"Cheese," I responded. She laughed, and I was relieved. No rehabilitation will be necessary for her at this time.

I have no idea what time he'll be home tonight, though it's a pretty safe bet that he won't be home in time for choir practice. That ought to frighten a few people; Eric's trumpet-playing ability, though rusty, is a prized commodity in any church around Easter time, and the less people see of him, the more anxious they get that he'll stand them up on Easter morning. Not that he's about to do such a thing...though I haven't seen him pick up his axe to get his chops back in working order. Hmmmm...

I myself can't skip choir tonight. We've done that one too many times already, and the director is beginning to get a little piqued with us. Even though neither of us ever needs more than the brief run-through before church in order to get a handle on the program, the other members of the choir do better when we make an effort to attend practice. That's not so much a criticism as it is a hard fact; though they can read music, many of them are hesitant on the pitches without people singing confidently around them.

Besides, the director's brother owns a house that we may be looking to rent. We might be going to have a look at it tomorrow evening, assuming Eric can get out of work sometime before dawn.

Assume a group of mommies meets every morning at 10 AM in the library. They sit around on the floor, watching their children run past. They laugh and talk, and make trips outside for cigarettes. Would a librarian approach them and say, "You young ladies need to find a table and find something to do." Would they be asked to leave if they laughed too loudly?

Why are the kids treated differently? I've watched my coworkers approach a group that has just entered the building, that is obviously waiting for more friends to arrive before finding a place to sit, and shout, "Boys and girls! Find a book and keep it quiet!" Where is the respect for these patrons? And I do emphasize their status as patrons, for they can, indeed, read, and they do check out books.

There are a few bad seeds. Some kids throw paper; some bring food and soda past the signs banning such items. Some of these teenagers will continue to create distractions for other patrons no matter how many times they've been told to stop. Guess what? There are adults who do likewise. The clerks roll their eyes when these adult patrons enter the building, but nobody ever tells them they need to find a table or get out. Is that right? Is that the way things should be?

Some of the kids have started to complain to me. They don't understand why they receive such frequent scoldings. Sadly, I was forced to agree with them. My coworkers seem to equate youthful jubilance with obnoxious behavior. I don't know what can be done. If we had bigger tables, more room for the kids to spread out, a large part of the problem would be solved. Unfortunately, I think the other librarians would take one look at a large table filled with teenagers, and decide to "haunt" the kids for the rest of the afternoon until either the group left or they themselves finished their work shift.

"See those kids over there? I've got my eye on them," they'd say, as if the library was a nasty part of town, the kids were all hoodlums, and the speaker was the Big Bad Cop. These kids are about as squeaky-clean as they come! Most of them are in their school uniforms, hair neatly combed, faces scrubbed pink. When I overhear their conversations, I hear stories of cafeteria jokes and rumors of Bobby taking Mary Beth to the candy store down the street. Why are my peers so worried about these kids?

And where do I, the young adult librarian, fit into all this mess? The kids like me; they've already informed me that I'm "not mean like those other ladies." My coworkers trust that I can "control" the kids. I don't know what to do about it.

I hope I don't have to reinterpret my resolution to be "to be pregnant in the year 2000." I will if I have to, though.