My poor, deprived children.

Abby and Maddy have just spent the better part of the last hour standing out on our shore house deck, staring longingly at the next door neighbor's pool while their children swim and play.

"Can we get a pool, Mommy?"

"No, honey, we're not getting a pool."

Abby launched into a swirling, petulant soliloquy about how important swimming is to her, and how swimming two times a day at camp isn't enough, and that it is a gross violation of her human rights that she only swims--twice a day--during the week and not on the weekend during summer. She trailed off, looking expectantly at me, searching my face for signs that she'd made persuasive headway.

No such luck.

"But honey, the other two days of the week you come here to the shore, and you've got this beautiful ocean right there," I countered, gesturing majestically to the Atlantic panorama before her, just off the steps of her beautiful vacation home.

"But everybody gets a shore house," she pouted.

She was not a fan of the laughter that ensued.