I spent the weekend in a country house surrounded by tall trees and two lakes. Inside, there were two hot tubs, a foosball table and a mirrored master bedroom with a bed that hung and swung. I kid you not. Glory and kitch all in one, the perfect spot for Chick Weekend 2008.

I woke Maria this morning to tell her Barack Obama had been elected president of the United States. As she blinked away the sleep, she named a particular member of our family and said he is "not going to be very happy.''

"No, he's not. Lots of people are not happy, but the majority, that's most people, voted for Barack Obama. So, he gets the job. That's how America works,'' I explained.

I am breathing deeper than I have since June 10, 2005 – the day my 19-month-old was diagnosed with a peanut allergy.

The reason: We learned Thursday morning Maria has outgrown it. She has defied odds and landed in the 1 out of 5 group who outgrows peanut allergies, a condition that ranges from the inconvenient to the fatal. And, one that while affecting more and more children each year, continues to be misunderstood. 

We are on lockdown here in the Boonies.

The 4-year-old is under house arrest. She was tried and convicted for completely freaking out when it was time to leave a birthday party. It was her 789th offense, give or take. The judge and jury – that would be me and her father – deliberated for less than 5 minutes before voting to put the kibosh on the behavior. Finally.

The defendant argued her own case, stating she just really, really, really hates leaving fun parties, play dates, and parks.

Maria pointed up toward a building yesterday and announced:

"Look, Mami, a broken building!''

Actually, that's called a "fire escape.''

Welcome, Maria – smallish town girl – to New York City. For the first time since infant-hood.