A few months ago, Dumb Editor told Smartmom that he wanted a younger columnist with younger offspring for The Brooklyn Paper’s award-nominated parenting column. Smartmom felt like she was being stabbed.

“You’re killing Smartmom?” she asked.

“Don’t say it like that,” he replied, and blathered on about demographics, advertising, parents and that damn couch that Smartmom spent 12 columns on last year year.

Smartmom went through a variety of feelings about Dumb Editor’s decision to dump her.

First she was in denial. She reckoned it would take months, even years, for Dumb Editor to find a suitable replacement. She didn’t tell anyone because she really didn’t think it was going to happen. Obviously, Dumb Editor would see the light of day and change his mind.

Soon after, Smartmom got angry. Really angry. In her mind Dumb Editor became Mean Editor. She couldn’t think about him without sneering. She composed angry letters in her mind attacking him for his shortsightedness. How could he kill poor innocent Smartmom? What a jerk!

Smartmom decided that Mean Editor was ageist, that he was discriminating against Smartmom for being a 51-year-old mom with a pair of teenagers, one college-bound this summer. What was so wrong with writing about a 13-year-old and a 19-year-old? Don’t teens need to be parented, too? Were babies the only kind of children worth writing about? Surely there was already enough on Park Slope Parents and Babble about breastfeeding and Bugaboos.

Then the self-hatred kicked in. Dumb Editor’s “rejection” really did a number on Smartmom’s self-esteem. For a short period of time, she had writer’s block and even trouble coming up with ideas for new columns. She started to doubt herself as a writer. Was she really irrelevant and over the hill? Was she really out of tune with her Brooklyn readership?

As time passed, Smartmom slowly began to accept the inevitable. She even began to feel better. The support of her friends and family was significant in this regard.

Many of her friends and neighbors were shocked that Smartmom was being “killed off.” They were incredulous that Mean Editor would do such a thing and that they wouldn’t be reading about the trials and tribulations of her life while sipping coffee at Connecticut Muffin.

Smartmom was soothed by their kind words and she began to adjust. She decided that she would leave the Brooklyn stage with grace and dignity. It wouldn’t do to curse out Mean Editor and leave The Brooklyn Paper by emergency slide like that Jet Blue flight attendant.

Plus, didn’t Dumb Editor offer her an entirely new neighborhood column? Yes, somewhere in the mists of her bitterness, she remembers him mentioning that, as he grabbed the last bite of the brownie they were supposedly sharing.

The Oh So Feisty One was greatly relieved to hear about the imminent demise of Smartmom. It’s no secret that she absolutely hated being the subject of a column in a widely circulated, popular newspaper read by her friends and the parents of her friends. An intensely private person, she was happy to hear that her life would no longer be the subject of public conversation.

However, when she told Teen Spirit that Dumb Editor thought the column should end when he left for college, he was aghast.

“But what about OSFO? You can still write about her,” he said.

This surprised Smartmom. She knew that Teen Spirit found the articles about himself irritating and that he’d stopped reading the column ages ago. Still, he thought it unfair that OSFO would now be out of the limelight that she herself hated.

Hepcat wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Smartmom’s termination. He rather liked being stopped on the street every now and again.

“Are you Hepcat?” people would say.

“I am the person on whom Hepcat is loosely based,” he would tell them.

The columns were also an easy way to check in with Smartmom about what she was thinking and feeling — a whole lot easier than actually having a conversation with Smartmom because sometimes those talks would result in arguments or long whining sessions. Now, he would have to talk to Smartmom and that might be a tad inconvenient.

Strangely, Smartmom not only accepted the idea that the column was coming to an end, but she even began to like the idea. It would certainly make things easier between her and OSFO, who would no longer have to fear that Smartmom would write about something she didn’t want other people to know about.

Smartmom also realized it was time to move on to new things. She’d been writing the column for almost six years, and she’d probably said all she needed to say about being a smart mom in Brooklyn.

Still with just three columns to go, Smartmom is feeling a tad nostalgic. She remembers the day six years ago when Mean Editor wined and dined her at the Tea Lounge, trying to lure her to his newspaper. Smartmom remembers that he even bought her a cup of coffee (not a latte, mind you) and told her how much he liked her writing.

Well, we know how that story ends — and what a double whammy for Smartmom. Teen Spirit is going off to college, and Smartmom is being axed from The Brooklyn Paper.

What’s a smart mom to do?

Last week Crazy Lady was greedily eyeing Teen Spirit’s bedroom. She even went in there a few times taking measurements and trying out paint chips. In just over a month, Teen Spirit will be leaving for college in the Midwest and, she reckoned, he won’t be needing his room anymore.

Smartmom kept telling Crazy Lady to stay out of there, to mind her own business, to leave well enough alone.

But Crazy Lady doesn’t listen. Besides, she thinks when Teen Spirit leaves they should turn his room into something useful.

“It could be a meditation room,” Crazy Lady told Smartmom. “You could paint the walls white and get the floors redone.”

