EVER SINCE I decided to stay in Cambridge for Commencement, my family has been pushing "home" as some kind of getaway-from-it-all, rest-and-relaxation, bed-and-breakfast resort. And it sounds pretty good right about now.

My mom's been giving me the hard sell. When I called the other day, she wanted to know how the Crimson Commencement issues were coming along.

"Are you having fun?" she asked.

"Yeah, I am."

"Are you getting paid for this?" she asked.

"No, I'm not."

Silence. Then, "Oh. So why are you staying?"

"I don't know. To write. To bond with the staff," I told her.

"Oh, Molly," she sighed. "All the other kids are home now. Alissa came home from Texas. Nathan's back from the Academy. Can't you come home now?"

How exactly do you respond to the "All the Other Moms Have a College Kid" argument?

And a few days later, she begged, "Come home. Home, where people will cook for you and clean for you and do your laundry for you and people love you."

"But I have to be edited," I said weakly.

Even my 16-year-old brother seemed kind of halfway interested in my return. "So when are you coming home again? Next month or something?" he asked me the other day.

"This Thursday."

"Oh yeah. Cool. What are you doing again? A paper for class or something?"