After a Brief Intermission, Part 2!

OK, OK ... I got a little distracted. But my ego was fed wonderfully by the many emails and comments from folks, "Hey! When are you going to post Part 2? We're waiting!" It's a joy to have my little friendly minion interested in my goings-on.

Day 2 in NYC dawned gray, wet, and dreary. Not raining, exactly -- more like misting. I've never been to the British Isles, but I would image those inhabitants would have felt quite at home on that day. I wasn't too keen on the idea of lugging an umbrella (and having to wear a coat) around with me all day, but I also didn't relish the idea of trying to brave it and getting wet. Thankfully, though, it wasn't cold so there was a bright side. And hey, I didn't get a sunburn!

We took the subway Uptown and walked several blocks to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, which will heretofore (yes! I finally used that word!) be referred to as The Met, because a) everyone does it, and b) it's too early in the morning to type that out repeatedly. While a frequent visitor to the city throughout the years, I have never been to this particular museum, although I have always wanted to see it. Even the building itself will take your breath away. As we climbed the massive stairs, I was reminded of the Lincoln Memorial, or another such monument in Washington D.C. Impressive. Massive. Grandeur at its best.

I'm realizing now that I simply can't go into all of the details once we went inside. The swarms of people (literally, like buzzing bees darting all over the place in some kind of woozy natural pattern of movement), the several minutes of perusing the map and trying to get our bearings. We started in Egypt -- I have a thing for mummies -- and made our way to ... well, I'm not even sure how we progressed, it's all quite a blur. Greek statues, Roman artifacts, the world of the Medieval (one of my highlights) ... you name it, we saw it. We particularly enjoyed the Period Rooms, one half displaying the absolute perfect gaudiness of 17th-18th century Europe; the other -- which we could relate to -- inviting us to walk through the American imitations, from a reconstructed room from Colonial Virginia and Gadsby's Tavern (we've been there, for an anniversary no less, so that was fun to see), to the simple and somewhat austere (save for the brilliant delft fireplace tiles) room of a colonial Dutch farmhouse in New York. We lingered for quite some time in the Frank Lloyd Wright Room, one of our absolute favorite architects of all time, as well as the simple and beautiful Shaker Room, another favorite as we had once visited a Shaker community in Kentucky and have always loved their design and philosophy (and, I suppose, their philosophy of design). Any kind of history reconstructed is my cup of tea.

We were tired. My feet hurt. Apparently the "good shoes" I had donned weren't good enough and I suffered for it. I wasn't used to that amount of walking, nor -- interestingly -- that amount of focused mental energy. I realized that in this season of my life, I care for 2,846 things daily, but not always with that same intentional focus -- more like scattered acknowledgment. But at The Met, your brain is working overtime ... and my poor brain was indeed rusty. But hey, a little exercise never hurt anything.

How fitting that I just wrote that sentence above: "I care for 2,846 things daily" ... I'm about to start, having tackled the first 12 within this first half hour of my waking. My writing must be interrupted once again, as I move on to Numbers 13 and beyond. Lunches need to be made, the kids need to be dragged out of bed, and then I'm off and running. So let's consider this post Part 2-A, shall we?

After The Met, a rock-solid nap and off to The London! Or not ... But here's a little pictorial journey to tide you over until next time!

Am I really THAT unphotogenic? Nah ... blame the iPhone (or is that blasphemous?!)

I need a new desk for my office. I think Frank Lloyd Wright can hook me up with this one ...

... but considering the usual church budget, I think I might have to settle with this instead.

Left behind once again: Don has this thing for running across streets when you're not supposed to. I wasn't about to do the same. Apparently he thought it was kind of funny.

The Conundrum of Grace

I suppose I could, if I so desired, expound upon some theological musings about "grace" ... Indeed, in the grocery store this morning, I was stopped by an employee as I was searching for wheat crackers. He eyed my t-shirt; "What does that mean?" he asked, referring to the words splashed across the front. "Channel Grace." I laughed, unsure how to answer. For those who know me well, being put on the spot is always an unpleasant experience, and now that was coupled with being faced with an explanation of a rather ambiguous t-shirt. I said, "Well, I'm sure it is alluding to somehow trying to channel a "state of grace" (which, really, is quite impossible) ... but I only bought the shirt because my daughter's name is Grace." Blank stare. Well, he did ask...

