Mushrooms

There are five white toadstools in the front yard.  At first there was one. Then that one died. Now there are five more, possibly its spawn.  I know this because I am a parent.

I 'm not kidding.  Knowing how many mushrooms there are, noticing the routes of busses and the phases of the moon and the shapes of leaves, is one of the unexpectedly sweet parts of parenthood, a sop you get thrown to dull its varied and abundant gut punches.

You foreground parts of your world that had long ago faded to a background hum, because noticing is a prize, a scrap of juicy meat you can drag back to your den and stuff in the mouth of your child.  And if you pay attention, the world is delicious.