Or maybe...their biggest fear is that they will get close to you again, and you'll go and drop dead.

Steven, I know I phrased that as a question, but it was really a command. Yes, but mine is…ummm…private. Private, Steven? Yes, Miss Palma. PRIVATE Steven? Again with the capital letters?

A typical weeknight when he was home like this: 1. Sit down and try to do homework. 2. Get interrupted by Jeffrey: “Please play with me!” 3. Ignore brother, try to do homework. 4. Get interrupted by Jeffrey: “Come ON, Steven! I’m BORED!” 5. Beg Jeffrey for five minutes of peace. 6. Get begged for five minutes of play: “Steven, you never, ever play with me—ever!” 7. Move entire homework operations center to different room. 8. Repeat steps #1-7 as directed by small drugged maniac.

Take care, Jeffy. I’ll see you soon, right? Just remember not to throw food at the nurses. I don’t want to get any complaint calls, OK? Steven, I don’t throw food at…oh, that was a joke, right? Yup, buddy boy. It was a joke. But seriously, no kissing the nurses on the lips, either. It messes up their makeup. Eeeeeeewwwww!

I tucked him in with his stuffed-animal pet dog—cleverly named Dog-Dog, by the way.

Chicks dig a dude who’s sporting the latest eggplant turtleneck styles.

(Yes teenage boys who are fine always cry on their mothers’ shoulders until they leave a snot trail.)