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everyone else’s lazy grasshopper.
    I hoped this story would resonate with one of my children, but Emily was only interested in The Backyardigans and one of the few words Jacob said clearly was truck. I worried this might signify their future personality defects. And if it did, I was more than sure it could be corrected by the right preschool.
    Or maybe they would be somehow stigmatized if they started one of these designer preschools with so many issues. Perhaps their reputations would carry through to high school and somehow word would get back to the Harvard admissions committee. Perhaps they needed a chance to excel that they weren’t getting at their day care. Perhaps they needed a preschool prep school.
    I had been doing research on preschools. I stayed up late at night trolling urbanbaby.com, reading different reviews and finding out everything I could online about the best schools.
    I recently read about the Brooklyn Center for Early Childhood Education (BROCECE pronounced Brookese, for people in the know). It was relatively new on the preschool scene, but even though it was in Brooklyn, not Manhattan, it was recently highly rated in an article in New York magazine. It was an up-and-coming feeder school, meaning it could lead the twins to a good elementary school and that would make all the difference. It certainly wasn’t a top preschool, it was in Brooklyn after all, but maybe if we did a year there, the kids would be ready. I imagined them on a preschool interview in Manhattan. At this point, it would be a disaster. They needed time. Perhaps they could start at Brookese and then transfer somewhere even better the way I should have done with Harvard.
    Very well, then. Who needed Marcy, the incompetent consultant? Often it caused delays when one delegated. I would be the master of their fate. It was preferable. Getting the twins into Brookese was going to be my new focus. I could pour all my energy into Brookese instead of spreading the twins too thin with several schools. They would be big fish in a little pond. It was perfect.
    The phone rang. I looked down expecting it to be Marcy. I was prepared to dismiss the tardy grasshopper. For the fee she had intended to charge me, I might relish it a little. She was unprofessional, and I don’t give people second chances. But it wasn’t Marcy. I recognized my mother’s number on the caller id. I knew why she was calling, but I didn’t want to talk to her. I was more than sure she would find a way to make me feel as though I was doing something wrong.
    I let the call go to voice mail. But at the moment I was about to head down to the cafe, my computer calendar reminder dinged. I was supposed to be in a budget meeting. I was going to have to forgo my daily dose of caffeine. I was more exhausted than usual. Today of all days.
    It was my birthday.
    This morning I opened my eyes as usual a few precious seconds after I heard Jacob start screaming and right before Emily started kicking her crib, I realized that I was thirty-nine; technically I would be thirty-nine at 2 PM, but still.
    Peter’s face was still buried in the pillow. It might have been nice if he leaped out of bed as a special birthday treat or maybe brought me breakfast in bed or something. But no, nothing.
    I lay there for a minute, glaring at his bald spot.
    I took a deep breath, knowing that as soon as my feet touched the ground it would begin. But somewhere I still hoped things would be different today of all days. I had a strict schedule. And it would have been nice if for once, someone else adhered to it.
    But the twins refused to follow the rules. They were both up and all the stuffed animals from their cribs were on the floor. I didn’t know who to grab first. Jacob was crying real tears and Emily was screaming with her mouth wide open.
    And then it turned into a morning like any other morning. Nothing could be different because it was my birthday. Each moment was a crisis, but it all flew by. I was