Actually, Smartmom liked the idea of a meditation room. An oasis of serenity and mindfulness in her own home would be such a luxury…

But then she snapped out of her reverie.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Smartmom told Crazy Lady. “Teen Spirit will always have a bedroom in this apartment.”

“But he barely uses it as it is,” Crazy Lady told Smartmom. “You could put a shrine over here with a Buddha statue and an incense holder. Your meditation pillow could go here…,” Crazy Lady told Smartmom.

“That’s out of the question,” Smartmom screamed. “He’s just going to college. He’ll be coming home for Thanksgiving, Christmas and summer vacation!”

Crazy Lady rolled her eyes.

“He can sleep in a sofa bed when he comes home,” she told Smartmom. “Then you could turn his room into an entertainment center. Get a video projector, a screen and you’d be set to watch all the Coen Brothers, Almodovar and Woody Allen movies you want. You could even get a recliner.”

The idea of a screening room was pretty tempting. Smartmom could almost see herself melting into a down-filled couch indulging her cinematic interests.

But then she snapped out of that reverie, too.

“A recliner. You’ve really lost it, Crazy Lady,” Smartmom screamed out.

“All right. You could turn his room into your office. Put a writing desk against this wall and a bookcase here. It could be very writerly. A real study…,” Crazy Lady told Smartmom.

Truth be told, that didn’t sound so crazy. Smartmom thought of all the money she spends on an office outside of the apartment. If she took over Teen Spirit’s bedroom she could actually work at home, save money.

But then she snapped out of even that reverie, too.

“You’re nuts, Crazy Lady,” Smartmom spewed out. “You know I can’t work at home. It’s too distracting. I do all my best writing at the office. If I tried to work at home, I’d end up washing dishes, filing papers, cleaning the toilet, anything but writing.”

“OK, OK. You could turn his room into a gym. Get mats, weights, even a Stairmaster and a stationary bicycle. Think of what good shape you’ll be in…”

Smartmom liked the idea of having an at-home gym. She loved the idea of being in good shape. She belongs to a local health club, but Buddha knows she’s not very disciplined about making time to get over there. Maybe a gym in her apartment…

Smartmom snapped out of her reverie.

“You really are crazy, Crazy Lady,” Smartmom yelled out. “I like all those sweaty bodies at the gym; all the collective energy and endorphins.”

That seemed to shut her up Crazy Lady for a while. Smartmom sat on Teen Spirit’s bed. She fingered his old down comforter and orange bedspread. She patted his super soft pillows and hugged Pokey, the cuddly stuffed bear he’s had since he was 1. She looked up at all of his guitars hanging on the wall and “The Old Man and the Sea,” “The Stranger,” “The Phantom Tollbooth,” the Harry Potter books and the Series of Unfortunate Events on his bookcase. Finally, her eyes settled on the teenage poetry and graffiti, the comics and drawings on his walls.

Smartmom found herself feeling immeasurably sad. Teen Spirit had lived in this room since he was 3 years old. In a few weeks, he’d be off to college. Smartmom wasn’t sure she was ready to let him go. And she certainly wasn’t ready to turn his room into something new.

“Hey, I’ve got another great idea,” Crazy Lady burst in. “You could turn this into a guest room. You always said that you wished you had somewhere to comfortably put guests…”

Smartmom took one of Teen Spirit’s wingtip shoes and threw it at Crazy Lady.

“Get out of here and don’t come back. I need this to be Teen Spirit’s room for a very long time. He’s only going to college…”

“I know. He’ll be coming home on vacations.” Crazy Lady sighed. She sat down next to Smartmom and put her arm around her shoulder. Smartmom eyed her suspiciously.

“What are you doing, Crazy Lady?” Smartmom asked her. “You’re being so, well, nice.”

“I may be crazy, but I can be empathic, too, you know.”

“I guess,” Smartmom said a little nervously. “I guess.”

At the end of July, the Oh So Feisty One and Smartmom will head to Block Island with OSFO’s friend Luvbud for a couple of weeks of surf, sun, and bike riding.

But until then, OSFO doesn’t have much planned. And that’s just the way OSFO wants it. She made it abundantly clear that she wanted a few weeks of down time before going away. Besides, Smartmom thinks it’s perfectly fine for kids to have some good old-fashioned unstructured time in the summer.

Generally.

Well, the first week of summer vacation is always a novelty. The release from school and its responsibilities is a real thrill for the whole family.

During the first week, OSFO had friends over. She cleaned her bedroom and threw out old books and clothing that she doesn’t need anymore.

That seemed fairly productive.

But week two of summer vacation was less so. Most of OSFO’s friends were away, and she spent the week sleeping late and laying around. And when she wasn’t sleeping, she had her face in Facebook or was watching movies and TV shows on her laptop.

Of course, the weather was very hot and you can’t blame OSFO for wanting to stay inside in the air conditioning. Still …

One afternoon, Smartmom was minding her own business when Crazy Lady stopped by.

“Why isn’t your daughter doing anything this summer?” she asked Smartmom.

Smartmom knew it was none of Crazy Lady’s business and she tried to ignore this unpleasant woman, who seems to drop by at the oddest moments. But that’s not easy.

