It was Sunday morning. Lane and I were away for a weekend together. Peter called us on my cell phone for the 42nd time. This time he was crying. "Anna got to pick the sugar cereal," he lamented. (The first person awake on Sundays gets to choose it.) "But I woke up at 7:90-something!" he protested.

After dinner, Peter got out a pen and a scrap of paper and started to write. "Mommy, how you do spell 'sorry'?" he asked. Lane wondered aloud, "Did you make a mess?" "No," Peter told. He brought me the paper a few minutes later. It was a note to his teacher: "Dear Mrs. R., Sorry I am sick. Love, Peter."

I was helping Anna button up her sweater. "I can do this button," she informed me. "I'm a little bit of a good buttoner."

Anna walked into our room after waking up, her hair disheveled. She plopped herself on my lap. Rebecca sat close by and reached up to touch her hair. "Don't mess up my hair!" Anna chided.

Lane had just taken a look at the dishwasher drawer that had rolled out on to the floor and the inside of a kitchen cupboard that had been gauged by the drawer runner because of a missing rubber cover. "Who knew that children would be such maintenance items, both to themselves and to the things they touch?" he observed.

Anna had just finished drawing with chalk. "Mom, I have to paint everyday." She is such an painter at heart!

"It just breaks my heart to see this," Peter (6) commented when he saw a photo of a mother returning from war, embracing her little daughter in the airport.

"Mom, someday I want a typewriter," wished Anna after watching a video version of "Click Clack MOO."

"I said to him, 'That is really RUDE!' but I said it in a nice way...kinda." Peter, recounting at lunch about his day and his negotiating a sticky situation.

The definition of a good teacher: "Sister H. is SUCH a good teacher," Sarah observed. "She gave us each 3 homemade Oreo cookies!...AND lemonade!"