Saturday was recorded before a live studio audience

At about 1 p.m. Saturday, as I finished washing the dishes, wiped my damp hands on a festive holiday apron tied jauntily around my tiny waist, straightened the strand of pearls around my delicate neck, and freshened the curls in my bobbed hair, I turned to yell something at my husband and realized my house was filled with the beaming faces of people I didn't recognize.

Trapped in our home thanks to the !!!!!FIRST MAJOR WINTER STORM OF THE SEASON. YOU DAMN WELL BETTER GRAB YOUR LOVED ONES AND PRAY FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!, my family had transformed from the usual band of roving bandits and ne'er do wells into a 50s sitcom brood. The first clue should have been the festive holiday apron I just made up that I was wearing because seriously? An apron? And yeah, like I'd be doing dishes in the middle of the afternoon. Sure.

Normally, the four of us are more akin to that group of strangers hellbent on survival who come together at the beginning of Night of the Living Dead, so imagine my surprise to find being cooped up in the house had morphed me into June Cleaver, and Ward, Wally and the Beav were engrossed in a rousing, completely uncompetitive (i.e. not making up their own rules, crying, taunting, or yelling "Those are the rules! Deal!") game of Sorry! while I smiled bemusedly and lovingly filled the loving house of love with the succulent perfume of cookies, cakes and brownies! And what's that sound I heard through the sweet dulcet tones of quiet conversation and camaraderie? Was that Frank Sinatra crooning a holiday classic on the radio? Why, Wally! Beaver! Come sit at Mother's knee here aside the charming country Christmas tree as I regale you with holiday stories of my youth growing up in Happytownfunville!

"Mother, might you share with us the stories of how it was to travel to and fro in the olden days?" Wally asked. "No matter how often they are told, we never tire of their witty, moral-laden charm!"

"Before that, perhaps you'd consent to warm our hollowed bellies with a frothy mug of delicious hot chocolate and one of your special recipe chocolate chip cookies?" the Beaver inquired.

Me. Beaming. "Now, boys, I don't want you to spoil your appetites for the roast beast I've planned to nourish your souls and raise you up strong and capable like your father, but oh, your sweet angel faces (prayerful hands raised demurely to the side of my face, which tilted in charming glee to the right as I sighed contentedly). OK! But just this once! Ward? before I begin, shall I fetch you a fresh cocktail and your pipe?"

"That would be lovely, dear (which can also be read as "Heh. You said 'cock-tail'")," Ward said, smiling eyes peering over the top of the daily newspaper.

It was just that perfect in my house Saturday. For a few hours, as we listened the the icy rain fall and mask the view from our front windows, my family slowed down, lovingly rolled our eyes at Ward's amusing tales of lore, watched holiday classics and enjoyed being together. At one point I looked at Ward over the sandy haired glory of Wally and the Beaver and had an incredible urge to burst into a song and dance production in the living room. It was just that perfect!

But, like any good television show with a few seasons in the can - You know the ones? Where the quality has gone downhill and you find yourself wondering why you still TiVO it when you know it's not like you'd be missing anything if you stopped watching (I'm talking to you, ER) - the laugh track on our perfect day started to sound a little forced around 5 p.m., when, an hour and a half into a game of Monopoly, the whining started. From me. Whatever. Seriously, why the hell can't a game of Monopoly last less than an hour and just be done? For the love of all that is good and right in this world, I'm prepared to go all zombie on someone about 30 minutes into a game, and not because I never get to be that adorable little dog.

Later, I think I heard Wally use a curse word. When I suggested Ward perhaps speak to our prodigal, he belched, adjusted himself, grabbed the newspaper and headed to the bathroom for a lengthy respite. I was going to say something to him about maybe turning on the air vent this trip when I caught sight of the Beaver ascending the couch and preparing a death-defying climb toward the peak of Mt. Christmas Tree. Wally, his encouraging, perhaps foul-mouthed Sherpa, was close behind, offering pointers and nibbles off a pilfered cookie. So much for ruining that dinner appetite.

Around 9 p.m., the icy rain began to peter out, and our enthusiastic family togetherness was now officially a wash. Those Night of the Living Dead zombies? Yeah, they had totally bust into the cabin and were growling for their first victim. Eventually, I surrendered this momentary lapse into idealism to a hour of Guitar Hero III for the boys, a computer game for Ward, and me on the laptop, chatting with the outside world. I imagine we'll go all Cleaver again before the season is over. When we do, be sure to check your local listings for reruns.

Because even though we're so one of those shows where the buzz has died down, you'd totally TiVO us, and you know it. So thanks for that. Now, let me fix you a plate of goodies, and be sure to say goodbye to the Beaver before you go.