“Why doesn’t she take teen pilates or a dance class at Dancewave?”

Smartmom didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d be happy if OSFO wanted to take a summer class, but why was this any of Crazy Lady’s business?

“How about a job. Diaper Diva needs someone to take Ducky to her camp at the Botanic Gardens?” Crazy Lady said to Smartmom.

Smartmom knew that Crazy Lady had a point. The summer is a great time to try something new like a class or a part-time job. It can be a real growth experience.

Without stopping to catch her breath, Crazy Lady regaled Smartmom with tales of what some of the other children in the neighborhood were up to.

“My friend’s daughter is riding horses in Prospect Park and working at the Kensington Stables,” Crazy Lady told Smartmom.

“Another kid is taking sailing lessons at Battery Park City, and I know a ton of kids doing theater camp,” Crazy Lady yelled at Smartmom.

Smartmom found herself feeling lousy. Maybe she should have signed OSFO up for one of those interesting and educational activities.

She also found herself thinking back to her teen summers. When she was 14, Smartmom took pottery lessons. Truthfully, she was never able to center the clay, but she did make some nice coil pots.

Another year, she took sailing lessons in a Sunfish on Martha’s Vineyard. Another summer she was a counselor-in-training at a sleep-away camp in Maine. Still another summer, she worked at Broadway Smoothie, scooping ice cream and making milkshakes.

Crazy Lady was bringing up memories for Smartmom, but she was also making her feel like a slacker mom who doesn’t know how to fill up her daughter’s time.

She was also making her angry. What right did Crazy Lady have making her feel bad about her decision to let OSFO define three weeks of her summer vacation?

“Your daughter should be doing something other than lying around on the couch wit her computer …”

Smartmom had heard about enough. She stared Crazy Lady down.

“Look, would you just back off? My daughter is perfectly happy with her unstructured time,” Smartmom yelled at Crazy Lady.

“You’re just getting defensive. You know you’re a bad mom,” Crazy Lady taunted.

That was the last straw. Smartmom started pushing Crazy Lady out, but the broad put up a fight.

“You’re just feeling guilty because your daughter is wasting her time,” she spit out at Smartmom.

“Get out of here,” Smartmom screamed. “Get out of my apartment. Scram…”

That’s when OSFO got up off the couch and came into the kitchen.

“Why are you talking to yourself?” OSFO asked. “It was so loud I could barely hear my movie.”

Smartmom looked around. That’s when she realized that Crazy Lady had exited. She was glad that OSFO didn’t see her or hear any of her crazy talk. Smartmom wasn’t sure what to say.

“Oh. I was just singing along with the radio,” she told OSFO.

“But the radio isn’t even on,” OSFO told her, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Hey, do you want to go out and get some ice cream?” Smartmom asked OSFO.

“How about Yogo Monster?” OSFO countered.

“Great idea,” Smartmom said relishing the idea of taking a long walk on an unstructured summer afternoon.

Eat your heart out, Crazy Lady.

Smartmom thought about this last night at her apartment building’s annual Fourth of July barbecue.

As usual, Mr. Kravitz set up a makeshift table with boards from the basement placed artfully on top of three garbage pails covered by an orange plastic table cloth.

Mr. Kravitz fired up the grill while neighbors brought wine, beer, and platters of meats, vegetables, and salads downstairs as if on cue and the serving table was filled with a potluck feast.

It was a hot night and Mr. Kravitz’s face was turning deep red as he turned an assortment of grilled lamb burgers, Hebrew National hot dogs, turkey burgers and corn.

By 7 pm, the front yard was jammed with an enthusiastic group of adults and children from the building and nearby buildings busily eating, drinking and talking.

Smartmom has been to so many of these barbecues. Not only has she lost count, they all blur together. The children sort of blur together, too.

In her mind’s eye, she can see a young Teen Spirit and his best friend who moved away standing by the Weber carefully wrapping Graham cracker sandwiches of marshmallows and Hershey’s chocolate in Reynolds Wrap and tossing them into the fire.

In her mind’s eye, she can see the Oh So Feisty One and her best friend standing at the Weber carefully wrapping Graham cracker sandwiches of marshmallows and Hershey’s chocolate in Reynolds Wrap and tossing them into the fire.

Last night, she watched the latest generation of young children standing at the Weber carefully wrapping Graham cracker sandwiches of marshmallows and Hershey’s chocolate in Reynolds Wrap and tossing them into the fire.

She imagined it as a black and white movie — faces and hands dissolving together — symbolizing the passage of time and the continuation of childhood traditions and skills.

During the barbecue, Teen Spirit and a friend stopped by. He looked tall and handsome in a red-and-white-striped shirt and his grandfather’s wing tip shoes.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” Smartmom asked hopefully.

“No, thanks. We just came from a barbecue and are on our way to another,” Teen Spirit said.

They disappeared into the apartment building. He has a busy and complex social schedule that takes him to other parts of Brooklyn and Manhattan. In August, he will leave for college.

