The family was in front of the house, laying down in something.  I was wearing Birkenstocks.  I was trying to get more comfortable but didn't want to dig my elbow into my father's chest.  I got out of the..tub or whatever we were in.  My mother wanted my brother Stuart and I to do ballet in the driveway.  We seemed to be dressed for it.  Then she said to hold on, and went to get something.  When she came back out from the house she was holding a cake with candles, and they sang "Happy poop day to you".  She handed me a sandwich baggy with some of my poop in it.  This was to commemorate me having stinky poop.  I was not impressed, somewhat embarrassed of her.  I asked what she was talking about.  Why this matters to anyone.  I also argued it- my poop doesn't stink, it's the sweat of my feet because of the Birkenstocks I was wearing.  I looked down at my feet.  One of the sandals slipped off and I was having trouble getting it back on, like I had two left sandals.  I woke up feeling sort of violated and disappointed.