On Saturday I woke very early, stumbled into the kitchen and put the coffee on. But instead of getting back under the covers with my favoite mug and the morning paper (as is my habit), I washed my face, slipped on some sweats, and chauffeured Thirteen to the other side of town so that she could gather with her classmates and sisterfriends to prepare to march.
I grumbled all the way up the freeway.
Don't get me wrong. I was way proud of her, but it was just so darn early.
Today, this popped up and I'm reminded that this is simply what we do. My mom never dropped me off at a protest march, mind you-- but the typing and the field trips and the cakes and crisp sheets? That was all her.