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Suzy Soro, of whom I am damn near terrified, has a weekly feature she's most aptly titled "It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday." As if being a signal that the weekend is upon us isn't enough, now I look forward to Fridays because I can visit Suzy to see what kind of drama and grievances she's experiencing. It has a salving effect. It makes me forget my own idiotic preoccupations for a while.

I wouldn't dream of stealing Suzy's idea, but I am going to borrow it with credits to her because oh my word. Things are pogosticking on my last nerve and the ever-increasing number of nightly glasses of wine doesn't seem to be offering me the kind of relief I need.

For starters, Chloe is making a special guest appearance as the college freshman home for spring break. While normal girls her age are lounging about half naked at some beachfront property or drunkenly tongue kissing other nubile young coeds for the fans of Girls Gone Wild commercials, Chloe has parked herself on the living room love seat in front of cable horrors such as Millionaire Matchmaker. I liked it better when she watched Green TV all damn day and issued dire warnings about how we were all going to die from the something something in our drinking water.

And she's doing me no favors either by mentioning her ongoing need for money first thing in the morning. Dang, chick, don't you know that if you bunge up The Writer at 8:13 a.m., you've pretty much shot her day for writing? Stress and concentration do not mix. I'm ready for her to go back to school already.

I know it's almost sacrilege for parents, especially a mama, to voice anything but undying devotion to her children, but honestly. These kids and their endless needs. Things got ugly the other day: this one bitching about that one because he needed some poster board and art supplie; that one fussing about the one who needs a white dress, and the third bemoaning the fact that the others use up too much of the family bank account with their sorority dues and braces......I finally lost it with them. "You all think you are an only child!" I shrieked.

They looked a little stunned, but not at all chagrined. So I was onto something. "Well, fine! Let's sort it out right now. Let's decide. Who should be pink-slipped?"

There were no volunteers, but plenty of furtive finger pointing and communicative eyebrow raises.

And then there are the cats. They are in complete mutiny. I guess it's payback for the last week and half of February when we ran out of money and I started rationing their food which was already the cheapest I could find. I think it was made of shredded newspaper, bits of styrofoam and ground cattle hoof. I can't say I blame them, but damn, they are out of control.

The youngest, still hanging on desperately to her feral qualities, found a breech between the garage and the basement. She showed the other cats how to use it. Damned sneaky idiots. They didn't realize it was an exit and and an entry. They'd go missing for a while then all of a sudden, there would be this clamoring and yowling at the basement door. I discovered their secret slipthrough and plugged it up cleverly with some old pillows and some luggage. Now they're just annoyed. (Note: As of this morning, the youngest found her way through, again.)

Oh, and the secret, angry pooper is at it again. Except we all know it's him so only he thinks it's a secret. We all just go along with the ruse. Well, that's not technically true. When no one is around, I shame him about it. I tell him that I know it's him. But nothing ever really changes. He poops by the back door, I complain loudly about it and clean it up or tell someone else to do it and hope that they do it quickly. That whole when I say do it, I mean now concept gets lost in the translation.

I realize I invited this trouble into our lives. Once upon a time it was just MathMan and me. Our stuff belonged to us. We didn't have to clean up puke or poop or hand out money to ingrates. We went to work and school. Sometimes, we even went out for fun. We hung around our apartment with our non-gray hair, full-throttle sex drives, unfurrowed brows and wrinkle-free skin. We fucked and watched t.v. and generally goofed around. We took drives for the hell of it. I think fondly now on those carefree days....

I remember thinking then that if we started our family relatively young, we'd have time when we were older to enjoy life. Well, on the track of life, we've just about finished up the second lap of the 440. In another seven years, all the children will be grown. The cats will have either croaked of natural causes or will be lovingly outsourced to one of these children who claim to love them. MathMan and I will once again be on our own, living off the reparations that will be automatically deposited into our bank account. We'll be child and pet free. We'll go back to that carefree life, but knowing much more than we did all those years ago.

For example, don't leave a forwarding address......