Snakes!

I would say that, all in all, the party was a tremendous success.

Daryl Sprout is a wonderful entertainer and Emily hasn't stopped talking about it. Yes, those are snakes, and most of them were very well-behaved. Both sets of grandparents were here, as well as her uncle, aunt, and three cousins from Germany. And they did a craft and went swimming and had a Harry Potter ice cream cake from Duke's, and a birthday party was thoroughly had.


In other news, the painting of the dining room is finally finished and I can live with it. I'm not overjoyed, I do not have a sense of calm steal over me when I enter the room, it doesn't flatter my complexion. (It's entirely possible I'm expecting too much from paint.) But it's done and it's back together, and the cat pee smell is almost gone. David had shampooed the carpet, and like an evil djinn, it arose and only went away when we ignored it. Olfactory fatigue helped. Understand, now, this is not the present cat. This is the Ghost of Cat Pee Past, a little bit of Dempsey that is still with us. Brings a tear to your eye, especially if you're downwind.

And it's so versatile! (The paint, not the cat pee. Stay with me here.) In daylight, it's brown. Toward evening it becomes gold and under room light it's olive. So I have all my options in one holographic room. The green paint in the living room becomes gray during the day. It's quite remarkable.

And in the last week, yours truly watched the odometer roll over to what can no longer be termed my "early 40s," and as usual, I'm taking stock of things. I need to exercise more. Eat fewer processed foods. Find a way to let my hair go naturally gray. Ish. Grayish. Ash highlights, that's what I mean. And get rid of the Barbies.

Emily recently went through all her toys and decided she no longer wanted the Barbies. I enthusiastically packed them all up and put them in the back of the SUV to take to CCA. I even came across a CCA truck picking up furniture in the neighborhood, and I jumped out to see if they'd take the box. And as they turned to answer me, I found myself hesitating. I made an excuse about taking it later, got back in the SUV and drove off, puzzled. Why didn't I just get rid of the Barbies? I opened the trunk later, and glanced at their vapid expressions, all of them jumbled together, Barbies and Kens and My Scenes and the occasional Kelly. My left brain saw a collection of used dolls that weren't worth listing on Ebay. My right brain, though, flashed on ten years of birthdays and Christmases, dolls opened with shrieks of delight, set up with their oddly proportioned furniture and houses and cars, all of them immediately barefoot. I recalled finding Barbie shoes in places one could not imagine Barbie shoes lodging. My hands remembered the feel of the polyester hair as I combed it out, the certain way you have to dress them, showing Emily my old Barbie clothes with the snaps instead of Velcro. I just couldn't let go yet, so they're there, riding along with me wherever I go. Ten years is just too brief, after all.