Yes, Grace ... that theological term that can't ever seen to be answered in three-words-or-less. A conundrum indeed. But in this case, like my t-shirt, I'm referring to the girl herself. This imp of mine, this girl who -- as she grows -- still continues to amaze me. At times as we giggle together, laughing over nothing but silliness, I see myself clearly. But on Easter morning, as she stood on her chair, eyes closed, arms raised high in the air, singing her little heart out ... well, it wasn't myself whom I saw. She's a conundrum of cuteness, an adorable mix of myself, Don, and her own unique mix of Grace.

After a too-long winter, and an unrecognizable spring, we were not quite prepared for yesterday's blast of 80-degree heat. The sun shone hot; cheeks were red and flushed. And despite her dread fear of bugs, Grace couldn't resist the back yard so out she went. I knew exactly where she was headed: "Bug World." Yes, another conundrum right there -- she screams bloody murder at the sight of a fly (convinced it's a wasp) yet creates this imaginary world of dirt and rocks in honor of those dreaded creatures. She planted herself in that same patch of dirt that I have been itching to reclaim all these years as a vegetable bed, but she is not to be moved.

Grace is the girliest of girls -- the prettier and flouncier the dress, the better for her. She picks out her own jewelry; she wishes she could wear shoes with heels. She's all about the color pink and anything having to do with a princess. She embraces her inner ballerina with a beautiful fervor. Yet where does she play? In Bug World. In the dirt. And, after she dragged the hose across the yard yesterday, in the mud. LOTS of mud. Aidan, my boy, won't touch the stuff with the proverbial 10-foot pole, but his sister -- quite literally -- jumps right in.

I love this little conundrum, who at times makes no sense to me whatsoever. And I will gladly forgo my vegetable bed for the 4th year in a row if it means this little bundle of grace is happy. And is she ever ...

Grace, age 1.5 -- her first claim to the empty flower bed
(wearing a white frilly outfit, of course)
For those with the keen eyes of clubfoot-watching: see her right foot beginning to turn inward? Oh, the "what-if's" ...

Grace, age 3: same spot, same delight

Grace, age 5.5 -- taken yesterday, mud and all

I realized that most parents take "progressive photos" of their children next to a favorite stuffed animal. Figures that Grace's would be next to (or, rather, IN) a pile of dirt. What a girl ...

April Showers ...

A quick break this morning from our lovely anniversary recap ... It's 6:25 a.m., and our vacation is officially over. Easter weekend was busy but fun, packed full of family time. Friday was "Kids' Choice," always a "bite the bullet" affair for me, especially when it comes to their choice of a lunch destination. After going to the theater to see "Rio" and spending some time in the Lego store, the kids declared their choice for lunch: chili dogs. If you could put "yum" and "ugh" together, that was the result ... for me, at least. My taste buds were quite happy; my stomach ... not so much.

Ah yes, it's good to be home. It truly is. The kids have been fun, with Grace especially pouring out the cuteness with her unique phrasing ("Aidan went to the Museum of Actual History!") or adorable thoughtfulness: "I made a Holy Week Bag!" she proudly exclaimed, holding up her ziploc bag filled with all kinds of bits representing elements from Holy Week. A plastic loaf of bread and pink goblet (the Last Supper), a sparkly sapphire and diamond-encrusted heart from one of her tiaras ("this is Jesus' heart, because he loves us so much"), and even a red coffee stirrer ("This is the soldier's spear"). To be honest, I was a bit floored by how much she has been absorbing, and understanding, and in a way it was all quite moving. One thing in her Holy Week bag had me a bit stumped -- my old Raggedy Ann's apron. Thinking it was just filler, I was immediately chastised. "No, Mommy!" she said rather indignantly. "This is the apron that Jesus wore on Thursday, because he took all his clothes off to wash the disciples' feet." I hid my smile at that one, yet at the same time felt a bit of wonder at this five-year-old ...

