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Lately I’ve been pondering what’s wrong with me, as evidenced by some completely out-of-character behavior. To wit: I have become extremely overprotective of my sons, ages 15 (almost 16, actually) and 12.

What it’s boiling down to is that I don’t want them to do anything. Ride bikes without an adult along? Ack! The streets of Ahwatukee are littered with roadside memorials to fallen bikers. Take the bus to the mall? Ack! Going out into the city (it’s big!) by yourself? Ack!

I don’t want them to be shut-ins. It’s summer! I want them to have fun! But not so I worry! Because that’s not fun for me!

What’s really strange about it is that I did not get all helicopter-y with my daughters at this age. Do stuff? Go! Have fun! But the boys….I don’t get it. I thought I was supposed to be all overprotective about the girls, not the boys.

(My oldest daughter is, if she’s reading this, shaking her head right now and picking up her phone to remind me that I flipped out of the tank when she announced she was going for a run. By herself. At night. But that is totally different and it was only like two years later that that poor girl in San Diego did exactly the same thing and was murdered, so don’t tell me my concerns were groundless.)

One of the problems is that the boys, even though they are proficient Boy Scouts, are not as worldly as their sisters. Nor are they as focused. Example: not too long ago, I asked Sam to

a) walk into my bathroom
b) open the center drawer
c) take out my nail clippers and
d) bring them to me.

He nods, heads out, and brings back….a Q-tip.

I love the boy dearly, he’s a terrific cartoonist, he has a wonderful sense of humor, and he’s as sweet as can be. But he’s not really paying attention all the time.

I’ve also realized that I have become accustomed, for better or worse, to being able to talk to the kids when I want to talk to them, which improves my confidence and decreases the worry.

So we added them to our cell phone plan. Which was in itself a hoot, in that most cell phone providers say a family is five. But we are six. So we worked that part out, and now both boys have phones, and the youngest one has promised not to send pictures of him mooning the camera to anyone.

And I suddenly feel a lot better. Which is nuts, because the same problems exist as did before. Q-Tip (as we affectionately call him) is still Q-Tip, even with a phone.

NB: I haven’t completely lost my worrying mojo. All four kids have been advised to text whenever possible (BUT NOT WHILE YOU’RE DRIVING, DO YOU HEAR ME????) because I still watch all those cell phone safety studies with, yes, worry.

It’s what I do.