Spiritual guides come in odd packages, and one of my saviors this year was my child's physical therapist. I'm not even convinced that my son *needed* physical therapy, but it's difficult to say no to a suggestion, and now I wouldn't rewrite this past year if I could. The therapist was a little like Patti LuPone. She did not hold back. When I worried that my children sometimes seemed overly content with "silent time" in the crib, the therapist rolled her eyes at me. "You're ridiculous. You need to let those kids entertain themselves as long as possible." When I won tickets to "Into the Woods," the therapist had very little sympathy about my babysitter anxiety. "Let's say you can't find a sitter. You lock those children in a closet, and you go see Heather Headley." The general message was: "Do less." For example, one day the therapist landed on the topic of Legoland. "Just don't do it," she said,...