Smartmom felt a pang. She never gave her son a house with a backyard. This cement front yard was his yard, his childhood yard.

This is where he played Ninja Turtles, Pokemon, “Star Wars” and other imaginary superhero games. This is where he had stoop sales and birthday parties. This is where he swam in a green plastic pool on hot summer days. This is where learned to roast marshmallows and make ’Smores.

This patch of sidewalk on Third Street is the mise en scene of many of his childhood memories.

Smartmom watched as one of the current 5-year-olds bit into a ’Smore with joy. Later he, adorably, walked around offering mini marshmallows to the adults. Later still, she watched as went to the roof of the building next door to watch the fireworks with his parents.

This is his yard, his childhood yard. This is where he rides his little bicycle, his scooter, plays his imaginary games.

This is where his childhood will live forever.

The Oh So Feisty One was upstairs. She’s reached an age where she doesn’t want to participate in social activities that involve her parents and their friends. She chose to stay inside in the air-conditioned apartment to communicate with her friends on Facebook.

Smartmom thought back to the days when she was envious of those with lush backyards and large houses. With one child on his way to college, Smartmom has no desire to leave Third Street and her apartment — and she doesn’t need a backyard right now.

Besides, she’s got her perfect front yard on Third Street filled with a lifetime of memories.

Who could ask for anything more?

No, not that bible.

OSFO came home with a doorstop of a book called Directory of the New York City Public High Schools 2010–2011, which is the so-called Bible of the high school admissions process that awaits OSFO and her family next fall.

The poor girl was bent over from the weight of that thing in her backpack. But her cheeks were flushed and she seemed to be in a great mood.

“We got the book today,” she told Smartmom excitedly as she came in the front door.

With the book in hand, OSFO seemed willing to face the fact that she’s a hop, skip and a jump away from high school. While she be willing to face it, Smartmom is having a harder time.

High school. Can you believe?

That’s a major milestone in life, and Smartmom can hardly fathom that her girl is actually that old.

Where did the time go? Is this the little girl I carried? Sunrise? Sunset?

It would be easy to get all misty eyed and sentimental about the whole thing. But there’s no time for that because Smartmom needs all her energy and her wits about her to deal with what is sure to be an incredibly difficult, “only in New York City” kind of process.

Indeed, much of OSFO’s eighth-grade year will be spent touring schools, auditioning, studying for tests, preparing portfolios, filling out applications, and waiting to hear what school she’ll be going to.

As “The Bible” says: “Eighth grade is an exciting time. As a student and applicant in New York, you have more high school options available to you than if you lived in any other city in the world!”

Smartmom read those words and sighed. Deeply. While it’s great that there are so many high school choices, she sometimes wishes there was just a good, zoned high school that her daughter could go to in the neighborhood. Isn’t that the way it is in most of America?

Only in New York is the high school application process more complicated, more laborious and even more stressful than getting into college. Joyce Szuflita, who runs NYC School Help, a service for Brooklyn parents, said at a recent high school workshop for parents at OSFO’s school:

“After this, getting your kids into college will seem EASY.”

Smartmom knows how true that is. She’s been through the process once already with Teen Spirit and she still has mild post-traumatic-stress.

Not to mention her post-traumatic stress from the middle school application process she went through just three years ago with OSFO. In case you’ve forgotten, OSFO was magically disappeared from the Department of Education computer and never received an admissions letter. As far as the city was concerned she didn’t exist.

That was pretty dispiriting, but OSFO managed to get into a great middle school and, well, the rest is history.

Buddha knows, she’s glad that OSFO is excited about this major transition in her life and she’s been studying “The Bible” carefully and learning about all the high schools that are out there.

And there’s so much to read about: Edward R. Murrow, Midwood, Brooklyn Tech, Brooklyn Latin, Bard 1, Bard 2, Frank Sinatra, Frank McCourt, Laguardia, Beacon, Telecommunications to name just a few …

Smartmom, Hepcat and OSFO are going to be looking at a lot of high schools next year. Because it’s so competitive, students are required to select 12 schools to which they’d be willing to go. That’s pretty tough if your kid gets her heart set on one or two schools. But as Szuflita said at the workshop, “You need to be comfortable with every school on your list because you never know. And you don’t want any surprises.”

Wise words. But it’s not easy to visit 12 schools, let alone pick 12 schools that OSFO would want to go to.

Well, they did it once for Teen Spirit, and now it’s OSFO’s turn to make some important choices in her life. For now, they’ve got The Bible and they’ve got all summer to read it.

It sure to be pretty dog-eared by next fall. But that’s okay. They’re going to get through this together and Smartmom can hardly wait to begin. Not.

“Did she break something valuable?” Manhattan Granny apparently said to Diaper Diva (they were in the storage room).

“No, I think she means she broke herself,” her twin sister said.

The pain was excruciating, but somehow Smartmom was able to go upstairs to her mother’s apartment. Within a half hour, her foot had swollen to the size of a Nerf football, and Smartmom and Manhattan Granny went crosstown to have it X-rayed.

“It’s not fractured,” the radiologist told her. “You can go now.”

