The daughter: "I had a nightmare last night, but when I woke up, it was morning, so I didn't wake you up to tell you about it."
Me: "I'm sorry you had a bad dream. You know it's ok to wake me up when that happens."
The daughter: "It was about you."
The daughter: "You told me I could ride my bike to school alone. Then you said I didn't have to do my homework."
Me, trying not to laugh: "Most kids wouldn't consider that a nightmare."
The daughter: "But Mommmmm-mmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeee. It's like it wasn't you."
The son appears, pulling on his sweatshirt: "Yeah, don't come back a Stepford Wife."
The spouse snorts.
My itinerary is now hanging on the refrigerator.
Right between the magnets that say "Make your own damn dinner" and "She was comforted by the knowledge that they were helpless without her."
Hasta la vista, baby.
Go listen to some music: "Enter Sandman" from the album Metallica by Metallica.