Just a few days ago I willingly packed a handful of young men, all vibrant, friendly, funny, interesting guys – into the mini van (that sexy beast) – and went on a road trip to Bangor.

I can still hear the sound of the bass on Maroon 5’s “Sugar (yes, please!)” pounding in my head, can still see myself in slow motion trying to prevent the lemonade from spilling all over the table at Buffalo Wild Wings, am still walking purposefully away from the impromptu floor hockey game going on in the aisle at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and still picking out ties for each of them to wear during basketball season.

I was laughing in my sleep this morning dreaming about the code they created to find me in Kohl’s.  Ppsssssst!  they’d whisper, and I was supposed to whisper back what? with an emphasis on the “t”.  But every time they tried it, I’d forgotten, and didn’t answer correctly, or was caught (yelling maybe) a clear and hearty “yeah?” — and they’d playfully repeat the rules.  Silly mom.

There are no rules for taking teenaged boys shopping. There are no rules, in fact, for most of anything I do with my first born — I’m just floundering around and figuring things out as we go.  Sometimes the floundering is painful, as when he earns a 55 on a quiz covering information he’s going to need in order to drive a car properly, like, next week. Other times, like when shopping, it’s fun floundering.  Just making our way from store to store, him and his buddies trying to figure out what’s cool, what’s not — what’s definitely not — in the ridiculous world of fashion.

I swear, the whole time, I was just happy they didn’t mind me being along.  And I know that when I see one of them all dressed up I’ll be recognizing a tie or two.  I absolutely love that.