The road to Larchmont is paved in rhinestones

Who knew that the road from Manhattan to Larchmont would be lined in rhinestones? But it is literally from our move last week. I can not go 10 feet without spying another rhinestone. On the stairs of our new house. On the driveway outside. Not to mention the apartment we left, everywhere I looked - rhinestones, rhinestones, rhinestones.
My younger daughter is obsessed with rhinestones -and always has been - which is why there are so many. We had piles stashed around our home like a drunken pirate who wanted to know at any moment he could reach out and run his fingers through his piles of jewels and treasure. In our case we had rhinestones under (and over, and between, and inside of) every surface because you never knew when you'd here the plaintive wail of "where are my rhinestones?" and need to refill whatever pirates chest or satchel Kelly would give you, and not be satisfied 'till it was overfull of her shiny jewels.
I wonder if rhinestones will continue to be our currency of choice out here in the suburbs? Personally, I'm betting on itty-bitty boots and multi-colored dresses from the rare and exotic Island of Polly Pocket.

Yankees Monkey

Sometimes the kids bust out with the most random memories and I don't even know what to say. Molly's stuffed animals have had a long history of injuries. First there was the stuffed doll that Grandma got her for her birthday. Ever pushing the envelope, Grandma chose a nice boy doll of Asian heritage - which of course Molly had no interest in. We named him Hideki in honor of the great Yankee. Grandma very solemnly bandaged stuffed-Hideki when real-Hideki sprained his wrist. Every day Molly would ask if we could take the bandage off and every time Grandma would reply "not yet" until that exciting day when both real and pretend Hideki had healed.
When Molly was around 3 her Dad and I went to a Yankees game and brought back Yankees monkeys for both girls. Kelly's lived a carefree and injury free life. But poor Molly's monkey was - alas - very delicate. He had several neck surgeries, and at least two and maybe three limb re-attachments. This was at least a year ago, and I think even two.

And then out of nowhere today, I hear her telling Kelly (who was upset her brand-new plastic Disney fairy's head had fallen off) about her Yankees monkey. "Kelly, Kelly, Kelly. Do you remember? My Yankees monkey? Daddy got it for me from the Yankees game? It had a little fluff sticking out of the neck? Grandma put a bandage on it? I couldn't touch it? And then after the bandage came off, the head still fell off! It was a very delicate monkey. Not like yours. Yours never had any problems. Well, your fairy is like my Yankees monkey. It is always going to give you trouble. The head will fall off. It won't stay on when you put it back. But grandma will try and fix it. Try. Some things are just really delicate, even if they get fixed."

Do I even know myself at all?

I just tried to retrieve my NYT's online account. Of course I don't remember my user name or password - I never do. But what really stumped me was I had no idea of the answer to my secret question - which is "What is your favorite book?" I was so interested to find out what is my favorite book that I stumbled around the NYT online account interface until I found the question/answer section... only to find that my answer is not visible other than six little black circles.

So, with that clue, six letters no spaces, can any one tell me, what is my favorite book?
And more importantly, how can I not know this?