Lemon lip balm.

A black pen because I was editing Emily's book over lunch (and nursing David as well) and knew John would want me to tidy it off the kitchen table.

The wrapper from a chocolate mint viactiv, the calcium replacement candy.

A cheese stick, half melted, shoved there to mollify Rose if needed on a park trip two days before.

Two quarters to pay the girl down the street who is learning to babysit. She gets two dollars an hour while I putter about and let her read stories instead of me. The quarters were in case she stayed a little late.

A black magnetic man with jointed limbs that usually does high kicks and head stands on the refrigerator door that Rose decided needed to take a trip.

Last week's note home from school: "Rose as always was adding new wrinkles to her brain in the reading area. Outside, she will lead her friend Avery on some exciting adventures. Her current favorite's taking road trips with me to San Francisco on the Jeep climber.—Chris." Last week Chris told me he will be quitting soon.

A tissue, half-used, unclear whether by mother or daughter.