For so many people, this week marks their children’s first day of school. As I walked Rocky this morning, summer’s silence was replaced by streams of children, hands in parent’s palms, parading past me. New backpacks, new Nikes, new everything. First day of school ensemble carefully chosen for some, one of my favorite rituals; watching my daughter painstakingly consider her outfit for her return to school. Not this morning, though. This morning, it was just me and Rocky, puttering around the apartment, no real thought as to what I’d wear, other than comfortable walking shoes for my trek to Times Square. It is the first year since 2003 that I am not one of the nervous-for-my-child parents; The Teenager is firmly ensconced in her first day/first week experience at her college, far away from home. I was not preparing breakfast and lunch this morning. I was not annoying my child with wanting my traditional first day of school photo. I was not participating in her experience in any way. That’s another milestone, not being with her for her first. I was there when she took her first step. I was there when she had her first shot. I was there when she rode her bike on her own for her first time. Not being with her on her first day of college? That’s my first. It will be the first in a long line of things I am not at her side for, and that, that is my growing pain.

MeToo not as effective across other industries as the fame one is not news to me, although it is just as frustrating.

Serena Williams: “I think every athlete, every human, and definitely every African-American should be completely grateful and honored how Colin and Eric are doing so much more for the greater good, so to say.”

Also, these? Want.

Swopes. Size 7.

Ayanna Pressley. Yes.

Middle-aged dating ads. No seriously.

Do you have a menopause registry?

On October 7, I will be somewhere watching Doctor Who.

And now have a laugh with Leslie Jones.