The Admiral Benbow Inn

I used to think that the biggest challenge any relationship could weather was a trip to Ikea. But now I know the truth - it's building a kit playhouse.

Fortunately, Succotash, your father and I survived. On the first warm day of spring we busted out the power drills and the screws and the mallet and the hammer and the level and all that stuff and slowly assembled a cheap wooden playhouse from a kit of nearly infinite pieces, which is now nestled in the hemlock hedge. It has a little play sink and stovetop, and a doorbell and door, and you have decided that it is the Admiral Benbow Inn, just like in Treasure Island. We spent several hours this afternoon moving between there and the Hispaniola, before you became absorbed with watering the tulips, making mud, watering the tulips with mud, and other projects of your own devising. When you came around the corner of the garden yesterday - your grandparents had to pick you up so your Dad and I could finish the final touches, applying the flower pot holders and the doorknob, your whole face awoke with pleasure and you said "What's this?"

"This is your playhouse," I said. "Do you like it?"

"Yes!" you said, popcorning up and down, which is one of my favorite things to see you do. You do it when you are overwhelmed with delight.

We are discussing getting a mailbox, and possibly a hanging sign that says "Admiral Benbow Inn."

Springtime in the garden has begun.