But then my good friend Dave said, “Well, unless you’re gay.” Ah yes, all sorts of sudden hurdles to jump.

So here’s to The Goat and Amy in celebration of their heterosexual procreation! Be fruitful and multiply! I mean, good job on already doing that.

Then I went to the first practice for Special Olympics Softball. I had only assisted in coaching the year before and didn’t think any of the Special Athletes would remember me. Despite my wishing that it would rain and practice would be cancelled, I could feel my spirit lifting as all the same athletes from last year started playing catch out on the field.

Listening to each of them tell me stories about their day or new job or how far they were going to hit the ball when they get up at bat, I realized how much I loved to be around them. Then my favorite athlete arrived. Good ol’ Trevor who likes to verify every piece of information with you. He walked up to the field and the first thing out of his mouth, through his smirk, was “Hi Katie.” He remembered me. He really remembered me. I got a little teary-eyed and said, “Hi Trevor. It’s good to see you.”

And so began our softball season. “You shouldn’t wear your shoes in the house, right, Katie, right? Because shoes shouldn’t be worn in the house, right, right, Katie, right? And the auto track is in Portland right, not here, right Katie, in Portland, right right right? And Katie, I uh, Katie, I shouldn’t shake a can of beer before giving it to my mom, right Katie, because that would be bad, right Katie, right?” “Yes, Trevor, that sounds reasonable.” I’ve never loved hearing my name said more than when Trevor says it. Luckily, he says it a lot. Which is precisely why he’s probably the only one who remembered it, but that’s good enough for me.

I NEVER buy clothes at Costco, but this time I noticed they had my favorite bra, 2 for the price of 1. I held a package in my hand, looked at the size and realized I wasn’t sure what size I normally wear for this bra. (Some women can vouch for the “depends on the bra” size confusion.)

So what did I do? “Excuse me, maam? Can I ask you a favor? Will you look at the tag on my bra and tell me what size it is?” Polite woman lifts the back of my shirt, looks at the tag, and tells me I’m a 36C. I thanked her. “No problem, I’m always making my kids do that for me and they hate it.”

Thank you kind Costco customer. May your cart always be full of all the tortillas and bulk size Salsa your heart desires.