Stop Telling Me Where My 8th Grader is
One text every few hours allows the chaperones to concentrate on the thankless job of herding a few hundred 14-year-olds through the sites of our nation’s capitol without parental interruption.
If We Don't Come Back, We're Good.
I hear these horror stories of good teens gone bad, of the hormones holding the house hostage, of the sunshine of your life raining on your parade, blah, blah, blah. Maybe it will happen to him, to us. Maybe not.
