So sorry to have been missing all week—three sick kids plus one sick me somehow does not make for much computer time. But some of us are better, and today was a busy day, so! Here I am.

We bought a new car this afternoon (alright already, it’s a minivan), thus putting an end to the what-to-drive angst. We wavered between “reliable with good resale value” and “cheap with no car payment,” but in the end the shiny eight-seater won out. I haven’t actually seen the thing yet—the car’s in the driveway, but the clouds opened up and poured rain down upon it as soon as it arrived. I haven’t ventured out for a peek. I’m sure it’s zippy.

Abigail and I also happen to be sporting sassy new haircuts today. She’s been dying to lop her locks off for months now, and we finally did it. Eight inches of wispy princess hair, gone. No more braids for a while. I think they cut out a little piece of my heart along with the hair. I’m trying to focus on how great it is that she doesn’t know (or maybe doesn’t care) that she chose her own opinions and her own convenience over girly conformity—and that IS really cool—but secretly I was kind of attached to the long pretty hair. The new look is absolutely adorable, made even more so by her nonstop grin. We haven’t decided if she looks younger (this is the style she wore when she was two and three) or older (she looks taller and more athletic, somehow). Mine’s shorter too, though I look neither younger nor older. Better groomed, maybe. Though it did nothing for my dark under eye circles.

But really you’re looking for cute kid anecdotes, right? Okay then:

A grownup friend took Dane to pick up the new car this afternoon, leaving his two-year-old at our house to play. She asked if she could have an apple. “Sure,” I said, and let her choose one from the bin.

“And this?” she asked, pointing at a tub of red pepper hummus. “Can I have this for dipping?”

“Sure,” I said again, and scooped some onto her plate.

She watched me with wide eyes, then stamped her feet with glee. “Abigail’s house is like a playhouse!” she declared, “A great big playhouse!”

Yes, that’s right. A great big hummusy playhouse. (At least she wanted to stay and play—last time she was here, Abigail told her how our tree fell: “Ka-BOOOM! And smashed our car to bits!” The little girl replied, wide-eyed, “Our Christmas tree never does that!” and then spent the rest of that visit warily eyeing our evergreen in the corner. It didn’t even twitch. Which is good.)