Our Easter service yesterday was fantastic ... joyful, exuberant, loud, and absolutely packed. I had the privilege of singing in an "ad hoc" Easter Choir, something that always brings me great joy, singing in that capacity. And the icing on the cake was ... the weather. Yes, after wearing a wool sweater the day before (in April! in NJ!), and despite the forecast of another gloomy day, the sun shone down hot, and we finally broke out the short-sleeves. The kids were ecstatic, clad in their t-shirts and shorts and running barefoot through the yard. Finally ... finally! A thunderstorm rolled in late in the afternoon, just as we were a few blocks from home after walking Jack. We ran, but we didn't mind that rain one bit. It was a real spring rain, warm and lovely. And, for the kids, lots of fun.

Yes, it's good to be back home. In a minute I'll head to the kitchen and get my "real" life started once again. Don already asked me to make him a lunch -- and so it begins. Backpacks to fill, miscellaneous school papers to fill out (since I'm a terrific procrastinator, despite having had all weekend to take of "business"), kids to wake up, feed and dress, and get to school. Mountains of laundry need to be tackled; suitcases need to be put away. Cares begin to pile up again -- my dad, who was diagnosed with prostate cancer back in the fall, is having a procedure done today to implant radiation seeds. We're praying for success and no complications ... but it's something on the mind. Yes, we begin again ...

Happy Monday, dear readers ...

Coming Back Down Off the Mountain ...

Ah, yes ... "highs" only last so long ... I'm trying desperately to hold on to this celebratory high, but I know it's slowly beginning to slip through my fingers. But that's OK ... that's to be expected. And what a celebration it was ...

Day 1: Arrival in NYC

After Murphy's attempts leading up to our vacation, as well as the Snafu Opening Ceremony on Tuesday morning -- Don having misread the train schedule, resulting in an hour's wait at our town's platform (oh, how does a seasoned commuter do such a thing?!) -- we finally made our way and landed in the city. I knew our hotel was a few blocks from Penn Station; what I didn't realize was that it was literally in the shadow of the Empire State Building. That was a cool surprise. The weather was gray, drizzly, and chilly, but I was determined not to let it spoil the mood.

"A Room With a View"
12 vertigo-inducing stories up
(as an acrophobic, I unfortunately had to keep the drapes closed)

Our first stop after lunch was the Pompeii Exhibit at Discovery Times Square. It was all I imagined it would be, breathtaking from the very first step into that uncovered world. We were first ushered into a small room to watch an introductory movie about Pompeii and then made our way into the first exhibit room. Breathtaking, indeed -- I literally stopped in my tracks as I stood face to face with a larger-than-life statue, set in a reconstructed walled garden of someone's ancient home. The walls were decorated beautifully, preserved nearly perfectly, as were all of the reconstructions -- some brightly painted over plaster, others intricately adorned with mosaics of tile and glass, seashells and colored stones. I felt that very rare sensation of having stepped out of a time machine, finding myself face to face with ancient history. Again, breathtaking. There's no other word for it.

The artifacts were lovely, intriguing, fascinating -- a multitude of items ranging from entire statues and segments of painted and plastered walls to tiny elements such as buttons and jewelry. Amphorae and cooking implements were many, and it was fascinating to see carbonized peach pits and olives, loaves of bread and other foods. Elements of daily life were abundant, ranging from mini-shrines to a Gladiator's helmet and even a pair of loaded dice. Parents were cautioned to use their discretion entering a small corner of a room, representing a brothel and boldly displaying the oh-so-NOT-Victorian scenes that were perfectly preserved. A favorite quote was featured, graffiti on one brothel wall: "I came, I had sex, I went home." Human nature ...

Of course, technology played a great -- and welcomed -- role, with interactive touch screens scattered throughout, allowing the viewer to focus on a particular item, or "explore" a reconstructed villa room by beautiful room. I always enjoying seeing such representations, making it as "real" as it can possibly be.

