teeny tiny amounts of what she needs to let out, the results are rarely visible.

Except.

Except when she's unusually distressed. Then there's puddles.
This has never happened at school.

After, I spent the last hour of the school day at home with my liquified insides trying to prepare myself for the horrific evening I was about to endure.

It never came.

I couldn't make a thing of it. My own nerves were completely jangled, and Princess usually reads them like a book and plays off them.

After the girls were in bed, Josh offered the insight. He said he pointed out to Princess that she seemed happy and asked her about it. She said, "I called mom and she came."

If only it were always that easy.