“But what do I do?” Smartmom asked plaintively.

“We can’t help you. You’ll have to call your primary care physician.”

Smartmom was smarting. She wanted to cry. Buddha knows, she was relieved that it wasn’t broken or fractured, but clearly there was something wrong with it and she was in need of some advice.

Standing on the corner of 84th Street and Lexington Avenue in the cold rain with a throbbing foot, Smartmom called her doctor, who told her to “go home.”

“If you can’t walk tomorrow, call an orthopedic doctor,” she added.

That seemed exceedingly unhelpful at that moment. Actually, it was exasperating. Finally, the doctor gave Smartmom the number of a nearby orthopedic practice — “The only one who will take your insurance,” she grumbled. Manhattan Granny and Smartmom went into a restaurant, ordered some pizza and dialed the number.

“We can’t see you until later in the week,” the receptionist told Smartmom.

“What should I do in the meantime?” she said tearfully, her foot still radiating pain.

“I can’t tell you anything until the doctor examines you,” the receptionist said coldly.

Tears filled her eyes. She tried not to sob into her pizza. But she felt helpless. Her foot was becoming black and blue …

“Excuse me,” a beautiful Indian woman walked over to their table holding a small, white business card.

“I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but it was awful what you just went through on the phone,” she said.

The woman’s kindness made Smartmom weep with gratitude.

“Why don’t you go around the corner to see the doctor I work for? He’s a physiatrist, and he’s wonderful. Tell them Samantha sent you.”

Smartmom did just as good fairy Samantha told her to do. She and her mother walked around the corner and Dr. Loren Fishman, an elfish man in a red bow tie and round glasses, was able to see her almost immediately.

Immediately. Have you ever heard of such a thing?

When Smartmom told Dr. Fishman what happened he measured the good ankle and the sprained ankle and concluded that, indeed, Smartmom’s ankle was very, very swollen.

Fishman, the author of “Yoga for Osteoporosis,” and many other books and papers, told her to keep her foot elevated and iced. He said the best thing she could do was lie on her back and put her leg up against the wall.

Smartmom and Manhattan Granny were both enchanted by Dr. Fishman. They spent close to an hour with the good doctor (Manhattan Granny told him about all of her foot problems). He told Smartmom to come back in a few days for physical therapy “to preserve your range of motion.” And he gave her prescriptions for an anti-inflammatory and an air cast.

Back in Brooklyn, Smartmom managed to hobble up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. With Hepcat in California, she was on her own until her children came home. They were clearly flummoxed when they found her lying on the floor with her left leg up on the wall.

“Did you break it?” she asked.

“No, I sprained it,” Smartmom said.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m elevating it,”

“What?”

“Never mind …”

They were even more startled when she started to cry in pain and frustration. Nothing like tears to get your kids to really notice. After the waterworks, they were really helpful bringing her ice packs, Advil, books, and food. At dinnertime, the Oh So Feisty One ordered Moo Shoo Pork from Szechuan Delight and even went downstairs to get it from the deliveryman.

Smartmom should sprain her ankle more often.

In the days that followed, Smartmom learned to slow down, to delegate, to not move around at the pace she is accustomed to.

The Buddhists would say she was being mindful, taking things slow and paying attention.

In her effort to heal, Smartmom was learning to ask others for help and to take things one step at a time.

Not a bad thing, all things considered.

Indeed, the year has been full of new experiences and adventure.

Teen Spirit even decided to become a vegetarian at GYU: “Too much fried food and ribs on his road trip” motivated him to adopt a more healthy and vegetable-filled diet. He left a note on the refrigerator when he got back: “Dear Family: I have decided to become a vegetarian. Keep that in mind.”

There were other milestones at GYU: Teen Spirit got his first passport, his first bank account and is learning to drive. He even applied for a job with the Census Bureau and had to register for Selective Service as a result.

At GYU, Teen Spirit concentrated on his songwriting and piano playing and he worked hard recording an album full of new songs. He also had time to rehearse and perform with his band Bad Teeth and perform at places like the Silent Barn, Shea Stadium, The Tank and Vox Pop.

All things considered, GYU was everything Smartmom hoped it would be for Teen Spirit: a chance to do something other than school as a way to figure out what he wants to do with his life.

During his time at GYU, he even decided that he might want to study ancient history as well as music.

A lot of people warned Smartmom that a year off was a bad idea because Teen Spirit would never want to go to college. And you can’t get a decent job without a college diploma, so getting off the academic track (even for one year) might be ruinous to the rest of his life.

That said, many people supported Teen Spirit’s decision and told Smartmom that they wished they’d done it themselves because they would have had a clearer and more productive time in college if they’d had time to grow up before.

Smartmom took everyone’s advice with a grain of salt and sugar. But she stuck to her guns because she’d known for years that Teen Spirit would need a break. Sure, Smartmom was scared that Teen Spirit might decide that college wasn’t his thing — and then never be able to support himself or a family.

But it was a risk that Smartmom and Hepcat were willing to take because they believed it was important for Teen Spirit to see the world through a different lens.

