Shhh…baby’s sleeping

There he is, sprawled out on the couch, covered in blankets,  beagle curled up at his feet. An extremely rare occurrence in my house these days, this 20-year-old is truly a sight for my sore eyes.

Last night, my son and his jazz quintet played a wedding at a former theater in downtown Cincinnati, about fifteen minutes from where I live in Kentucky.  He had actually told me earlier yesterday he was planning on spending the night at our house, but I didn’t hear him come home.

I woke up at about three this morning. Our beagle, Ella, was not in our bed, and rain pounded my windows while booming thunder faded in the storm’s wake. I reached for my cell phone. My son’s promised I’m home text did not greet me in the dark. Instead of caving to my parental worry and anxiety, I forced myself to remain in bed.

This is a huge feat for me. Too many times to count, I typically deal with this dread by getting up and leaving my bedroom like a death-row prisoner walking down the hall to her execution, and stare at a bright computer screen wishing my Facebook friends were up and posting status updates that occupy my time while I wait and worry.

Three hours later, Ella’s absence wakes me up again. Here we go, I think to myself. If he’s not home, how will I face 6 a.m. if I can’t reach him on his cell phone?

And there he is. And Ella, too. And there’s also this. Breakfast anyone?