The most moving, and harrowing, part of the tour was, of course, the actual eruption of Vesuvius and its grisly aftermath. Once again we were ushered into a room, after having just explored the beautiful and lush surroundings of Pompeian daily life. Another screen, this one much larger and more encompassing, and a foreboding darkness. A street scene came on the screen, digitally rendered from a spectator's view on a higher point on a house. One could see down into a courtyard, roofs of nearby buildings and homes, and in the distance loomed the volcano. It began at a certain time, which flashed in the corner, and it then proceeded in a time-lapsed manner. Daytime -- calm, beautifully, sunny, normal. But then a rumbling began, slowly yet steadily, the room itself beginning to shake slightly while smoke began to seep out of the mouth of Vesuvius. Dogs began to bark, voices were raised. Then it was quiet. The time clock fast-forwarded to later in the afternoon. The rumbling began again, this time with more vehemence. Roof tiles began to rattle, some falling off and crashing to the ground. A statue fell over; babies began crying. Black smoke now poured from Vesuvius; the sky began to darken. The "movie" continued in this way, the time clock flashing the events, as the devastation -- so lifelike -- continued. Fires erupted, buildings collapsed, ash and pumice pelted down, until finally the streets disappeared.

The final moments were truly eerie. In the distance, the dark gray cloud of the pyroclastic flow began to pour down the mountain. It rolled closer and closer; the room shook vehemently. The noise was almost deafening. In almost 3-D fashion, we truly felt we were there, about to be consumed. Finally, the "cloud" overtook the entire screen -- overtaking us -- while at the same time an incredibly strong rush of wind blew through the room, almost causing us to step backward with its force. Then, as we stood there in complete silence, in "death," the screen parted and a curtain rose. We were looking into a very dark room -- we were looking into the face of the first victim:

This was our introduction to the body cast room. It was disturbing to say the least ... It sounds so crass to say it was outrageously cool, but ... well, it was that too. This was the room I most wanted to see -- these were real people, literally caught in a moment of time. We slowly wandered between the casts -- women, men, children, and even a pig and a dog. The children were the most difficult emotionally to see, some about the same size as my own kids. I found myself getting a bit overwhelmed by the dog too, after reading his "story" about how he was chained up to the guard the house while the owners tried to flee. The poor dog didn't have a chance. You could see his tumbled form, the details of his collar perfectly clear. The only thing remaining were the two bronze rings, still attached. Amazing detail.


One woman was lying on her stomach, her tunic bunched up around her waist as she tried to cover her face with it. One man was holding his wife, trying to protect her. A family of four were found together in the basement of their home, the mother half-lying over one of her children in a protective stance. The detail on one child in particular was astounding, the folds of his sleeveless tunic clearly visible, as were his facial features and eyelashes. Unsettling, eerie, frozen in time. And so very, very real.

OK ... you might think this is a pretty bizarre and macabre way to celebrate our anniversary. But we're "history geeks," and have always appreciated experiencing history. And this exhibit delivered in a profound, powerful way. We didn't do too much after that, other than having a fantastic dinner at a "high end" Mexican restaurant which was wonderfully delicious. A perfect way to end Day #1.

Coming Up ...
Day #2! The Met, sore feet, a night out amid the masses at Times Square, and Murphy's Snafu that ended up being one of the best highlights of the trip!

It's Our 15th Anniversary (Let the "snafu's" begin!)

Life is so full of milestones, and we have reached a big one. Tomorrow, Don and I will be celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary! It feels odd, in a way, to write that ... to even think that ... to realize that we've known each other for 20 years, more than half of my life. We've packed in several lifetimes' worth, it seems, of ups and downs, joys and sorrows, dreams accomplished and dreams shattered, triumphs and despair in those 15 years, and always emerging with hands held tightly together.

We both wanted to do something special to celebrate, not just the usual "let's go out to dinner." No, after weathering all that we had and, by the grace of God, making it to this point, a true celebration was in order. So today, after we drop off the kids at school, my dad is taking us to the train. Our destination: New York City!

