Oh Mother. Why must you worry????

Is this the title to an old song about going off to war? Or a poem about an old woman at a fireside? Or could it be the title of a great painting?

Well, it could. But it is not. This phrase, my friends, is a direct quote from my darling daughter who sends me wedding blog links. My darling daughter, who is in a dating relationship but is not thinking of marriage. My daughter who has to remain at her current school cause she has a terrific scholarship!

So she sends me this link to a blog about a red wedding and says she is addicted to wedding blogs. So I e-mail her back: "Is there any reason why you're trolling wedding photog sites? Just the pictures?" If you read closely, you can hear the slight panic being transmitted through the typewriter keys(yes, I just typed typewriter--a true sign of distress. Or aging). If you are or have been the mother of a twenty-ish aged daughter, you will know exactly what I'm talking about.

So she writes me back, extolling the virtues of design and photography and costume and clothing and such. And wedding photography sites are just an amazing blend of all her favorite things--Her favorite things being photography, clothing design and interior decorating and such.....

I knew that.

Of course I knew that. I'm her mother for Pete's sake (does pete need capitalized here?? hmmm) But as her mother, it is also my job to be suspicious and paranoid and all that business when she is involved with a guy. However nice he may be. Or when she's not involved with a guy. Just giving birth brings on all these aspects that become magnified over time. And I know I'm irrational. All mother's are irrational. It just builds and builds and builds......

From the time you get that first little bundle of joy. And you wait a few weeks for the 'real' parents to show up.

Then when the children are playing quietly in their room. And it is too quiet. And you worry that the older one may have inadvertantly suffocated the younger one by shutting her in the very unsafe big plastic tub used for blocks. But you are enjoying your moment of peacefulness and anyway, if the kid's dead for real, you can just put off the moment of sorrow, cause really, what can you do about it now anyway....

Then there's the time that they go off for a ride around the block and they don't come back, and they don't come back and they don't come back......And then you finally spot the bike in the back yard, where the child has been forever, having never even gone for a ride around the block.....

So, anyways, I could go on and on and on and on and on.....with my, ahem, with parental/motherly irrational fears, but I won't cause if you're a mom, I don't want to add fodder to your imagination and if you're not, you'll just think I'm...well, you just perhaps might agree with Sarah that I'm irrational, ridiculous and in possible need of medication for my poor imbecilic mind. And in need of a life.

Very , very true--all of the above!

So, Sarah! I'll tell you why I must worry. Cause I'm your Mom, that's why! That's what I do. And someday, you will look back on this and laugh. Bwahahaha. You are cursed. You can run, you can hide, you can try to escape. But, one day, one awful, dark day, you will realize that

You.

Have Turned.

Into.

ME!

p.s. And perhaps, I just want to add drama and spice to an otherwise boring life.