After school one day this week, Trevor came home to a plain brown envelope marked "Challenge" on his place at the kitchen table. Pinned to the back of the envelope was an index card that read, "Build a bridge that can hold three Lego people at least six inches off the ground using only the materials in this envelope."

Inside the envelope was a stack of flimsy paper strips, paperclips, scotch tape, and a glue stick. The first two bridge attempts ended in frustration. You can see the span that finally worked in the photo -- it took about 45 minutes to finally win the challenge.

All that fun from a stack of paper strips leftover from trimming direction cards with a paper cutter.

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The work to-do list starts from the top of the page. The home to-do list starts from the bottom of the page. On some extremely busy days, they meet in the middle. On some horrific days, I have to start a second column. Too many of those days in a row and I start calling people "sweetie" in a way that doesn't mean "sweetie."

Sometimes items on a to-do list can be deceiving. Like this tiny one-liner: "try DB" which means to log onto the VPN, log into the database, determine if the access is working, when it isn't, email for advice, wait for the reply, download & install a MySQL query browser, re-login to the database again, then get on a conference call to walk through the schema. That doesn't fit on the line.

Items get listed multiple times if I have to do them more than once. I think you should get credit for two tasks if you do something twice, like calling someone back to finish planning an event. I also enjoy checking things off. (<-- A bullet point straight off my resume.)

I tend to prioritize the work items by letter and (sometimes) number, but not the home items. It would be disheartening to see all of the little C3's at the bottom of the list next to tasks like making cupcakes and reordering my Neflix queue. FranklinCovey doesn't have a letter-number combination for "I must do this for my sanity."

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We ended up with two solid feet of ice on the right half of the drainage ditch, and none on the other half. It makes a fun little waterfall that Trevor must play in.

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It's time to order our baby chicks, but their new home isn't quite ready yet. We've torn off the old, rotting particleboard and removed the old, rotting hay insulation, and taken out the old, rotting trash piles, but it still needs walls and a good power-washing.

We're getting six dominiques for eggs, which are a hardy New England breed that apparently don't wander very far on the open range. Our hope is to let them roam the field instead of fencing in a run, but I have a chicken run spot in mind in case we need to pen them.

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Trevor's Easter present was a white chef's toque embroidered in red script with the name of his restaurant, The Treasured Cheese. He was thrilled and surprised. He wore it to make a menu of sauteed baby carrots, garlic chicken and chocolate-dipped oranges. He looks just a teensy bit pleased, don't you think?

All in all, the hat was a reasonably-priced gift that didn't conflict with my sense of holiday propriety. I saw a newscaster last week interviewing teens saying things like, "If I don't get electronics in my Easter basket, I'll be pretty pissed." The reporter went on to say that items like iPods and DVD players are now the norm for Easter gifts -- which I think is misleading... if not just plain wrong.

I can't believe that most parents give expensive electronics in baskets. I can imagine that a few do. And for every teen who is going to huff and pout over the lack of iPhone in her basket, there are nine more who are tickled by a homemade chocolate lollipop and a book.

The media telling us that expensive electronics are the norm is what will eventually make it acceptable. And while I don't generally concern myself with what other families do, I think it heads down a dangerous road to encourage kids to expect a gift worth a week's wages in an Easter basket.

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Mom gave me these beautiful plates from my father's Aunt Lottie over the Easter weekend. The back of the plates are blank, but the saucer says "OVEN WARE Fire-King Made in U.S.A." which puts the date for that piece in the 1950s.



It's funny how things like this come back in style. The dishes fit in my kitchen as if they were made this year.

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This lovely vanilla buttercream cupcake came from Whole Foods on P Street. The buttercream was lighter than the one I made a few weeks ago, but the cake was drier. When cupcakes are too dry, I tear off the bottom half and throw it away. Because really, why bother eating bad cake?

One of the things I look forward to on my trips to DC are my dinners from Whole Foods. Me and all of the other yuppies line up alongside the prepared food counters and give each other self-satisfied looks.

The blog Stuff White People Like offers this advice:

"They also provide prepared foods, that single white people often purchase to avoid cooking. This is important information, as this section of the store is loaded with single white people."

I will vouch for this, having witnessed many a budding romance begin next to the hearts of palm salad. He goes to pick up a recycled paper tray and finds that a stack of ten come away at once. His other hand is full of silken tofu and greek yogurt. He smiles sheepishly. She puts down her basket and unsticks one tray for him. She picks a folding container which separates neatly. He makes what he thinks is a witty remark about her picking the "non-sticky" ones. She smiles at his pseudo-witty remark. They notice they've each grabbed a similar wedge of iceberg lettuce with blue cheese and bacon. And there it begins...

I like to stare at the Devonshire Cream and wish there was a way to get it back to Vermont. Eventually, they ask me to leave.

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