The rain has been drumming steadily on the roof since seconds after I stepped inside after my morning run. It�s damp and chilly, an all around good day for staying in bed. Of course the fact that I woke up slightly hungover made it an even better day for staying bed. Unfortunately, the three-year-old had other ideas. I�ve spent much of the day driving a pretend schoolbus around the house (because even in AJ�s imagination he is not old enough to drive) for assorted field trips. AJ�s been playing school again.

But back to the hangover. My husband and I went out last night. Let me say that again, to make sure you heard me correctly: We went out last night. Alone. The babysitter came on time. AJ adores her � he wanted to go over to her house to play as soon as he got up this morning. We�re rather fond of her too. When we got home, she was doing her science homework. On Saturday night. She�s a good kid.

We had no agenda other than leaving the kid for a few hours. We went shopping and wound up at a local bistro/wine bar for dinner where we are always pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food and amazed by the poor training of the service. Everyone who works there is perfectly nice � it�s not a matter of rudeness. But they�re like the Keystone Kops of waitstaff every single time we go. They run into things, they forget to clear courses, they don�t know a viognier from a shiraz. Glasses smash with alarming regularity. Depending on your mood, it�s either stressful or damned entertaining

The food was, however, particularly good last night. Best of all was the dessert. Listed in the menu simply as �Big Chocolate Cake.� It delivered on all counts, a piece of outstanding, moist, seven-layer chocolate cake, so enormous that the two of us could not finish, and not for want of trying. We wanted to find another venue for further debauchery, perhaps a neighborhood bar for a nightcap. But alas, at 10 p.m. in the suburbs on a Saturday night, we were unable to find an open establishment. Even the movie theater was closed. We came home for bourbon at the kitchen table. After driving the studious babysitter home, of course.

And tomorrow is Valentine�s Day. We don�t usually do much in the way of gifts for this particular holiday. Usually just homemade cards and perhaps some flowers. But this year I was feeling bad that my husband�s birthday got lost in the craziness preceeding my autumn conference paper (it always�s suffers somewhat for being less than two weeks after our anniversary) so I got him something I know he�s been wanting but would never buy for himself � the new edition of the Sherlock Holmes stories. He knows what he�s getting, but he�s going to have to find it. It was AJ who gave me the idea � we�ve been playing scavenger hunts with him, writing out lists of things to find within a certain amount of time. It�s great fun. So my husband is going to have to decipher a series of clues to locate his gift. It seemed appropriate. It is Holmes, after all.

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