To celebrate the end of the semester, I dragged some progeny to NYC. Fifty percent of them slept through the second half of Richard III. That indicates poor parenting, and I vow to do better. If you must sleep through half of Mark Rylance's Richard III, make it the first half.
In retrospect, I should have just taken us all to the phenomenal Twelfth Night and not have tried cramming a me-sized trip into a kid-sized schedule. Our bus got back just in time for V to scribble out a few lines of homework and stumble off to school. (I thought the bus trip would be more conducive to homework completion, but 'tweren't so.) So many forfeited Mom Of The Year trophies, I'm losing count.