This was the week for sugar babies at Colin’s school: when sixth graders manage a budget and haul around a five-pound sack of sugar as though it’s a real baby.

Which meant last weekend was probably when other sixth-grader families collected their requisite five pound bags, wrapped them with decorative duct tape to help prevent leaks, dressed them in doll clothes (or in carefully saved baby clothes from their own early years), drew faces with Sharpies, and gathered all the accouterments necessary to make-believe taped-up bags of sweet, short-chained, soluble carbohydrates were real babies.

Of course, the weekend in my house had more to do with a whole bunch of stuff that was not school-related, and then a Sunday 10:30 pm hollering down the stairs:

“Oh my GOD, mom, tomorrow’s sugar baby day.”

By that time I well enough into my cups – as it were – to be tempted to remind Colin that anything school-related after 10 pm on a Sunday is not my circus, therefore not my monkeys.