Sylvia is spending the weekend catching up on household chores. My job is to occupy the children.

The weather has been wet today, so I thought the best way to occupy them would be to go to the mall and wander round. This isn't as cruel as it sounds. There is a fountain they like to play with, and lots of flat, smooth surfaces for David's Heelys.

Anticipating the demands that usually attend trips to the mall, I told them up front that we had no money left this month so they should not ask for bubble gum, remote-controlled cars, iPods, or all-inclusive trips to the Bahamas.

With David skating off all over the place on his shoes, it didn't seem fair to keep the girls on a leash. They often ran ahead of me. On one occasion, Rachel darted into a shop—a moderately up-market place selling leather sofas and wrought-iron candlesticks and smelling strongly of pot-pourri. By the time I caught up with her, she was deep in conversation with a girl who worked there. The girl seemed very amused and smiled pleasantly when I arrived. I smiled back and then did what I always do when I have brought the kids to a shop from which I intend to buy nothing: look purposeful and likely to buy something.

After lounging on a leather sofa for a while, and nearly kicking over several candlesticks, David asked Rachel about her conversation with the shop employee. It turned out that she had walked straight in, buttonholed the girl, and told her "Hello. We aren't going to buy anything because we don't have any money."