I washed windows on Saturday night. I feel the need to tell you this because number one, I don't think you'll notice if I don't tell you (especially since most of you won't see them again until...well, I don't know when), and number two, they were only clean for 10 hours. That's right--within minutes of Bubby waking up on Sunday morning, his hand print had reappeared on the living room's picture window. "Mommy, there's a bird," he exclaimed excitedly. Yes, honey, but do you have to touch the glass? I'll be able to see the birds much more clearly if you resist that particular urge. This is exactly why I rarely wash our windows (it's been at least 2 years), and I only wash them at night. A clean piece of glass acts as some sort of mystical siren to grimy little hands, and quite honestly, if I'm going to put the effort in, I want the results to last longer than that.
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Speaking of wild birds, today Bubby was outside shoveling as I was plodding back and forth between the truck and the house, bringing the groceries in. All of a sudden, I heard a shriek and Bubby ran into the kitchen, yelling that the turkey was chasing him. He told me, "the turkey went faster." He told me I had to come outside to see the turkey, but it was gone by the time I got there. I wonder if it was a pheasant, since we've been seeing a lot more pheasants than turkeys lately. Anyway, up until that bird chased him, Bubby was refusing to eat turkey because, "the turkey comes back outside and I see him," (excuses don't have to make sense when you're 2) but after this little episode, he insisted that a turkey sandwich would be best.