Like generals heading into battle, my husband, Jeffrey, and I prepared for every possible condition in readying ourselves for the arrival of our daughter.

Piano teacher with one room to rent, Steinway B to share for practicing, Sunset District. It couldn't have been more perfect if I had written out my ideal scenario and tacked it to the conservatory's "Housing to Share" rental notice board.

I couldn’t find that ridiculous flier. The one that was accompanied by about 15 other compadres inside my kids’ backpacks at the end of the twins’ kindergarten and the youngest’s first preschool year.

One of the first social rules I learned in kindergarten was how hurtful it was to call people names. The second rule was that people will eventually tease you.

There was a very tall pine tree to provide cover, along with a second cover, this one fashioned out of a paper grocery store bag. And there was surveillance. Okay, maybe surveillance is too strong of a word. Let’s just say that I was on the look out. Constantly. For my mother.

My little boy, Joe, is one of the best people I know, and I often wish I could be more like him. He's curious and inventive. He's thoughtful and honest. And yet he needs some fixing.