And that's just the routine. There are the special events, too, back and forth to the library, the high school, and, currently, the roller rink, where ALL the teens decided to go tonight, and which is way too far away for me to bother going back home while she gets up to whatever teens these days get up to. (I take extreme pleasure from embarrassing her, Frances McDormand in "Almost Famous"-style, by reminding her loudly, "Don't take drugs!") Therefore, this post is live from the Panera, where the wi-fi is free and my decaf I didn't really want anyway is getting cold.
So it occurs to me that my mother and father did this schlepping, too &ndash and lots of it. I probably needed a ride across the river three or four times a week (it's really not an accident I set up my adult life to echo my childhood, with a river to cross; I missed being near rivers when I lived in Syracuse) &ndash this or that Explorers meeting, some sort of study session at the city library (which nearly always devolved into a rambling shopping expedition to the Two Guys Department Store across the street). As teens, we were vastly more self-propelled than my kids are &ndash just the nature of the towns we live in &ndash but there was still a vast amount of schlepping. So I think I owe someone a thank you, because you need to be schlepped to be a successful teen &ndash friend’s houses, dances, roller rinks, bowling alleys, wherever it is that teens suddenly decide they have to be. So, thanks for the schlep, Mom.
Yeah, like my mom has a computer. Hopefully it's the thought that counts.