In early January, Smartmom got the sense that Teen Spirit was ready to start thinking about college. He was looking at college Web sites and talking about filling out the Common App.

Smartmom, being a smart mom, decided not to push it. When he did bring up the subject, she would hide how giddy she felt and soberly provide whatever information he needed. She was careful not to nag him so that he wouldn’t push against her. She felt it was important that he be the motivating force.

There were weeks at a time during the winter when the subject of college didn’t come up and Smartmom found herself wondering if he had decided against college.

But like everything else, he did it on his own timetable. In February, Teen Spirit applied to a few colleges with rolling admissions and devoted a great deal of time to writing his essay and dealing with the applications.

Once the applications were e-mailed to the various colleges, the waiting game began. To pass the time, Smartmom checked with his high school to make sure that his transcripts and recommendations were sent. She checked the mail box hopefully every day.

Well, Teen Spirit was notified by email a few weeks ago that he has been accepted to his first choice in Chicago He didn’t tell Smartmom right away, but when he did, he was pretty low key.

“Do you want to think about it?” Smartmom asked Teen Spirit.

“No. I’m going,” he said. “You can send the deposit.”

Smartmom was thrilled. Teen Spirit confirmed his admission and together they submitted the deposit. Teen Spirit’s year at GYU is nearing an end, but he owes a lot to his alma mater.

GYU made him who he is today: a young man on his way to college.

“It’s a burglar,” Smartmom said aloud to her sleeping husband. “Omigod. Someone has broken into the apartment and he’s walking up and down the hall.”

Smartmom was too tired to get out of bed, even if burglars were, theoretically, making off with the family’s iBooks and cameras.

But instead of jumping up, she shook Hepcat awake.

“There’s a burglar in the house,” she said.

“Maybe it’s Teen Spirit,” Hepcat said.

“Teen Spirt,” Smartmom screamed. “Is that you?”

No answer. It was pretty unlikely anyway as he’d come home close to 3 am, and unless he wasn’t feeling well there was little chance he’d be up and around so early in the morning.

“Maybe it’s the Oh So Feisty One,” Hepcat said sleepily.

“OSFO!” Smartmom yelled. “OSFO!”

No answer and then:

“Yeah?” OSFO sounded irritable.

“Are you awake?” Smartmom said.

“Yup. I’m going out.”

OSFO was awake? That was a shock. She rarely gets up so early on a weekend morning. And almost never goes out at that time.

The adrenaline kicked in, and Smartmom was out of bed faster than a speeding mother. She stood in front of the bathroom door and listened to the sounds of OSFO blow-drying her hair.

“You’re going out?” “Yeah I’m meeting up with Kate. She just got back from her vacation.

Smartmom was smarting. Suspicion pulsed through her veins. Why would OSFO meeting up with Kate at 7:30 in morning? And why was she getting so dolled up?

When OSFO came out of the bathroom, Smartmom could smell the grapefruity body mist she’d bought her for her birthday.

It all seemed VERY STRANGE. What was her daughter up to?

“Are you really meeting up with Kate?” Smartmom asked firmly.

“Yes!” OSFO sounded simultaneously annoyed and insulted that Smartmom didn’t believe her.

“Really?” Smartmom tried again. To that OSFO slammed her bedroom door.

Smartmom didn’t know what to do. Was her daughter telling the truth or pulling a fast one? In a quandary, she went back to bed and told Hepcat.

“Huh? Meeting up with Kate? Now?” Hepcat sounded hazy. Clearly, he sounded suspicious, too, but not enough to get up and put his foot down. Then Smartmom heard OSFO walk to the front door.

“See you later. Bye,” OSFO said. Slam.

Smartmom ran to the front window. If OSFO is really going to Kate’s house, she’d walk towards Sixth Avenue. If she’s lying, and is on her way to an illicit rendezvous in Prospect Park or elsewhere, she’ll walk the other way. If that was the case, Smartmom decided she’d follow her little girl.

Smartmom, ready to be a maternal James Bond, waited for OSFO to walk through the front gate of their apartment building’s yard. She waited. And waited. And waited.

Then she heard the girls talking. She couldn’t see them from the window but she could tell that they were sitting on the front stoop.

OSFO really was meeting up with Kate. But what were they doing? Maybe they were plotting some illicit activity.

Smartmom ran to the intercom in the kitchen and pressed the listen button, which enables her to eavesdrop on conversations in the front yard.

“How was your vacation?” she heard OSFO say to Kate.

“Great,” Kate told her.

Smartmom felt very Harriet the Spy as she listened to their mumbled conversation, which was, truth be told, pretty boring.

Relieved, Smartmom got back into bed tired from her morning stint as a maternal detective. Then the front door opened.

“Hello,” she heard a low voice say.

Omigod, thought Smartmom. It’s another burglar or maybe OSFO. But why is she disguising her voice?

“Someone’s here,” Smartmom said to sleepy Hepcat, who just rolled over feigning sleep.

“Who’s there?” Smartmom shouted out.

“It’s me,” Diaper Diva responded. “I used my key to get in. I have to pick up my computer that I left here yesterday. I brought coffee.”

