I don't know where our knives go, but they do go. We've got 6 of everything else, and only 3 knives.

Cindy, I'm probably the wrong person to ask -- I grew up with a baby grand piano, and I adore the sound of a true piano. (I don't care -- I never think the electronic keyboards sound exactly the same.)

I would totally go for the spinet, especially if you're signing all of the kids up (or plan to). That said, you might wait to see if one or any of them are really going to stick with it, because it's sad to have a piano in the house that no one plays.

One of my dreams is to buy a piano and take lessons again. My dad played beautifully, and around thirteen I rebelled and stopped practicing (because, you know, I had to think about boys more). I would love to play again, and I would love the kids to learn, too.

Our knives used to throw themselves, lemming-like, into the narrow crack between the counter and the stove at the old house.

Cindy, if you can afford the piano, go piano. It's not as portable, but the sound is infinitely richer.

What trappings define adulthood for you guys?

Well, I'm stuck in this loop where, I'm ready to have nice furniture, and can basically afford nice furniture, but can't afford a nice, permanent place of my own to put same. I'll replace the bad old tippy bookcases with something else that is nicer, but sturdy enough to be moved ten more times.

The trapping that really defined adulthood, for me, was the knowledge that most problems could be solved with a combination of research, money, and effort. I spent a couple of years there totally clueless about the world, and then realized that cluefulness was related to the interest I had in gaining a clue.

OK, here's my question, all you spoon-avoidants: how do you get the ground coffee into the filtery thing in the first place?

I use the scoop that came with the coffee maker. I don't understand how people grind the right amount, unless you just eye the grounds and add the correct amount of water. I measure the water too.

What trappings define adulthood for you guys?

I can't pinpoint adult trappings. I was on the phone with my mother the other day and I was trying to point out (again, futilely) how she coddles my irresponsible younger brother. I could only feebly compare that at his age I was living in my own apartment in New York. That's not "adult", that just is. I think if I ever have a real dinner party I will feel grown-up. That, or a $4000 tux.

OMFG!

(totally work safe)

I think if I ever have a real dinner party I will feel grown-up.

What's a real dinner party? We have had people, in the past when life wasn't fucking hellishly busy, over for dinner pretty regularly, but my sense is that it doesn't count.

What's a real dinner party? We have had people, in the past when life wasn't fucking hellishly busy, over for dinner pretty regularly, but my sense is that it doesn't count.

Right, I have people over to sit on my couch and watch TV and eat takeout or some spaghetti I made. But here's what I envision when I grow up:
1. A dining room table that seats at least six (mine seats two).
2. At least three courses.
3. Wine.
4. Sparkling conversation, b/c when I grow up all my friends will be like, Amy Sedaris and junk.

Piano over keyboard, no contest (if financially feasible). Better resale value, too.

Adulthood: furniture. I knew maried professors who had a little girl when I was a grad student, and they had this dining room set that was basically patio furniture. I knew then that PhDs and progeny notwithstanding, they were not adults. (Okay, I knew that already. We used to say they should have had a terrarium instead of a daughter. We were mean, and also childless.)