Plans

It has taken me a half century to accept that some things are outside my control.  In spite of all the planning and printed bus schedules, shit happens. A Greyhound bus carrying my precious cargo home to me may break down on a country road halfway between Austin and Houston, sending my over-active imagination into over-drive, but there's not much I can do about it. Not so. At least, not if you're me.

Frantic phone calls to the bus company trying to determine a new arrival time, texts back and forth between me and my precious cargo confirming that he's okay. Check. Calls to Sarah to see if she's heard from Mikey after he's no longer responding to my texts; her comment that it sounds like an X-File episode.  ACK!  Driving downtown to the bus depot only to find out that I was given inaccurate info and the replacement bus had barely left Brenham and was at least an hour away.

Trying to remain calm and keep control of my wild imagination for almost four hours; tough to do when you're a mother, but I did it.  Even when I was gently reaming anyone I spoke with at the bus company because with all of the current technology, they admittedly could not contact the bus driver to determine the bus's location.  Don't even get me started on that.

Four hours after the scheduled arrival, the bus pulled into the Greyhound Station with my precious cargo and his roommate, who we delivered to his parents safe and sound.  Mikey?  Fine, and in one piece, not affected in the least.  He slept peacefully in the broken down bus for two hours while the other occupants sweated out the wait.

Me?  I'm good.  I've got both my babies (okay, they're not babies, they're grown and taller than me...) here under one roof. In the words of Chandler Bing, "Could I be any happier?"