So, it was Diaper Diva. Not a burglar or OSFO disguising her voice at 8 am. A cup of coffee sounded great.

“Do you know what OSFO and Kate are doing downstairs?” Diaper Diva asked Smartmom.

Smartmom braced for the latest in adolescent girl misbehavior.

“They’re playing with their American Girl dolls. They’ve got about 8 of them lined up. They’re brushing and cutting their hair. Putting them in clothing.”

Smartmom was shocked. OSFO hadn’t played with her American Girl dolls in years. They still lived on a high shelf in her bedroom posing in their finery, but they weren’t high on the list of preferred activities for OSFO and her 13-year-old friends.

Smartmom ran to the window, pulled up the screen and saw for herself. OSFO and Kate were running a make-shift beauty salon for their American Girl dolls in the front yard.

There was Felicity, Josephina, Molly, Kim and all the others. Smartmom remembered how much those dolls used to mean to OSFO. She thought back to their many pilgrimages to the Manhattan store. Ah, how young OSFO was then (Smartmom was not younger). Ah, how OSFO (and Smartmom) loved playing with those dolls.

Smartmom didn’t know what to think. At this age, girls straddle childhood and adulthood. One minute you think they’re lost to social networking, Sephora and seventh-grade socializing, the next minute they’re clinging to their childhood imagination and brushing the hair of a beloved doll.

The whole thing gave Smartmom a bittersweet feeling. Maybe the demands of adolescence were sometimes just too much and it was a relief to return to playing with dolls.

What a complicated time of life. Even that early in the morning.

Without a doubt, it’s what they talk about more than anything else.

More than their husbands. And they talk about them plenty.

More than their parents. And they talk about them plenty.

More than their friends. And they talk about them plenty.

More than their careers. And they talk about that plenty.

So what do they talk about when they talk about their kids? In a word: everything. No detail is too small, no subject is too big. They both seem to be intensely interested in each other’s children. And that’s a good thing because otherwise they’d be bored to death.

Over skim lattes, Diaper Diva fills in Smartmom on the minutiae of 5-year-old Ducky’s day. What time she woke up, how she jumped into her parent’s bed for a big snuggle, the cereal she ate for breakfast, what she’ll have for lunch.

Diaper Diva tells Smartmom how Ducky insisted on wearing her red tutu to school and her multi-colored Mary Jane sneakers; that “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel” is her current favorite video, that “The Magic Schoolbus” is her favorite book series, and Magenta is still her most cherished stuffed animal.

Lately, they’ve been talking about how to get Ducky to stop sucking her thumb. Smartmom was a thumb-sucker until she was 10-years-old, so she knows how hard it is to quit. When she was in fifth grade, her mother offered her $10 to stop sucking and that’s when she finally “joined the unhooked generation.”

“Ducky says, ‘My thumb is so delicious,’ ” DD tells Smartmom.

“I remember how good it tasted,” Smartmom says sticking her thumb in her mouth for old time’s sake.

“But I want her to stop,” Diaper Diva tells Smartmom.

“Don’t worry, she’ll stop eventually. I did,” says Smartmom pulling her thumb out of her mouth.

In an informal way, they both get equal kid-talk time. When Diaper Diva finishes with Ducky’s morning, Smartmom starts on OSFO.

“Her alarm went off at 5:30 am, but she didn’t wake up until 7. And then it was rush, rush, rush to get her hair, makeup and outfit together in time to leave by 8,” Smartmom tells Diaper Diva before launching into Teen Spirit’s late-night shenanigans.

“Teen Spirit came in late and stayed up even later watching ‘Breaking Bad’ on Hulu,” she tells her.

DD knows the size of Teen Spirit’s skinny jeans and the lyrics to many of his songs. She knows about his propensity for sleeping late into the day, his college applications and his road trip to Austin, Texas.

Diaper Diva knows the names and faces of OSFO’s friends and all the latest gossip. She knows the brand of OSFO’s favorite eyeliner, her shoe size and that she still likes playing with her American Girl dolls.

Needless to say, she knows about other things, too. Smartmom can brag a blue streak and not worry about sounding cocky around her sister. She told her in excruciating detail about the performance of Teen Spirit’s band Bad Teeth at Vox Pop last October. “He was really great,” she told Diaper Diva. “And I’m not saying that because I’m his mother. “He’s REALLY talented.”

Diaper Diva believed her.

And it’s not just the good stuff that Smartmom tells her sister. She also shares her worries, her insecurities, her deep dark fears. She can say things she would never say to anyone else for fear of judgment or even Child Protective Services. Diaper Diva knows all the really dumb things Smartmom has done and all the near misses (like the time Teen Spirit nearly drowned in the bathtub).

She knows things Smartmom would NEVER EVER write about in her column so just forget it.

Likewise, Smartmom knows about all the times Diaper Diva loses her temper or spends too much money on Ducky or yells too loud or lets her get away with murder. She knows her proudest parenting moments and the stuff she’s embarrassed about.

