It seems that a good portion of a mother's job is to worry. The child's job is to not understand why. May God bless all the other worrying moms out there.
"I'm staying at the Drury Inn."
That was the text message I received from Emma late Friday night.
She had gone with friends to San Antonio for our parish's pilgrimage to the mission churches there. Early Friday afternoon, as we were driving down to Dickinson to rendezvous with her friends, I told her, "When you get to the hotel, text me and let me know the name of it."
"O.K. But why does that matter?" she asked, looking puzzled.
"Because," I explained patiently. "If I watch the news tonight, and they say that the Holiday Inn in San Antonio burned to the ground, and you have texted me and told me that you are at the Drury Inn, I will not worry!"
It seemed perfectly logical and reasonable to me.
Emma burst out laughing.
I was ready, though, with the mother's tried and true retort: "Just you wait til you have a little girl," which only made her laugh more but gave me some much-needed relief.
Artwork: The Cradle by Berthe Morisot