This was completely Don's idea. I had wanted to go to Prince Edward Island. Yet after discussing the logistics and reality of what a trip like that would entail, even I had to admit that perhaps we should put that off for our 20th ... or 25th. "How about the city?" Don asked eagerly. I glanced at him sideways. What? Really? WHY?! He spends more hours per week there than he does at home, we've been there a million times ... don't you want to do something new?!

Yet the more we thought about it, the more it dawned on us that this truly would be a good -- and fun! -- option. Three days, two nights beginning this morning! On tap is an exhibit about Pompeii at Discovery Times Square (since Pompeii itself as an anniversary destination was nixed almost immediately), a day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (thank you, Anton and Amy!!), street food, no kids ...

Ah, perhaps the kids will be absent, but you know full well, faithful readers, that one being will indeed be present: My Friend Murphy. Remember him? Murphy's Law, by whose mandate my life must submit ... no milestone event would be complete without Murphy throwing in a proverbial monkey wrench or two. And believe it or not, he's already begun ... and we haven't even left the house yet!

- Let's start with one that's so ridiculously obvious: RAIN! Yes, there is an abundance of rain in the forecast. And I loathe rain. We have many, many blocks to walk, and we had many, many plans of outdoor strolling. Of course there has to be rain ...

- I was sorely -- sorely! -- disappointed yesterday to learn that our dinner reservation tomorrow night (on the actual anniversary day) was canceled on us. For five long years, we had greatly desired to eat at The London, Gordon Ramsay's high-end, swanky restaurant of critical acclaim. We could never afford it, nor had a real "milestone" to justify going there. This time we do, and we were both giddy with the thought of having dinner there tomorrow evening. Ah, yes, a perfect opportunity for a Murphy snafu ... "We're sorry, sir, but we are having 'staffing issues' and The London is closed." They kindly transferred our reservation over to The Maze, which is The London's more casual offspring (same chef, more relaxed and low(er) key atmosphere). Utterly deflated, we accepted the switch. I must confess I nearly felt tears springing forth on that one. I had my lovely outfit all picked out, which now of course is far too "dressy" for The Maze. Who wants to be casual on their 15th anniversary?! Not me, O Princess at Heart. We briefly checked out Le Bernardin, Eric Ripert's renowned restaurant, but at $115 per person (which, for what you get, is actually not bad) we decided to stick with The Maze. Sigh ... I guess we didn't wait the Biblical 7 years ...

- Sleep deprivation: Not from a fun night out, simply because we can ... Oh no. Try a 40-year-old man who is so excited about the trip that he woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. (yes, you read that correctly) from anticipatory jitters. 4:00 a.m. -- an hour which prompted some serious growling from his exhausted wife.

- And here is a fun little number that I haven't even shared with Don (nor will I, unless he reads this blog). After weeks of stress, high volume of work at church, an insane schedule at home, I knew that as soon as I let my guard down, a cold would strike. And strike it has ... I have felt it "coming on" for a day or two but I've said not a word. What I do not speak with my mouth shall not come to pass ...

Yes, in a few hours we'll be on our way, opening snafu's and all. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those adventures with many tales to share. My friend Sandy exhorted me to "keep my smile on," and I certainly will. More to come, my friends ...

A Season of Firsts ...

Hello, my fine faithful readers! Remember me? I'm the girl who loves to write and was once addicted to blogging. Not quite sure what happened to her but I've got "LOST - PLEASE FIND HER" posters plastered all over the neighborhood.

It's been one of those days ... a day where a blog post has been running through my mind incessantly and I simply couldn't shut it off. But this thought came as a thread, with one strand intermingling with another, leading me to the title -- "A Season of Firsts." Here's why ...

It's Spring. In theory, that is. After the coldest, most unusual "wintery" winter we've had in many, many years spring has finally come ... but again, in theory. But with spring always comes new things -- the melting of snow, the emergence of resilient first flowers, the first winged bug (and quickly ensuing shriek from Grace) zipping by, the first day without a coat ... You get the idea. And over these past few months, these "firsts" have been piling up:

- This is the first COLD spring I think I've ever experienced. Temperatures should be hovering in the 60's ... and we're lucky if we wake up in the morning to a heat wave of 40.

