Cleaning windows

I was scrubbing bird brains off the windows this morning. Whenever I clean the windows (which is certainly not often), I'm reminded of my former boss when I worked at a theater in high school. She was very particular about how the glass doors were cleaned, which was one of my responsibilities. She insisted on using newspaper to clean the glass, and it always left my hands black.

So now my hands are black again, and my windows are clean. Not spotless, and probably wouldn't be approved by my former boss, but my kids will have their dirty little hands on them soon anyway. I told the kids that I just cleaned the windows (hoping they won't touch them for at least a couple days), and Noah asked how clean they were. I said they were good enough for me. He said, "Yes, but are they good enough for Grandma?"