Yesterday. My 12 year old daughter said she was going to ride her bike to the park and back. It’s not far, and doesn’t take long. But we waited, and waited, and she hadn’t come home. I drove to the park to look for her, and the closer I got to the park without seeing her, the worse I felt. I knew she’d gotten off her bike to go hiking in the woods and would be fine, but every episode of Law and Order I’ve ever seen flashed through my mind at the same time.
So, there was her bike parked near her favorite hiking spot—an unmarked, unofficial trail. I think it’s actually a deer trail. I called her name. No answer. That would be about the time I felt the worst, but fortunately my cell phone rang. It was my husband, calling to tell me our daughter was at home. She’d gotten lost in the woods and was so turned around she came out of the woods near the school. She knew her way home from there, but was really scared and upset. At least I didn’t have to feel such panic for long, even though the rational part of my brain was insisting she would be fine.
Now my husband and I are in serious cell phone negotiations. He wants her to have all the bells and whistles, and I want her to be able to only make calls. Ugh.
There have been a few other such moments since I had kids. I swear, they are taking years off my natural life span.