I spent Tuesday in Tucson, getting back at about a quarter after midnight. I went to bed with visions of payroll forms dancing in my head, and wasn't ready at 5:30 am Wednesday to answer my cell phone. I have no idea who it could have been. Then last night just before dinner, my cell phone rang. I picked it up and it was someone from the Santa Cruz Department of Corrections and that Parole Officer BlahBlah wanted me to know that they have my son Will.

I don't have a son, Will or otherwise. I told them that they had a wrong number, and the very tired-sounding woman said "Okay" and hung up in my ear.

I felt really bad. First, that it's this close to Christmas and some kid has gotten himself in enough trouble to get picked up for it. Second, that either he gave them a fake phone number or they misdialed, and when you're in trouble and waiting for help, those sorts of delays are maddening. Third, some poor mom is waiting for a son who's going to be bringing this crap home with him.

I'm grateful that my own kids were setting the table, gabbing and watching a silly movie, squabbling and generally being my girls. The older one is getting the stuff together for her "send Xmas cards to hospitalized soldiers" project (she's setting up a booth at her school fair) and the younger one is packing to spend Xmas with her Dad. They're good girls, and it makes me really happy. Hopefully, Will's mom will get some happy for Xmas this year too.