So when a daughter gets into the longshot college in a city with her name all over it, and then you realize that the tuition information you glanced at in the beginning of the application process was the financials per semester instead of the entire school year, you wake up a lot at night. You wake up a lot and remind yourself to breathe, and then you realize you have to work your ass off at two or three jobs for what will only seem like the rest of your life. Then you cross your fingers that the last remaining school, the best one of the bunch with a quarter of the price tag comes through, and you promise that in the meantime you will stay off the computer.

But funny stuff keeps happening and you don't want to forget, so you get back on to record what you can remember, like when you tried to treat seven family members to 24 hours in the City:

Me: Was there something special that you wanted to do?
Mom: No, we can just wing it.
Me: Well, it might be good to plan a bit. Would you like to do a spa treatment with me at the hotel?
Mom: I am sure I will be too tired for that.
Me: Do you think you might like to see a play?
Mom: Oh, your father would like that.
Me: Let's see,
Naked Boys Singing
Soul Searching "A new rock opera about a Jewish woman's search for the perfect mate" Menopause, the Musical.
Indoor/Outdoor, "A new romantic comedy about the life of a pampered house cat."
Infertility, about infertility.
A post-adolescent reunion of the Peanuts gang.
Bush is Bad.

Mondays are bad for the theater. Maybe we should go to the Natural History Museum and see if they caved yet to the public pressure to build a wing on intelligent design.

Or how the youngest interprets life:

"I have a sweet tooth."
"You do? I think so."
"Yes, I know I do and it is right here."
"You know where it is?"
"Yeth, ith here, the tooth with the hole in it"

Or why I am constantly amazed I have never had to bail one out of jail yet:

"I think I am going to get two pairs."
"They cost $100 apiece. Mom didn't say you could get two pairs."
"Well, Mom said I could get 'jeans' and that's plural."
"Use the word 'jean' in a sentence."

Or going through high school again with the middle one:

"Your sister is going to be Caesar in a play. Caesar was a king. Well, no, he wasn’t. He wanted to be a king, but . . ." I stumble, bc (before coffee).

"He?" the five year old interrupted, turning to look at her sister. "You play a boy?

"Yeah," answered Mac, the fifteen year old, with the enthusiasm of a teenager asked to empty the dishawasher.

"Eww," the younger responded.

The cooties status report made the bigger sister smile. "I am nervous. What if I laugh? I know I am going to laugh. This will be terrible."

I could see it. A Caesar in a white sheet with a Wet Seal belt for a sheath and rubber Viking sword with chewed tip for a weapon, speaking in a rush and uttering words in a cockney accent, with the start of a giggle bubbling up around the corners of her lips and eyes. It was as certain as the Ides.

"If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'?" I ask.

"‘How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go.’ Bye Mom. Bye Edit Love you."

Exit Mac from the van.