- This is the first season where it snowed -- TWICE -- during Spring Break! As I said, it's spring in theory only ...

- This is the first season where my kids have walked to and from their swimming lessons in the snow. That's just so very, very wrong.

- Grace started reading a few weeks ago ... a HUGE first! It started one evening when we were reading their devotionals at bedtime, when suddenly she reached across me and pointed to a random word on the next page. "Help!" she said. Indeed, that was the word ... and the reading hasn't stopped since.

- Aidan "mastered" multiplication and division on his own, a very big deal. We had one very proud boy in our house.

- Grace is now officially a swimmer! After last year's scream-fest, and a $200 swimming course that only resulted in her feeling merely OK in the water, this year we are seeing some results. Two weeks ago she began to tread water on her own. This past Monday she swam to her coach ... and she hasn't stopped.

- Aidan, too, is making great strides (no pun -- although appropriate! -- intended) in swimming as well, and I am harboring secret, subtle thoughts that my boy might very well be a competitive swimmer. He's got that perfect "swimmer's body," with outrageously long arms, broad shoulders, and a tapering torso down to a narrow waist. The first two weeks found me biting my nails and jumping (ever so slightly) in my seat, watching him fight his way down the very, very, VERY long lane, tiring and slowing about midway, holding on to the rope to catch his breath. That was a few weeks ago. Yesterday, as Grace finished her "streamlining," I turned my eyes to find Aidan, trying to pick him out from the several boys in his class swimming up and down the lane. My eye caught one boy gliding through the water beautifully like a dolphin, long arms reaching up and over, every motion smooth and natural. It was truly a beautiful sight. I looked away from that boy, looking for Aidan, but then I suddenly glanced back ... that boy who was swimming so perfectly raised his face to the side to catch a breath. I caught my breath -- it was Aidan! I couldn't believe it! Hmmm ...

- And a first for me ... Today was my first gardening day. Indeed, a day I truly wondered if it would ever materialize, but finally it did. Despite the cold, the snow, and the wearing of wool in April (there's something really wrong with that), the flowers have been determined to make their mark. This afternoon I was equally determined to be outdoors, relishing the warm sun and 60-ish degree temps. I perused the state of affairs in my garden: the bright, cheerful faces of the daffodils were laughing merrily, and the hyacinths were scenting the finally-warm air with their much-welcomed fragrance. The mint is beginning to peek up, as is the astilbe and hostas. Even the hydrangea is sporting large, thick buds of green, and last year's newest arrival -- a dwarf lilac which I was convinced would never survive the winter -- is showing signs of growth. Everything is bursting with defiance, right on course, and I'm thrilled.

- With my first foray through the garden, of course, I also saw the weeds ... flourishing beautifully. I grabbed my hibernating trowel and got to work on one of the long beds, obliterating the onion grass and other varieties of green pests. It felt glorious to get my hands dirty.

- Ah, and I must also note that I saw -- and immediately annihilated -- the first slug of the season! Who saw that one coming?

- Speaking of vile nastiness, we also had a very unexpected "first" this morning -- something that made my skin crawl and truly surprised all of us. This morning at 6:45 am, as all four of us sat on the couch watching the sunrise (yes, on a Saturday -- blame the kids), Jack decided to jump on the couch to join us. I put my arm around him and began to stroke his wonderfully velveteen fur ... and I felt something odd. I investigated, parted his fur, and saw it ... and almost puked. It was a tick. A vile, evil, nasty, hideous embedded tick ... the first that Jack has ever had in almost 12 years. Now? NOW?! Here, in semi-urban NJ? A tick?! I hate ticks ... I loathe them, even more than spiders (and that's saying something). And yes, I will say with honesty that I hate ticks even more than I hate slugs ... and that's REALLY saying something, if you consider the Slugicide we endured in the past. I thought back to years ago, when we took young Jack on many a hike, through woods and thick forests and trail after trail, with no ticks to be found. OK, maybe a few crawling on his legs here or there, but nothing embedded. Nothing like this. Nothing in nearly 12 years. And what makes it worse, the only place Jack has been -- because of the cold and not-so-nice-walking weather -- has been our back yard. UGH ... I can't stop shuddering.

