She picked up on the second ring and said, “Good morning, Carrie, I hoped I’d hear from you today. How’s it going?”
“Hi Mom,” I said and filled her in on the details of yesterday.
“Poor kid,” she said, “it sounds like you handled it well though. How’s he this morning?”
“He’s still in bed, I’m letting him sleep until 10. He needs his rest, doctor’s orders.”
“Oooh, doctor’s orders. Better do it then,” she laughed.
When I was a little girl anytime my dad wanted to get me to do something I didn’t want to, his argument ender was “doctor’s orders.” “Eat your vegetables, doctor’s orders.” “Time for bed, doctor’s orders.” “Clean your room, doctor’s orders.” It became kind of a running joke in the family.