Someday, my 11-year-old son is going to regret his habit of checking up on me every time I go out at night.

One recent evening, I was watching a Hawaii-Slam event when my purse started vibrating.

I pulled out my phone and saw my son's name. It was 10:13 p.m.

"Where are you?" he asked.

I told him I was exactly where I'd told him I'd be and he asked, "When are you coming home?"

"Don't worry about it and go to bed," I said. "It's past your bedtime already."

That was the first in a series of phone calls he made to check up on me and make sure that I was either still listening to poetry or on my way home.

I felt compelled to answer. The kids were in good hands, but there COULD have been an emergency. As it turns out, he had no urgent news to pass on the entire night, but not only did he call repeatedly, he even waited up until I came home.

"It's cute that he checks up on you," one friend said after the first call.

Another one told me that I'd be able to get back at him later.

Yeah, I will.

When he starts going out at night, I'm going to see how cute he thinks it is to have his mommy calling him periodically just to see what he's up to.

One day, I'll put his phone into "driving mode" so when I call, his phone will announce, "You have a phone call ... from MOMMY!" He already doesn't find that amusing. I wonder if he'll think it's funny when it happens on his first date.

I'm kidding, of course. I fully expect that he'll call me to check in and report every mundane detail of his evenings out and check in every time he changes venue.

If he doesn't, though, then he'd better watch out.