Remains of the Day

If everything that rises must converge, then the same must be true for everything that falls. Maybe it's the archeologist in me, but sometimes I like to look at the piles of dirt I sweep up, because they truly are the remains of the day, and a palpable reminder of all our little adventures.

This was my birthday. I'm not a big one for celebrating my own birthday, and at this stage in my life it would be a tad narcissistic; I'd be blowing up my own balloons and making my own cake. And most likely, eating it too. All of it.

But my mother, who calls me at the time I was born every year, sent me a lovely necklace and earrings- that's the white tag on the right. My husband and children and I enjoyed our billionth popsicle; there's one of the sticks in the middle. And the sunflower seed mess is the small price to pay for the loveliest, livingest decorations.

The hair, of course, is from the two older boys' much-needed haircuts. I am against the buzz-cut look, although after many times of cutting little boys' hair (i.e. many time of screaming, "just look at the wall! hold still! eat this lollipop! don't look at me, look at the WALL!"), I can understand the appeal. But darn it, I watched youtube videos on how to cut boys' hair, I bought the scissors, and I will use them! The boys look good. And actually, Blondie holds perfectly still and, being the recently dethroned baby that he is, reveled in the attention.

Dirt doesn't lie. It was a good day.