Yesterday we bought AJ a clock. (Yes, elgan, we finally got tired of the 5:30 a.m. wake-up calls.) It is nothing special. Your basic digital clock radio with a luminous green dial and tinny CD player so we no longer have to listen to �A Million and One Ways to do the Hokey Pokey� on the household stereo. AJ proceeded to play through every CD in his collection, skipping forward and backward through tracks with abandon while I sneaked out of the room to look for earplugs.

Last night at bedtime we gave AJ strict instructions about what time he was allowed to leave his room. I was bucking for 7, but my husband had already told AJ 6:30, which is probably more realistic.

At 5:30 a.m., AJ came padding into our room. �Is it 6:30 yet?� I asked groggily? I heard his feet run back to look at his new clock and come running back in. �No.� Back to bed he went. At 6:30 on the nose, I heard him leap to the floor and come tearing across the hall. �Mommy! It�s 6:30! It�s 6:30!� he yelled like it was Christmas morning.

It was nice to be up at 6:30 this morning. It was cold and sunny and the air smelled faintly of soot from a neighborhood bonfire the night before. After puttering around the house for a while, we finally elected to head to the Chicago Botanical Garden. We used to go there a lot when we lived in the city and were in need of regular infusions of flora. We haven�t been since we moved to the suburbs a couple of years ago. This is partly due to anxiety as we�ve struggled with our own garden and partly because the thought of trying to get AJ to come with us seemed daunting.

Boy, were we wrong.

We tired long before he did. We began with the most AJ-friendly section, the Model Railroad garden, which was full of little boys in Thomas the Tank Engine paraphernalia squatting down to stare at the toy trains sailing past their noses while oblivious to others chugging away across tracks through the trees over their heads. But it definitely was not just for children. Aside from the tracks and trains themselves and the occasional figurine, everything � bridges, buildings, fences, national landmarks � was constructed out of natural materials. It was fascinating in the way the Rose Bowl floats are fascinating. Holly leaves were used as pennants flying from the model of Wrigley Field, which housed a speaker endorsing the cult of Harry Caray with his standard �Take Me Out to the Ballgame.� Miniature bonsai elm trees lined a narrow street of turn-of-the-century houses. And sticks were carefully woven to create a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge, now devoted to train travel. It was a marvel.

But perhaps even better than the trains were the gardens themselves. AJ stopped and splashed in fountains, admired the flowers, tossed pennies in the water, and moved on. He sat on benches and peered over walls. He climbed twisting paths and rolled down grassy hills. When he spotted a Great Blue Heron perched on a rock in the middle of a pond, we thought he was going to go sailing over the bridge in excitement. He cried when we made him leave.

It simply never occurred to me that he might enjoy the place so much. But then I never really stopped to think about it from his angle. There are tunnels and secret pathways. There is a LOT of water. And he could touch everything. What�s not to like? What struck me in particular was how much more fun he had than when we went to the Lincoln Park Zoo, something we did specifically for his benefit. While he enjoyed looking at the animals, it�s simply not possible to interact with them in the same way that he could interact with the gardens. He could place himself inside. There were things to smell and touch and explore.

And now, having squandered away my entire weekend on outdoor pursuits � I spent yesterday�s work time pruning perennials in the garden instead of prose in my office � I had best get on with some work.

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