best son EVER

Those of you who know me or who follow my blog know that I love my oldest son, my missionary son, Brakston.

Let me just brag for a minute more. He is never forgetful. He tells us everything. He loves to surprise us.

Okay. Okay. I really only believe the last one is true.

For example, imagine the surprise Kevin and I felt yesterday when mail from an Arizona hospital came. We opened it to find an emergency room bill for a visit on January 14th.

Huh? Who? What? Huh?

Oh, yeah. It must be our missionary son. Really? Is he back in the hospital? What now? How come we find out from a bill?

You might have laughed if you had seen Kevin and I poring over each line item on the bill trying to decipher what it meant? (i.e. "It says hydration pack. Do you think that's standard or was he dehydrated?" "Morphine. Do you think he was in a lot of pain or did they need to give it to him in order to stick tubes down him or something?)

I think "someone's son" is getting a bit of a lecture in tomorrow's email.



--scrappinsoccermama wonders if he was trying to be an adult (and not have mom worry) or whether he just forgot (I mean, it was six WHOLE days between the ER visit and his next chance to email and Brakston is NOT known for his memory).