We sold the house, and nearly everything in it. We are reducing our lives to checkable luggage, USPS M-bags for books, and 10 boxes to ship to Oaxaca.

Sometimes I wonder if Steve and I are just too similar, egging each other on to greater and greater adventures, with no one to check us. It's not the worst thing, I guess.

Today was our 10th yard sale, tomorrow our 11th. Then, we cart stuff away and sell the car that carted it.

I have a lot I could worry about, like how I still haven't received my renewed passport, so we can't finish our residency applications at the Mexican consulate. And how Genevieve, having finally begun walking at 21 months, has now been targeted for speech therapy (but does say uh-oh, wow, look, dat, mama, dada, mimi, bubba, woof, hello, uh uh, no, and vroom to distraction). And how my Oaxacan teaching job I was semi-offered is seeming more and more semi rather than offered.

But I turn 40 tomorrow, which means I transcend much of these piddling concerns because I'm tougher and more free! I have glittery lavender toenails, am writing a movie, and ate Peruvian tapas for dinner. There is no need to stay up wondering about the highest interest rates on savings accounts and finding a charming rental in San Felipe del Agua...

Send in the Clowns

There are milestones in life and, while Maxito graduating kindergarten was lovely and unbelievable (and came complete with the cute performances and the cake riot), his graduation, last week, from Clown Camp was monumental. You can see him getting his groove on in these photos.

It is increasingly clear how much of Steve I can see in Max. It was Steve who, while shaking his thing at a Dirty Dozen Brass Band concert, inspired one of the musicians to shout, "That boy's got a rhythm all his own!" Right on.