the road is on fire

Really? You had to tell me that? 

"The road is on fire... gotta go... [click]" is the one thing that no parent wants to hear coming from a cell phone that is connected to another cell phone that is in the car in which her child is riding.  Never.  The road is on fire.  And then, you hang up.  That's just great.

A week or so ago, there was this little get together down in Florida.  A few people congregated in a beach-side community to watch cars go around and around a track.  They sat there and watched these cars circle for an entire day.  Some even went and did it several times that weekend.  Around and around.  Wow, how thrilling. 

You may have heard of the event.  It's called the Daytona 500. 

Alex's grandmother purchased tickets for this little shindig months ago.  She even got some other "fan" ticket.  She's really trying to impress upon Alex a love for racing.  I don't know why.  I can't stand it.  Regardless, my mother thinks it is the BIGGEST sport of the future.  She believes that hoity-toity lawyers and doctors and millionaires will rub elbows at the races.  For whatever reason, she thinks that an appreciation for racing is equal to or more important than an appreciation for art, music, and literature.  She even says that racing is more important than golf to the better part of the elite.  I'm not so sure.

At any rate, I let him go to the race.  And, yes, he is enamored with Nascar.  I need to debrief him. 

So, my mother drove my son to Florida a little over a week ago.  A few hours after they departed, I received the above-referenced phone call.  Actually, first I received a call from her for directions.  She has a phone, but it isn't very smart.  So, she just calls me when she needs something if she's out and about.  It turns out she was lost.  Then her call was dropped.  Calling back, I heard her faintly say that the road is on fire and then the call drops again.  I couldn't reach her for several minutes afterwards.

There I was, freaking out and googling "Fire" and every route to Florida imaginable.  Finally, she called back and informed me that there had been a brush fire on the side of the road.  Not on the road, but on the side.  They were fine. 

My mother has a tendency to mildly overreact.  I have inherited said tendency, so I overreact to her overractions and then she overreacts some more and, eventually, there is a nasty chain reaction of women flipping out.  It really isn't very pretty. 

My poor husband.