It’s Sunday night.  I have a four year old chanting in the next room, "mommy, mommy, mom."  He fell asleep in the car ride back from the city late this afternoon, and it has blown his bedtime.  Older boy is sacked out on the top bunk.  We hit the Medieval festival in Manhattan today, so Jonah is hopefully dreaming about falcons and mighty swords.   Steve’s out in the garage reading another book on Rome and smoking a Nat Sherman cigar, a leftover from his high school reunion last week. I don’t quite see the point of cigars.  You just keep all that smoke in your mouth?  But he’s amused.

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