The sisters like to think that their conversations are judgement-free. But the truth is, they do occasionally act mean and judgemental. They are sisters after all. Smartmom really had a fit when Diaper Diva told her she should have NEVER let OSFO dye her hair blue.

“But she wanted blue,” Smartmom said.

“You don’t have to do everything that she wants,” Diaper Diva spit out.

Ouch.

Oh yeah? Well, Smartmom hates it when Ducky gets time-outs when she’s over.

“I hate to hear her cry in her room,” Smartmom told DD.

Diaper Diva thinks Smartmom should build new closets in Teen Spirit and OSFO’s rooms.

“They have nowhere to put their clothing. It’s such a mess,” she told Smartmom.

It can get ugly — and someone sometimes storms off. It’s pretty embarrassing to be left sitting alone at Sweet Melissa just as the waiter brings DD’s oatmeal.

“Can you wrap that up?” Smartmom tells the waiter with studied nonchalance. “She had to go.”

The sisters usually make up within an hour or so because they know it’s futile to stay mad at each other for too long. Besides, there’s always something new to talk about — and who else are they going to tell?

Teen Spirit didn’t exactly go to Europe or South America. He went on a road trip to Texas, which is, in a way, a foreign country.

There were no teachers on this trip. No itineraries. No syllabus of appropriate literature. It was, you could say, an independent project. Life was the teacher, and whatever happened on the way would surely be a life lesson of sorts.

On a rainy Saturday morning in March, Teen Spirit set off with three other friends in a Toyota.

“A Toyota,” Smartmom thought. “Oh, great.”

After days of preparation, Smartmom was stressing. She helped Teen Spirit make a list of what to take. How much money would he need? What was the weather down in Texas? Did he need a sleeping bag? A raincoat? An umbrella, for Buddha’s sake?

About the driving, Smartmom had moments of panic imagining a car accident on the Interstate (the Toyota, remember?). She reminded herself that the driver, a suburban girl, is confident and has many miles under her belt. But she still couldn’t quell the fear that something might go wrong.

And where would they stay? What if they happened upon some weird Bates Motel-type of place or decided to camp out in some scuzzy campground?

It was all possible, but Teen Spirit and his friends were on their own, and there was no way she or any of the parents could micromanage this trip. That was the point.

Smartmom thought back to the trip she took when she was 16. She and two friends biked from North Carolina to the Appalachian Folk Life Festival in West Virginia. Her father almost didn’t let Smartmom go.

“It’s dangerous in the South,” he told Smartmom. “You’ve seen ‘Deliverance.’ ”

Thankfully, after much pleading, he let her go. Smartmom still can’t believe it. It really was a potentially dangerous trip: three 16-year-old girls alone on a bike trip, staying at campgrounds and weird motels. At one place, the woman at the desk asked if they were runaways.

But it was the adventure of a lifetime, which built self-confidence and many memories. Smartmom is grateful to this day that the late great Groovy Grandpa said yes.

That’s why Smartmom was open to Teen Spirit’s request to go down to Austin in a car. She knew it would be a great adventure and something he’d remember for the rest of his life.

The night Teen Spirit left, it was raining in Park Slope and Smartmom had a panic attack while watching “The Crucible” at the Old Stone House.

“What if they’ve been in a car accident? What if they’re dead by the side of some road?” she thought during the play’s witch trial scene. Her heart ached for her son. She should never have let him go away.

As soon as she got out of the show, Smartmom called Teen Spirit. Her panic melted away when she heard his voice on the phone.

“We’re in Kentucky,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll be stopping for the night in an hour or so.”

Smartmom tried not to think too much about Teen Spirit in the coming days. She did feel a pang when she came across his skinny jeans with the huge holes in the backside lying in the hallway.

During the first week of Teen Spirit’s trip, Hepcat got a text message from his boy. He called Smartmom excitedly.

“He wrote: ‘Been to Sun Records, On my way to Graceland. Life is good.’ ” Hepcat told Smartmom.

“He didn’t text me,” she told him.

Still, she was delighted with his message. Life really is good when you’re 18 and on the road. A few days later, Smartmom called Teen Spirit’s cellphone.

“We’re in Austin,” he told her. “And we’re not going to that music festival in Monterrey, Mexico. There’s a drug war and it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Smartmom was relieved beyond words. The group planned to go to MtyMx a music festival on the heels of SXSW, organized by Todd P, an all-ages event organizer in Brooklyn. They were going to take a six-hour bus ride from Austin to Monterrey, Mexico. But in Austin, they’d heard reports about drug cartels and the violence.

Smartmom felt relief. She was awed by the fact that Teen Spirit and his group had made the decision to avoid what was a potentially dangerous situation.

A few days later when Teen Spirit got back from his trip, Smartmom was away at a writers conference in Delaware.

“The Prodigal Son returned at three in the morning,” Hepcat told Smartmom the next morning.

Smartmom was happy. Her son was back from his trip of a lifetime, yet another feature of his year at Gap Year University. They had trusted him and he rewarded their trust with good decision-making and a really good experience.

Now the big question: How many credits did he get?