Uber Mom’s Pit Stop

I stayed home from work to be an Uber Mom. I think that’s what I’m going to call myself for my soon to be 15 year old, who has two part time jobs and plays two sports. I’ve never been the soccer mom type and I don’t have a minivan anymore. 

He’s my youngest and the only one in the house without a license. If he could, boy would he drive. And he actually has money for car fare. He will literally check my gas gauge and offer to make a gas stop. So, I’m his Uber Mom. Today he needed to be dropped of a few towns over on the other side of the Hudson River, at his coach’s house. 

He was catching a ride down to Atlantic City for a wrestling tournament. I mention that because it actually further supports my role with my passenger. He paid for his tournament participation, his gear, his club fees and he handled the arrangements to go with his coach. 

When it turned out last night that no one else in the family could drop him off at Noon, I felt like the least I could do was put on my Uber hat. We put the address in the GPS, but as it turned out, he knew a great short cut the GPS had to recalculate and catch up with him! 

This guy, my passenger, my son, makes me incredibly proud. And quite simply, I am amazed. After dropping him, I circled out of the the coach’s driveway, reflecting on my empty arms. It was early afternoon and I had space and time to exhale. 

I took my time driving home and decided to turn off at the Newburgh Waterfront. I got a parking space and even found a riverside bench all to myself. Seemed odd not to have at least one kid in-tow. It’s still pretty new to me, to not have a kid as a sidekick when I’m out and about. They’ve always been either available or has no choice. 

It’s been 24 years since I’ve been able to sit and look at the River and write, without the thought of needing to do for a kid. I remember before my daughter was born nearly 24 years ago, I would spend hours at Pier 17, the South Street Seaport. I would sit out people watching and looking at the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Bridge. Back then, I was journal writing, desperately trying to make sense of my life. I couldn’t get a handle on it. 

Now, I feel like I can step outside of myself and say I don’t care about making sense of it or where I’m headed. 

This afternoon, I tried to write. But, here’s the other thing about me now, I don’t people watch as much as I used to. I find that I usually end up talking to someone, connecting. When you’re some place interesting or beautiful, it seems God begs for us to share the moment. I did that today. 

My turn off wasn’t a moment of solitude or weepy empty arms. Just as I did way back at Pier 17, I found myself having no choice, but to stay present in the Will of God. 


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