After a living for forty years in NE Ohio, I’ve learned to be cautiously optimistic about a sunny day in early April. I’ve also learned to seize Spring cleaning opportunities when they come because we Ohioans know that we could be wearing our parkas again by the end of the week.

I was sporting rolled up jeans, pink flip flops, a skinny tee, big tortoiseshell sunglasses, and pigtails in my hair, and I was feeling the Springtime. After I picked Gwennie up from school, we decided to clean out the car that smelled like, in Gwennie words, “daddy’s butt,” and then wash the windows in the house.

Gwennie loves to spray things, so this was all good with her.  The car washing went as expected–the car got wet, I got wet, Gwennie got wetter.

But then Mira got off the bus in the whiniest of Monday moods, and I took a break to spend some time with her. We decided on fruit and sandwiches (ham for Gwennie, peanut butter for Mira, chicken salad for me) for dinner.

While we were eating, Mira stopped in midbite, and with the wrinkliest of eight-year-old noses asked, “Mommy what’s in your hair?”

I never got to the windows.