I want to say that day-to-day life here is reaching a point of normalcy, what with Shane going back to school and Nancy holding down a real 9-to-5 job, but then I snap out of it, remembering that we’re talking about Weeds here. So while this episode, brilliantly titled ”I Am the Table,” seems more like a steady hum along the tracks, I anticipate full well that a train wreck is around the corner. But for now, let’s pretend: normal.

Between playing contractor and, let’s face it, parent, Shane now added student to the list. It was his first day at a new school, and sensing his mother’s inherent hypocrisy, he had to inquire why he was being forced to go while his brother, Silas, was off at the cheese shop all day. ”Give it a chance,” Nancy pleaded. ”A chance for what, more emotional scarring?” Shane asked. Nancy tried to explain: ”You’re our one shot at legitimacy,” to which he cracked, ”No, I’m not. I’m very corrupt. I’m a contractor!” Needless to say, no amount of kiddie persuasion was going to budge Nancy from this one lapse into responsibility. After all, she reasoned, he was the only one with a shot at becoming a doctor, lawyer, or business executive.

Cesar foiled her kid-ferrying plans by showing up at the door, and Shane, thinking he was a subcontractor, went into another of his minor tizzies. Cesar made little effort to correct the miscommunication, saying only, ”He would like to see you.” (”He,” meaning Esteban. ”You,” meaning Nancy.) And so the three of them piled into a limo and drove off to school.

”Great,” said Shane as the car pulled into the school parking lot. ”Getting dropped off in a limo with Mexican plates. So much for flying under the radar.” Nancy attributed his incessant whining to ”first-day jitters.” Fortunately, Cesar was on hand to offer some manly advice: ”Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you.” Would Shane end up the bully or the victim? He didn’t care to find out. ”Can’t I do drug things with you guys?” he asked, ever the little entrepreneur. Cesar could do nothing but glare, and then told Nancy, ”He’s going to get his ass kicked.” Her response? ”He’s used to it.”

Meanwhile, at a local motel Isabelle was trying to kick her mom’s ass into gear. Celia, looped on pills and looking more and more like a good candidate for A&E’s Intervention, could barely get out of bed. When awakened out of her stupor, she lunged at Isabelle and grabbed her daughter’s neck. ”Jail reflex,” she downplayed. Isabelle let it go, hoping Celia could get out of her clothes from the night before, get into the shower, and get on the road to school, where it was also Isabelle’s first day. ”Isn’t there a bus or something?” Celia mumbled. ”Maybe I’ll walk,” Isabelle responded.