The air outside feels like a new school year. All September-y with its little breeze. Not much humidity on this early August 9am and I am surprised by this. I am nearing my 34th birthday, but suddenly feel 14 and bouncy. I breathe in deeply and it feels good. I had forgotten how much I could like fresh air. The Washington summer can do that to you. We have been inside for some days, the bad air quality holding us hostage against asthma attacks.

We head for the garden.

It is a wee slab of land attached to our city apartment building. It is behind a padlock and a tall fence and it is so shady that one of the girls says, "Too dark in here," as we enter. I explain that it is shady and better than sunny because the sun is bad for us and makes us look old.

The two girls of two years are wearing dresses. The kind of dresses I swore my children would never wear. One, a hand-me down from a cousin is red and white gingham with big pockets on the front. The other is the Samba Dora dress in hot pink and orange and looks like Charo wore it on a particularly bland episode of The Love Boat. I put shorts and Mary Janes under them and we look more punk than priss. But the truth is that my children are charming and cool no matter what they are wearing.

We busy ourselves with filling Halloween buckets with rocks and leaves and grass. It is a big task. I try to read "The Time Traveler’s Wife," but don't get far. Anya is at a point where she wants mommy to help her with all play activities, so I am on the ground, counting rocks. This feels so Victorian. Us, in the garden, playing with rocks. It is as if the modern world doesn't exist.

There are small pumpkin sized bushes in the garden. The girls have learned not to pick their leaves and instead sit with their legs around them, petting the little trees. "Hello, little trees. I love you, what you doing?"

Rachi is running from one end of the garden to the other. She stops at me on each pass to pick up and eat a green grape. She stands next to me, reaching her tiny hands into the bag and bites into a grape, saying, "delicious." I wonder how dirty her hands are and think of the nannies in the park that feed their charges rather than let them eat with dirty hands. I would make a bad nanny. "I hope you don't get worms," I say. "Or snakes," Rachi says. "Yes, I hope you don't get snakes," I say.

Another delicious grape and Rachi is hugging me. She likes to hold my face and neck close to hers and says, "I miss you mamma, so much." This is funny because she is rarely not with me.

Anya falls down and scrapes her knee. This is the bad thing about red and white gingham dresses, all the exposed knees. I have come to the garden with only these things: grapes, keys, cell phone, book for me and for them, sippy cups of water. I survey my inventory and think that perhaps just washing the cut will make her feel better. I open the Elmo cup and pour the cold water over Anya's bloody knee. She digs this and instantly thinks it is getting better. "More water on knee, mama." So we sit there and pour water on all the knees. Hers and her sister's. This is fun and seems to be a perfectly good remedy for all the knees.