We spent this cloudy Saturday morning shopping for refrigerators. Having already visited everything within a reasonable distance of our home, we finally bit the bullet and drove a little further afield to that palace of appliances that is known by every Chicagoan who has ever purchased one, Abt Electronics.

I�ve been to Abt before, but not since they moved to their current building. And when I say palace, I am really not exaggerating. Huge fountains shooting to the ceiling, a massive salt-water fish tank (where, unfortunately, we saw a pile of fish eating another less fortunate fish, thus necessitating a little discussion with AJ about Darwin -- �It�s called the Survival of the Fittest.� �It should be called the survival of the fishes,� observed AJ).

First we walked down aisle after aisle of gleaming refrigerators. Within relatively short order, we had narrowed the decision down to two, one with the freezer on top like our current model and one with side by side doors (isn�t this fascinating? I know you are dying to know how harriet stores her food). After what seemed like an endless discussion about whether or not we could fit a box of frozen pizza in the side-by-side model, we decided to go for it. We will have our shiny new refrigerator on Thursday. And it makes ice! All by itself! And you can get water and ice (whole or crushed) without even opening the door! I can pretty much guarantee AJ will be drinking a lot of water next week. I, myself, will not be making a move without a glass full of crushed ice. Just because I can.

After our work was done, we set out to explore the rest of the store. It was AJ who discovered the massaging chairs. He sat down in one. I sat next to him. I picked up the remote control and started pushing buttons. All of a sudden I discovered I had sat upon a large Swedish man with fantastic hands. Oh. My. God. My back has never felt better. I had to concentrate hard to prevent myself from emitting orgasmic moans in the middle of the store. AJ, on the other hand, was amused, but not relaxed. �Hey!� he kept shouting. �This chair keeps hitting me in the head!� My condolences, my little friend. You are too short to appreciate the wonders of the massaging chair. I, on the other hand, am fairly certain that if I actually owned said chair I would never get up again.

When AJ finally managed to drag me out of the chair, we wandered around the atrium where various high end kitchens were set up for our viewing pleasure. While we strolled around admiring the countertops, AJ stood transfixed by a kinetic sculpture that took a series of ping-pong sized balls on a Rube Goldbergian trip across ramps, see-saws and down spirals, occasionally hitting bells or chimes or a wood block. �Let�s build one of these when we get home,� he suggested repeatedly. In the car on our way home he was already trying to figure out how to attach his marble set to his alligator-shaped xylophone for maximum musicality.

After our shopping trip, we headed out for a round of miniature golf � a perfect activity for a cool and cloudy Saturday. The place was jam-packed with little boys trying to send their balls careening through a firehouse to turn on a siren, and through a white church to make it play music. When I sent my ball through the church, it somewhat enigmatically played �Hava Nagila,� which I don�t recall ever having heard in church before; AJ�s ball played �I�ve been Working on the Railroad� and my husband�s turned up �The Marine Hymn.� They must be Unitarians.

Much to my delight, the course also included a windmill hole, which always makes me think of the Simpsons. Alas, this windmill was far too small for any action, so after our game was over, we headed home, where AJ proceeded to see how many bad things he could do in as short a time as possible before being banished to his room for a couple of hours of rest.

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