So Scott the Brother moved from Boston to Omaha and thought he'd moved to a small town.

Apparently, he had forgotten the 13 years he'd spent growing up in Laramie, or the three before that in even tinier Albion, Mich.

Being a young, single professional in Boston certainly had its cultural and social opportunities, but as he quickly found out, so did Omaha.

He made great friends and had a packed social schedule. And then he fell for a girl from Hooper, Neb., and he became a full-fledged Omahan.

As a young, single professional, the brother bought a great house in west Omaha and it's the house where they remain.

I loved the fact that it was so easy to get to for the hicks from Wyoming, who basically could leave I-80, jump on the 680 and a couple of turns later, there we'd be.

The house has its quirks, like a private, curvy road that turns into his driveway on a steep downhill. Getting down there is not as challenging as backing up around those curves to get out.

But it's got a mammoth ceiling in the living room, where he puts the largest Christmas tree he can possibly find.

And it's got tons and tons of stairs, which is not exactly convenient when the master bedroom is on the main floor, kids' bedrooms are upstairs and the laundry room is downstairs.

But it's their home, and it's very, very close to Westroads Mall, the scene of Wednesday's senseless devastation.

The friend called when national cable networks first reported the "shooting in a shopping mall in Omaha."

Then he said which store it occurred in, and I remembered vividly the high-end gift boxes imprinted with that store name that used to arrive every single Christmas.

When he was young and single, the brother preferred one-stop theme shopping, buying everyone the same kind of gift from the same store, taking them to customer service and having them wrapped and shipped from the store.

One year, he decided everyone in my family needed new hiking boots and Mouse's lit up every time she took a tiny, mouse-sized step.

Now, his wonderful wife does the shopping and the gifts are no less thoughtful.

So I looked at the clock and assumed he was at work, fixing someone's heart.

And I thought that their oldest son with his own car should have been in school.

And then Peggy Jane the Mom called to say that Scott the Brother had called her - the wife and baby had spent the day visiting her parents in Hooper and were fine.

Later, I learned that their 17-year-old in fact didn't have school that afternoon and there was a terrifying short period of time when his mom couldn't reach him on his cell phone.

So here's the thing - my cell phone doesn't text. It's not that I don't know how, it's that it doesn't.

Mouse the Daughter hates listening to my "annoying messages." She says she sees that I've called and then she'll call me back.

I don't want to stalk by cell phone. I just want her to be safe.

And all moms want that same thing.

Whether they are in Omaha oblivious to what's happening across town or in Casper, oblivious of how I worry "for no reason," teenagers just seem to have an electronic disconnect from worrying moms.

Whether or not there's snow on the road, whether or not it's an hour before they are supposed to be home, if the birds are out of the nest, it's unsettling.

Mouse thinks I should get a grip. She's right. And while I'm at it, maybe I should get a GPS to find her. But I wouldn't know how to use that either.

Community News editor Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at (307) 266-0520; sallyann.shurmur@trib.com or see her profile and blog at my.trib.com/Sal/blog