Pollen Prints

When I was a child, my father would always tell me, "don't touch the paint!"  He hated when I would drag my hands down the painted walls, lean on the painted walls or generally add my finger oil and child grime to the walls.

When I was young, I didn't understand.   My father told me I would understand when I was an adult.  He was right.   Children are a mess.   The are bothered not in the least if they eat ribs, don't wipe their hands or their face and then crawl up the stairs, using the wall and the carpet as viable and reasonable locations to smash their messy mouth and slathered fingers.

Fingers have an oil they always produce, which we all know well from television because every crime show is in part based on the science of fingerprint identification.   I don't know how many fingerprints are in my house, but I'm sure the number is staggering.  We touch everything with our fingers and leave a light film of oil behind.  

We also touch the Tesla Model S as well.   Someone (I think it's my husband,) placed their hand on the back of the car while they removed the charging plug.   Then, the car went on a few drives.    Those fingerprints, coupled with the pollen that's reigning down all around us, has made the fingerprints unexpectedly visible.    You can even see the ridges and whorls in the pollen.   I wonder if we can compare and confirm who's fingers they were?

The Big Boy Update:  My son took my husband's fork at the end of dinner the other night.   Before we realized what he was doing, he was using the forks like tongs to lift up his drink glass and drink from it.    He wasn't even close to spilling or dropping. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Jacob.  My daughter's best friend from last school year was Jacob.  Today we went to a play date at Jacob's house.   They're in different classes now, but they got back into playing with each other in no time.