alexmegami | Why I Am Sorely Unimpressed With My Mother Today

I got home last night at quarter past twelve; the 401 had construction going on, and, due to the stupidity of people, this translated into a 45-minute delay on a trip we had already embarked upon an hour late. I figured I was going to be walking in the door to an irate mother. Mostly, though, I just wanted to pull in, get some last-minute cuddling with Patrick, and go to bed for work the next morning.

So imagine my surprise as Patrick's car pulls into the driveway and I realize that my mother's car isn't there.

Odd, I think, but I figure she went out to get aspirin or something and don't think anything of it.

When I come in, however, my sister is at the top of the stairs in tears. I, being her super-awesome older sister, go comfort her, and she tells me that mom went out at eight o'clock to "go out for a drive and do some thinking" and isn't back yet.

Now, look at those times. That's four hours of driving. For Patrick, maybe, that's normal, but for my mother? No.

So we comfort Katie, and we take her downstairs and make her some tea, and play a couple of card games. Patrick calls his parents to tell them he's staying until my mom shows up. Then I try and put Katie back to bed. This doesn't really work because she starts crying again, so I sit up with her and reassure her that mom probably just stopped for coffee or something (and we're both thinking, 'four hours of coffee?'). I tell her Pat and I will call the cops if she isn't home by four AM, figuring she'll be in at one or so.

1 AM passes. 2 AM rolls around. My eyes are starting to itch from being tired, and Pat is not feeling exactly awake. My sister is lying awake in bed, and probably dreaming up horrible fates for my mother at this point. At 2:45 AM, Patrick and I are looking up the non-emergency police phone number and the number for Peel Memorial, just in case.

At five past three, we call the cops. We don't know the license plate number of my mom's car, but we have the little pink insurance slips that you're supposed to put in your car, and from the VIN the cop on the other line tells us her license plate. "Well," she tells us, "your mother hasn't been pulled over or photographed as speeding through red lights, and she hasn't been in an accident. Try calling Peel Memorial at this number."

It is at 3:18 AM, halfway to the call to Peel Memorial, that she walks in the door.

"Where were you?" I ask.
"Didn't Katie tell you?" She replies.
"She said that you had gone out for a drive at eight," I say, waiting for the inevitable apology for worrying us.
"So why are you up?"
I stare at her in disbelief. "Mom, it's three in the morning and you've been gone for seven hours," I say, remarkably resisting the urge to yell.
"Yep!" She laughs. "I just went out for a cup of coffee." She turns to Patrick. "Are you going to be leaving soon? Because if you are, you need to move your car."

...I boggled. I went and got dressed for bed, muttering with Katie about how she doesn't even seem to care that we were in the middle of calling the cops because she'd been gone so long. Pat moved his car, came back in, and cuddled me and then drove home (but not before handing out the judgement of "fucking bitch", because she just laughed off Katie's crying).

She came in just after he'd left, and explained that she'd gone out to figure out contingency plans for her school if it isn't renovated completely when school starts, and that she figured that I'd be back by 11:30 and we'd be asleep because I had work the next day. She did, however, apologize for worrying us.

I think I said "Fine, whatever," because it was nearly 4 AM at that point and I did have to leave for work in four hours.

I have no words.