WAAAAAH Burger and French Cries, Part 2

I am finally used to this West Point Mom thing. Or so I keep telling myself.

I'm ok with my baby off at the nation's #1 college, pursuing his calling. I'm ok with him adventuring not only halfway across the country, but halfway across the world, in Israel, of all places, safe in the company of the IDF. I'm ok with only occasional phone calls. Or so I keep telling myself.

But this weekend I was feeling bereft. Bereft-er than usual. It was like Beast again. Incommunicado, and with lots to worry about. He normally rents quite a bit of space in my head, but the combination of several things had rather caused me to worry this time.

M was sick this weekend, all alone, all by himself up there at West Point, though thanks to the Stalker Mom, he was well-equipped with chicken rice soup, which he pronounced "glorious."

M had swine flu, they said. After two days in his bed, he made it to the doctor where he was medicated and masked and isolated/quarantined in a place with no internet and no phone service. But I was thankful he would be watched and fed. After a few days in there, he was released and now, a couple of days later, he is back in business.

Just in time to have surgery tomorrow for a deviated septum, caused by the broken nose suffered in his evil boxing class last year. Well, at least the hospital has internet access.

This long-distance mothering is for the birds. But thank God for IM-ing and txt-ing, and email . And thank God for the West Point Moms (and Dads) support system.