What's done is done

Samuel had to decline the admission offer to his original top college choice due to lack of financial aid.

So we feel bad.

We feel like bad parents who didn't think far enough ahead to set aside $250K for each of our kids. 

We feel angry at the school, which we liked so much on the day Samuel got accepted, and which we kept trying very hard to like afterwards. We were willing to stretch beyond reason to make it happen. They didn't have to do much to close the deal.

But they didn't. 

We feel bad about feeling bad about it. We make too much money to get financial aid from a private school, but too little to actually pay for it. Poor us. That's why they have this new concept, called "state schools." Get over it.

Mostly we feel bad for Samuel. He's worked hard and put a lot of effort into the process, and getting the acceptance letter was such a big celebration for all of us. He did his part. 

Fortunately, Samuel applied to six other schools after getting the initial financial aid notice. 

He got accepted to five, with partial scholarships to four. They're all good schools. It will all work out.

Samuel will go to college. We will go deeper into debt. But not a quarter million dollars in debt. And ppllltttt to the college that shall go unnamed.

Kindergarten visit

The poll: Which book did you like more?
My Grandma's a Ninja: 10
Beep! Beep! Go to Sleep!: 3 

Questions for the author:
1. How did you get the idea for the book?
2. Is your grandma a ninja?
3. How many books have you made?
4. Is it for Sam? 
5. What is your favorite book that you wrote?
6. Are you Christian, Jewish, or something else?

This is the atrium that I pass through every day on my way to and from work. Toddlers love to walk up and down the marble steps. They plod to the top, pause, turn around, smile at the world, then plod back down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

I don't know what it means. I just know that it's my favorite part of every day.

Easter in Prophetstown

You know your kids are getting old when you mention the Easter Bunny and one of them responds with profanity. But he responds to everything with profanity.

We made a weekend trip to Jen's hometown in Illinois. Ethan said it was so deserted it was like being in a zombie video game.

That evening we went to "supper" at 5:30 at one of the two local restaurants--the one that was open in the "evening."

Yesterday Samuel and Grandpa hung out talking hard drives.

We had an early Easter dinner at Jen's sister's house in the country. The women cook all the food, then the men are served first. My opinion? As long as midwestern farmers don't come to my Upper West Side apartment and lecture me on how much I should tip the sushi delivery guy, their food-serving traditions are none of my business either. The food was great, by the way.

Feeling about ten pounds heavier, I floated the idea to Samuel and Ethan of walking the five miles back to town. They agreed.

About a half mile down the road we came to a farm that reminded Samuel of Old Man Peabody's farm from "Back to the Future."

Later we took a shortcut through a cornfield, almost stepped on a dead skunk, were attacked by a swarm of gnats, and debated whether cows squat to poop.

On the edge of town, we threw rocks at a barn. And mostly missed.

It was a good Easter.

Birthday party

By the time they're teenagers, birthday parties are no longer the huge thing they were when they were five. But we still had a party for Ethan's 15th birthday, and we mostly just tried to stay out of the way and not make it uncool.

Party pics:

 

Back home for birthday brownies...

Dear Ethan

Just thinking about all the d-heads in the world who strap explosives to their bodies or go on murderous shooting rampages and take out a bunch of innocent people for no good reason other than their own self-absorption, and what a crappy place they make the world for everyone else.

I'm glad you show no signs of becoming such a person.

If you ever get to that point, please take a breath and call me...we'll walk the dogs to the deli and talk about life and love and girls and transgender people and Utopian societies and how PC your school is. You can use the F word as much as you want, and we'll work through it.

I hope you know that I don't care whether you become a doctor or a writer or a pro wrestler or whatever. Do what you want to do. Be who you want to be.

If you want to go to college, go to college. If you want to live with us when you're 25 and go clubbing every night (which is what you once said you planned to do), I'm actually fine with that. I'm so grateful to have you in my life that I really don't care about the details.

Just be cool to other people along the way, okay? Things will work out. Even if they don't they do.

I just found this old picture of you and Aaron, and it made me smile. Even when I'm 95, I'll still think of you like this. If your grandson visits me in the urine-smelling dining hall of my retirement home, I'll probably call him Ethan. He'll wonder what the hell I'm babbling about. When you're old you mostly just remember the things you loved most.

Happy birthday, by the way. You're a great son.

Nothing earth-shattering to report...

...which is okay.

But I am having kind of a creative eruption lately. I just finished a new manuscript, which I'm excited about, and I'm working on revisions to another. I have ideas for five or six more.

Separately, there's interest from publishers for two existing manuscripts. I've learned not to count my chickens before they're hatched. But it would be nice to have another book or two in the pipeline.

Last but not least, on a completely unrelated note, here are some pics from the Studio School gala this weekend: