SPRING BREAKDOWN

What is it about home décor store catalogs that can ultimately make us feel so inadequate and short-fused?

Scene: Casually well-dressed children, blissfully clicking away at their video game controls, surrounded by perfectly organized, gingham-lined baskets of kiddie paraphernalia. The dazzling, striped carpet might have just been vacuumed, and refreshments in matching cups and plates sit on a teak tray set on a spill-proof, twill-covered, monogrammed ottoman. The indulgent mother, coiffed yet casual, peeks in from behind a partially opened pocket door from the hi-tech kitchen to the den, grinning with pride and satisfaction as her children and their guests enjoy the best of all possible play-dates, in the coolest home on the block.

Through the sliding glass doors to the sunny backyard and the green and grassy, sprawling beyond, you can make out a pastel Easter-egg kit which rests on the junior-sized patio table. You then turn the page to towels (plush Turkish) and linens (400-thread count).

Life: My husband David, who started his own consulting firm a couple of years ago, is permanently fixed to his work station in our bedroom, while I, a real estate broker, am in the middle of a contractual negotiation which takes a daunting new detour almost every hour on the hour. Our two sons, Max and Julian, ages 13 and 9, respectively, have become freedom fighters for the National Get-Me-Out-of School-Already Coalition, whose activity is typically at its peak from mid-April to mid-May. We are all home for Spring Break, and it is not a pretty picture.

There is not a single Easter egg to be found in this house. The other item not in this house over the Spring Break is bread. Neither a stick, nor a crumb, not even a speck: it’s Passover, so we’re sticking to our yeast-free guns. And it can't get much springier around here than that.