The Teen knows she must call every few days, except when she’s out on the ships. She knows this. She went to summer training in Nova Scotia with not one, but *three* calling cards. She agreed to call home, and call her grandmother, at least twice a week to touch base with us. This is what we do in our family. No question.

So the last time I spoke to her was last Sunday. Last. Sunday. It is now Tuesday. T.U.E.S.D.A.Y. Tuesday of the following week!

Every day I get “has she called yet?” and “have you heard from her yet?” from my mother. The fact that I am aware that if something had happened to her, I would have heard instantly (not to mention felt-it-in-my-soul instantly) means nothing, because until I hear from her, the things running through my head are not pretty. Not pretty at all.

I’m not so much scared as I am worried, when my normally very level headed and considerate oldest child pulls something like this (yes, happened last summer too). I’m not someone who panics. I get stressed out, but I never panic. I’m worried that something earth shattering has occurred, and while she’s physically fine, she’s in a mess emotionally, and can’t bring herself to get to the phone. She can’t think in terms of how Mom is feeling, only that she’s miserable. I’m worried about her emotional state.

I shouldn’t have been.

So I get the call about 45 mins ago. The second I see the calling card number come up, I’m instantly seething. Since I know, in this split second, that she’s ok, I’m now so over my stress and worry, and I’m simply pissed off. But you know what? I took a deep breath, let it ring once more as I collected myself, and then answered with a simple “Oh. My. God. Well, how nice of you to call home, dear daughter of mine.”

I won’t detail the call, but she spent the first 3 minutes apologizing, sort of, when you could tell she was only slightly nervous about my reaction and just wanted to get past it. She knew, like the proverbial puppy who peed on the floor, what my reaction was going to be and that she’d done something baaaaaaad. She also knew that I’d get over it fairly quickly, and it would be ok.

Choking down my righteous anger, forcing myself to realize that all was fine, and it wasn’t that-big-a-deal-I-guess, was really tough. I’m Irish – I need to freak out sometimes, it’s in the genes for pete’s sake.

I’m still pretty mad, but this post is helping me deal with it and get past it. Blogging is cathartic.

All that matters is that she’s ok, and having a fabulous time. The Newfanese accent she’s picked up? Disturbing, but this too shall pass. She promised twice to call me again on Friday. THIS Friday. Best of all, she’ll be home in a week and a half, and I’ll get to hold her in my arms again, if only for a minute until she wiggles free and is off to text everyone else she knows because… well, she missed them sooooo much!