I often feel badly that my car's satellite radio is tuned only to the 24-hour politics station. My poor kid, I think. She could be listening to Dan Zanes or that butt song she likes. Instead, wonks drone on, spin masters dizzy us, and angry audio spews from the speakers. Try as I might to switch to a more happy place, this presidential election has captured my attention more than any other in years past.

It is no surprise then, that Maria has asked a lot of questions about the candidates. Kid questions like "What does he look like?'' and "Is he nice?'' But because she also has gotten stuck on the theme of war, and stopping it, I haven't felt nearly as badly about forcing her to listen.

A million years ago when I had the time to take weekend art classes, I spent a day making spontaneous art at a local studio, a magical place overflowing with baskets and buckets of beads, feathers, glass, beans. All sorts of things to play with and make art that would eventually get picked up, each piece you used went back in its proper basket. The lesson was about Zen, about appreciating the beauty you can make, and it's OK when it is gone.

That exercise was followed by painting without first thinking about it. Just grabbing the brushes and going for it. I loved it. It was like being in kindergarten, but in a class with no teacher.

My brother and his wife welcomed their second beautiful daughter last week, a perfect dark-haired girl who is a near photocopy of her precious 2-year-old sister.

I have since announced to everyone I know that I have once again become an Aunt – a "tia" in Spanish – and we are counting down the days until we fly north to hold and kiss the newest member of our family. Maria asks daily how many days we have left to go.

My daughter had been begging us to let her sleep over at a friend's for many weeks.

"Do you think you'll miss mommy?'' I asked.

"I'll still remember you,'' she said earnestly.

And off she went.

Dinner was on the stove when I told my husband I was heading to the coop for a minute.

"Do you have a gin bottle hidden in there?'' my husband asked. "You spend a lot of time in there.''

No gin bottle, but I do go out to the coop a lot.