Modern parents are stressed out and put upon.

I'd forgotten how bad it was.

Actually, it was never this bad for me. Times were different when my kids were teens.

But I'm getting a taste of modern parenthood since the Little Prince is staying with me for a few days because his parents and brother are on vacation and the LP needed to stay home for soccer tryouts.

The phrase, "Staying with me," is a euphemism, really, since I've done nothing but schlep him from one location to another - one soccer field or another, one friend's house to another - since his parents left.

On Tuesday night, it was Christian's house. On Wednesday, Tony's.

Thursday I think he stayed here. Or maybe I'm confused about the days. Maybe it was Wednesday at Christian's and Thursday at the Crotts. I can't keep track. I am sure that he went to Busch Gardens Friday with a group of seven boys his age and a mother who, no doubt, has more courage than I.

Today, Saturday, it was the afternoon at Pash's house which segued into an overnight at Tony's. Oh, and there was soccer tryouts this morning at 9:30 a.m. He didn't eat beforehand. "I'M NOT HUNGRY," he said when I nagged. Nor was he hydrated. "I threw up during tryouts." He didn't have his water jug because he said it tasted as if it had lemon or something inside. I threw up my hands.

The only thing I can do is nag - I tell him it's what mothers and grandmothers are on earth for - and try to be sure parents are supervising the "play dates."

When they're 15 going on 25, it's a crapshoot even if when you nag and even when there are parents around.

The one thing that does help a little is that they all have cell phones. At least you can sort of keep track of them. Of course, you have no idea when you call them whether they really are where they say they are and if they're really with who they say they're with.

It's small comfort. But at least you know they're alive.