That feeling when you wake up on Saturday morning and for just a split second ask yourself, wait–did Meg get home okay last night?–because you fell asleep before she and her friend got home from their night on the town (hubby stayed up to wait for them) and there’s a little moment of panic because maybe they didn’t make it home and dawn is peeking through the windows and you should have stayed awake and what if something happened? and the house is so quiet–can’t anyone else hear how wrong that is? and you knew you shouldn’t have let two eighteen-year-old girls go downtown to that festival but you were overruled and now you feel that stab of where’s-my-kid-oh-my-god-I-fell-asleep-on-a-Friday-night-what-if-I-check-her-room-and-it’s-empty?

And then you breathe, and think, and remember that you woke up for a minute last night to the sound of Meg’s laughter as she and Bailey were fixing a snack in the kitchen and telling hubby what a great time they’d had.

And so you smile and count that blessing–really feel the gratitude and acknowledge the moment–and go back to sleep.