google-site-verification: google617314e106a28fde.html

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Fingerprints. On Steroids.

While we're on the subject of sliding glass doors that need cleaning . . .


This is the 10-foot door that makes up most of one wall of my living room. I promise I cleaned it right after I took the picture. It stays clean for approximately 5 minutes.

Now is the part where I should insert that poem about fingerprints that comes home with your kids from school along with a print of their little hands in plaster or paint to keep forever, but this keyboard doesn't need to be doused in my tears and snot.

Seriously, just those words "I'll be grown someday" will get me every time.

Excuse me. I need to go get a kleenex.

8 comments:

liliblogs said...

It's kind of pretty ;)

myimaginaryblog said...

I remember when I was a kid or teen being a little baffled by that poem -- it seemed to me that there were many kid messes FAR more devastating than mere fingerprints. Now that I'm a mom I get that fingerprints can get to be frustrating (like when you can never see a clear image in any mirror in your house, all your doors are grimy, etc.)

My favorite corny poem of that genre is the one that goes "Settle down cobwebs, dust go to sleep, I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep."

marymary said...

Oh thanks a lot, Zina. There I go again.

Laura said...

Maybe one's response to the handprint can be an assessment of sorts. My absolute excitement today at the thought of them being grown is probably not a great indicator for me today; especially as the kids will have two days off starting tomorrow. Uh-oh.

OhSusanna said...

I don't think that I will miss the fingerprints.

Deb said...

I just had to clean finger and hand prints off the top of the arch way from the front room to the kitchen - my oldest is 6'4'' and likes to put his arms up, touching the top of the arch as he goes through. Apparently the fingerprints haven't stopped yet, they've just gotten higher up on the wall!

Acheté said...

The "babies don't keep" one is apparently Song for a Fifth Child, by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton.

http://holyjoe.org/poetry/hamilton.htm

Betsy said...

I still don't miss the fingerprints. Anybody seen my French doors lately? But yeah, those poems make me cry too. You are so surprised.