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I kept my amaryllis bulbs planted in the garden last summer and dug them up before a hard freeze last fall. I put them in a paper bag in the garage and forgot about them until after Christmas. I potted them up on a cold snowy day and they finally bloomed this week.

When Josiah went to university, I asked him to send me one text a day. Many people (Dale included) adhere to the “No news is good news” outlook on life. However, through nature and nurture, my mother has trained me instead to think, “No news is bad news yet to be delivered.”

I attempt to fight my illogical worrisome thoughts, and the easiest way for me to overcome them is to receive clever texts such as “This is a text” or “Daily text” from my son at college. It instantly puts my mind at ease and I can move on from worrying about Josiah to worrying about Abby driving on icy roads, Gabe forgetting to take the bus home, and Zeke breaking out in a rash again.

Josiah sends me text reports on the Weather – “Snowflakes are falling;”  Quidditch  – “We won our first game today;” Finances – “I switched my Spanish class…I had to buy a new book for $223…” and Family Matters – “Tell Gabe I always get American cheese on my burger.”

Some texts encourage me: “Practiced on a Steinway today;” “I got Grandma’s package and texted her a thank you;” “Guess who’s gonna be a small group leader next year?” Some texts let me know I’m still needed “Could you get me dinner?” and “Do you know where my papers are?”

If a day goes by without a text, I tell myself “he probably just got busy.” If two days go by, I send a text question. If the third day goes by without a response and I’m sitting in prayer meeting and someone else starts praying “Lord, I feel your leading me to pray for Josiah tonight. He’s heavy on my heart…,” I panic.

“Did he get hit by a car?” “Is he gravely ill?” “Was he swept out to sea?”

The logical reasons for no communication: “his phone’s not charged, he’s busy, he’s asleep, he’s sick of texting his mother” are all overlooked for thoughts more drastic.

I set out on this motherhood task with an 18 year completion date on each of my children. “Goodbye. Good luck. You’re 18. It’s time to make it on your own. Have a good life. Don’t let the screen door hit you in the butt.”

Yet I’ve trained myself during those 18 years in the task of watching over, making sure, keeping safe. I placed my hand on his back as an infant to feel his breathing. I dashed madly about when I lost sight of him in a store as a toddler. I pushed the bike and watched him pedal when he was a child. I gave him medicine to lower his fever when he was an adolescent. I sat in the passenger seat and explained how to park when he was a teenager.

“Stop mothering him,” I tell myself, “You’ve done the best or the worst or the mediocre-est you could do. It’s up to him now. You can stop the vigilance.”

Vigilance: the action or state of keeping careful watch for possible danger or difficulties: syn see MOTHERHOOD.

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Last weekend, my daffodils bloomed outside and my paperwhites bloomed inside. Both plants are types of narcissus. Winter returned today to transform my sunny daffodils into their paperwhite cousins.

Today is the first day of Spring, and in honor of my Pollyanna friend, Sharon, I walked around my yard with hope in my heart. Here and there life popped up refusing to be denied its turn.

Zeke competed in the ACSI math olympics for fourth grade reasoning and won second place. He was quite surprised by the accomplishment. Dale, his math minded father was not.

Gabe’s middle school did not attend the competition this year, and he was sorely disappointed. He’ll have to wait for the opportunity to be on the competitive math team in high school. Math Geeks Unite!

Gabe has his sights set on taking AP Calc BC in high school. Both Josiah and Abby decided during AP Calc AB that being a math major was not in their future. Now, Josiah’s college math classes are easier than his high school math classes. (The benefits of being an English major.)

I never had any math major dreams. College Calculus was an exercise in repetition. I did every problem set over and over again until I knew what symbols and numbers went in which spots. I did not understand it, I simply memorized the pattern of it. Dale’s memories of methodically working through every review problem with me are not happy memories.

Dale did not give up his math major dreams until he took mathematical modeling in college.

We’ll see how far Zeke gets in the competitive world of maths. The pressure is high, the competition fierce, and the girl in third place has Zeke in her sights.