Big Mother


My mom is spying on me.  And I really don’t mind it one bit.

My parents had it pretty good when I was a teenager.  First of all, I was a good kid so I really didn’t even think about sneaking out of the house.  But mostly it was a matter of logistics:  I lived 3 miles from town, there was no bus line and only limited access to the family car.  Most of my friends were in the same boat.

My own daughter’s teenage years were an entirely different ball game.  We lived within walking distance of everything – all of her schools, town and most of her friends. Our biggest challenge with Brittany was getting her to remember to tell us when she went from one friend’s house to another so we could keep track of where she was.   Unlike most parents, I was relieved to have her leave town for college.  There was no way I could keep track of her movements than and so I went blissfully to sleep each night without a second thought to her wear-a-bouts – for the most part.

Now our family lives with cell phones and apps that can tell us where everyone is at any given time.  My 24-year-old son encouraged us to get location app on our phones so he wouldn’t have to let us know when he shifted from school to the mall to a friend’s house.  My mom got in on this new technology when my sister invited her to get Google Latitude in December.  The idea was for my parents to be able to track her drive up the coast to their house for Christmas.  I joined in on the fun. I checked on my sister as she drove up for the holidays and tracked her route back home but that has been the extent of my use.

Not for my mom.  She has taken to following me about.  “You’ve been home for 30 minutes,” she’ll say as we chat while I’m cooking dinner.  “Are you headed out again? I noticed you were on Cornwall Avenue last night.  Was that for church?”  I could track her too, but it would be a lot less interesting!

As I said before, it doesn’t bother me one bit – and I’m sure we both sleep better for it.


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