Modesty prevails.

If my son wanders into my room while I'm getting dressed, he rushes to the corner of the bed where I hang my PJs, pulls them off the bedpost and hands them to me, as if to say, "Woman, for God's sake, put some clothes on!"

Of course, maybe he's just trying to be helpful.

I'm not sure where he got this. My husband and I, while not exhibitionists, certainly aren't overly modest. Once you've gone through the experience of giving birth, and nearly everyone has either handled or seen every part of your body, you pretty much give up on keeping it all under wraps.

All aboard.

Some of my readers (OK, one of them) have been complaining about my lack of blog posting lately. Sorry. I haven't had much to report except for this:

My nice Pottery Barn coffee table has suddenly morphed into a train table.

Where there once were magazines and coasters, there is now a figure-eight track, complete with a bridge, a water tower and a train station with clanging bell. Oh, and several (hopefully) lead-free train cars. (Don't get me started on the whole recall disaster. I'm still recovering from having to throw out my son's lead-tainted vinyl bibs.)

My son is all about trains right now. He can play with trains for hours, meticulously moving them around and around the track. I'm not kidding. I didn't think a toddler could be so focused.

The only problem is that he falls apart when the train cars derail, as they inevitably do, because he insists on linking them altogether in a mile-long caravan. "Oh NO," he wails, when the cars jump the tracks.

"It happens," my husband tells him, but I don't think you can expect a not-quite-two-year-old to achieve such a Zen state of mind. Not when it comes to trains.

Beauty backlash.

A doctor told me today that I have beautiful ovaries.

I was not an attractive child. For at least part of my pre-pubescence, I had horn-rimmed glasses, braces and a bowl haircut. It was the 60s and early 70s, but still.

When my mom told me that beauty is on the inside, I'm not sure that my ovaries are what she meant.