>Worry is still my middle name

>They do grow up, our children. Do they ever really outgrow us? Or it may be us, the parental units left behind in the empty or almost-empty nest, who feel the pain as the apron strings snap.

Amigo sent me the following email while he was away at school.

Hello all

What a night we’ve had here in the LIFEhouse! It all started when I was cooking a frozen pizza in the oven. All of a sudden when my pizza was done, I started to smell smoke. I opened the oven door and sure enough, the whole room literally filled with smoke.

It turns out that a towel that was hanging on the oven door somehow got in there and almost caught on fire. Anyway, Ms. A, our supervisor, pulled it out using a pot holder, ran it under the sink, and opened the windows to try and let out the smoke. Wouldn’t you know it, the fire alarm went off and we got a visit from the fire department. The moral of this story is, never let anything besides food fall into a hot oven!

The next day he sent this one.
I am cobbing dowd with a head code. All mording I hab been blowig by dose like a trubet. I’b wondering if I should dake sobe psudifed or somethig to help be get over this?
That night he called. That tug on my heart? Apron strings stretching, stretching until they’re taut. Everyone survived the adventures without injury, Amigo didn’t freak out or melt down, and his pizza was still edible, with a slight smokey flavor. He called it a “learning experience.” His cold is improving after a long weekend at home. TLC and a chance to sleep in each day must have been good for him.
Good for him, maybe. For me? I still worry. Maybe not the same worry I felt when he was little, but it’s worry nevertheless. When these apron strings get cut for good, I hope it’s a clean cut, the kind that heal quickly and easily. I’ll need all the help I can get.

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