So today we drove into Montreal and played "Where's Waldo" -- tried to pick our kid out of the hundreds of others down below us in the Molson Centre waiting to get their B.A.'s. The embarrassing thing is, we couldn't spot her.

I'm telling you, if you ever have to be a fugitive from justice, just grab yourself one of those graduation robes and find yourself a graduation. Even your own mother won't be able to pick you out of the crowd. Promise.

I had planned to be one of those hideously embarrassing mothers ... you know, the ones who hoot, whistle and clap when their kid goes up to the Chancellor to get their degree.

Failed miserably, because when Jess began her stroll across the stage I got a lump in my throat so big I couldn't get a sound past it.

Things got a bit blurry for a few seconds, but I sweartogawd I wasn't crying. I must have gotten something in my eye.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.