Saturday night was one of those nights. The whole family seemed intent on making me worry. Now, I should mention that, having been raised by Germans and Scandinavians in Wisconsin and attending the Lutheran Church, I know the worst is always yet to come. We don't really panic very often. We just bounce along on a sea of apprehension in our little dinghies of despair. When things go really well, it doesn't make us happy, necessarily. It just convinces us that we're being set up for a greater fall. Anxiety. Disquiet. Bother. Vexation. Perturbation. You pick the word. I'll fill the bill.

Years ago we had a dog named Jingles. Jingles was a dachshund-chihuahua mix. He was a nervous little guy. He was only really happy when everybody was home. Now, he didn't really like any of us but he wanted us home. Eventually, his canine psychic powers got so great that he could just sense when he was about to be left behind. One time, my wife, Jessica, was just thinking...thinking!...about taking the kids to a park. She hadn't gotten anyone's jacket or, for that matter, even left the kitchen yet that morning. Jingles knew something was up. He walked over to her and left a warm little "commentary" on her bare foot. In some ways I'm like Jingles. No, I don't do anything like the aforementioned protest and it's not so much fearing being alone. I just like to have everyone in one place...safe and sound. That made Saturday night a problem for me.

Our daughter, Samantha, was gone all day at a forensics event...home long enough to wolf down one of my almost-award-winning pigs-in-a-blanket...then off to babysit. She does this just a few houses away but I still am concerned. She's great at the job and it's terrific that she is earning some moolah but couldn't she just do it over the phone from her bedroom?

Meanwhile, Alexander was in Lawrence, Kansas. There was this basketball game going on Saturday night, down in Texas...near the Alamo. Apparently, Davy Crockett was a great power forward. Anyway, Alex watched the game with a pile of friends and then headed down to the party on Massachusetts Street. He texted his mother about the celebration. All I could think of was how our little boy would make it back to his room in the midst of all the hullabaloo. I love that word. Sounds like the answer to a Carnac routine: "Where does a British hullaba go to the bathroom?" Linguistic frivolity aside, I was hoping Alex left bread-crumbs so he could get home.

Then, along came Taylor or, more accurately, along went Taylor. (My apologies to Mrs. Davidson, my junior high English teacher for that last sentence and for, sometimes, calling her Mrs. Harley-Davidson, under by breath, usually, when she handed back my exams.) Taylor actually did the most to give me Saturday Night Hives. He, too, was at forensics all day. Not long after he got home, after his second long shower of the day...does he think he's a character in Silkwood?...he left, in my car, headed for a friend's house. He was at that house from around 4:00 p.m. until midnight then went to the After-Prom Party at the high school. It is true that his friend's parents were also there as chaperones and that the whole purpose of the event was to keep kids safe on a big party night, still, I was uneasy. The party at the school went until 4:00 a.m. Four In The Morning! I don't think I have ever stayed out until four in the morning! It seems to me that bad things happen when you're up that late. To his credit, Taylor came home right on time. He was fine. The car was fine. He had a laundry basket full of t-shirts and Nerf toys he'd won in a raffle.

By the way, Harrison, the youngest had been outdoors in the neighborhood all day but stayed in to watch basketball in the evening. He was within grabbing distance the whole night. He will get good birthday presents.

Samantha was home by 11:30 p.m. Alexander texted again later when he was back in his hall. Taylor was in bed and snoring by 4:20 a.m. (By the way, our current dog, Casey, who is as laid back as Jingles was hyper didn't wake up through any of the comings and goings. His dog blood pressure is one over two...when awake.) Finally, around 4:30 a.m. I settled down. At 4:45 my wife's alarm rang and she bounded out of bed to run in the 44 Mile Brew-to-Brew Relay from Kansas City to Lawrence. It benefits the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Well, I was up again and, you guessed it, worried. She'd be running in the middle of nowhere! For at least ten miles! Sure, she's done this event many times in the past and I worried about everyone of them. We also serve who sit and stew!

I know the old saying: Most of the things you worry about never happen. That just makes me worry that I'm worrying about the wrong things. I was raised to worry. I'm good at it and I intend to pursue it. I have so few talents, I may as well embrace this one. Good Old Charlie Brown put it best: I have a new philosophy. I now only dread one day at a time.