Yes, spring is here ... and it is already proving to be a Season of Firsts. And there are a few more "firsts" on our horizon -- big, life-altering ones, but that's another post for another day, when I'm ready. And from that might be birthed a new idea, another first -- a new blog, for this one might be retired, for good reason. But we'll see. But one thing I do hope from this new season is a reawakening of myself as a writer, of being able to stay a step (or even two!) ahead of the increasingly fast pace of my life, to carve out some time to return to what I'm passionate about. That's my hope and my prayer, that my posts won't be so few and far between as they have been during this dark, cold winter. For in many ways, there is new life this spring, in so many different ways ...

Laugh Lines of a Misinterpretive Sort

I started taking a yoga class with some friends back in the fall, and it resumed a few weeks ago after a winter break. I do like it -- it's just my speed, and an hour's worth of exercise to make me feel less guilty.

Recently, the kids asked what yoga is, so I showed them a few moves which, of course, they tried on their own. Little did I know Grace would take this to a whole new level.

A few days ago, while waiting in the line of cars before Grace's class started, we had a friend's daughter join us (a classmate of Grace's), and the two entertained themselves during that 20+ minute wait. Our car has third row seats which fold down flat, making a perfect "play area" for these mornings. To pass the time, Grace decided to teach her friend the art of yoga.

The first move: downward dog, with two little butts sticking straight up in the air, smack in the middle of the back window. I earnestly hoped the mom behind us didn't think she was being mooned.

"Now," said Grace in a very serious tone, "we are going to do something very important." With that declaration, she closed her eyes -- very dramatically -- and moved her hands together into the "hands of prayer" position. Her friend immediately spoke up.

"No, no, no!" she said. "That's what you do when you enter the spirit world!"

Hmmmm ... I think I need to have a talk with her mother.

***************************
During this same car episode, the girls moved on from yoga and began playing "dinosaurs." For some inexplicable reason, Grace blurted out, "Time to get brainwashed!"

"Yeah!" piped up her little friend immediately. "That's what they do in yoga!"

Hmmmm ... I think I need to have another talk with her mother.

***************************

Throughout the winter, the kids haven't taken much advantage of their playroom. It is cold, I must admit, even with the heater blasting full steam. Slowly but surely over the past few months, the toys began creeping back into the house, until this past week where it's gotten out of control. Legos cover almost every surface in the living room, while Grace has literally taken over every corner, filled with her "bits" and stuff and junk, all of which look awful and chaotic to me, yet seem to make perfect sense to her.

This morning was the last straw. Grace came out with a box full of more "bits" and surveyed the living room. In her usual dramatic way, she burst into tears. "I have no more room!" she wailed. Suddenly she quieted, spying one last empty corner. She instantly brightened. "Oh! I'll just take that space for my new office."

That did it. I lost my temper. "What??!!" I blurted. "YOU have no space?! You've got to be kidding me! You have three "offices" and now you want a fourth ... and I barely have one! You're crowding me out -- I feel like I live in Toys R Us! I can't stand it anymore!"

More tears -- apparently she was highly offended by my territorialistic outburst -- and I ordered them back into the playroom. I was met with great resistance at first, but I held my ground. While there are still Legos in my living room this morning, they're only stacked on our 300-year-old blanket chest, contained. Grace's "offices" have all but disappeared, save one that's tucked away in a corner. The kids are now in the playroom, having divided the "play table" in half, with each occupying a side.

Ahh ... but trouble was bound to ensue. I heard muted yelling, and I went out onto the front porch to investigate. Aidan's Legos were indeed on his half of the table, but he was sitting on her side. She was outraged.

Now, our "play table" is actually falls into the antique category, very old barn wood of great length converted into what we used as super long (and super cool) coffee table years ago, when we had room for a coffee table. While sturdy, I still didn't think it was a good idea for Aidan to actually be sitting on it. I advised him to get off, since it's an antique.

"Yeah!" said Grace. "It's an antique. Antiques come out of the basement!"

Somehow I believe the Grace of the Future is going to be an IKEA girl ...