Today I am rushing the poodle off to the groomer (an hour away), rushing through errands at the natural-food store and the farmstand, rushing back to bake bread, rushing to sit down with my son (seniors are home today because everyone else at school is having a delightful time taking the PSAT) and coaching him through more college-application stuff, rushing to cram in some editing hours, rushing up to school to drop the boy off for soccer practice, rushing to the groomer to fetch the dog, rushing home, rushing through dinner, and then rushing to band practice. After that, I will leisurely drive home again. [Don't worry: I didn't forget my kid at soccer practice. Tom will be doing that bit of rushing.]

All of this rushing has transpired because I didn't know until 24 hours ago that my son would be home today . . . which is typical of all high school scheduling. An elaborate calendar of events comes home at the beginning of the year, but nothing ever stays the same. Pity the poor instructors who never know who will be in the classes they are supposed to be teaching.

It is strange to think that, next fall, nothing will be the same in this house.