For many months now G has been my mailbox buddy. We get home, and I walk with her to the mailbox and then she helps me sort it when we get inside.
Sometimes I even sing the little diddy from Blue’s Clues. Because why wouldn’t I know that by heart?
Here’s the mail it never fails
It makes me want to wag my tail
When it comes I wanna wail…
Ask me to do higher-order multiplication or how photosynthesis works and I will laugh in your face. Recall the lyrics from a 90s tv show for preschoolers? I’m your girl.
I only retain the most useful of knowledge. And, not to brag or anything, but I also know the theme songs to “Hey Dude” and “Salute Your Shorts”.
This is a very long way to say that we have switched up our mail routine to a new system which thrills G to pieces.
G received this car for her birthday (it’s this one in case you’re interested) and it’s super awesome. It’s cut off in this pic but there’s a cup holder in the handle for the pusher of the car. I appreciate a toy manufacture who thinks of me & my desire to have a
bloody mary bottle of water with me when we go on walks.
Anyway, she’s pleased as punch with the new set up. And I am too – because that little hair swirl: swoon. Also: junk mail finally serves a purpose!
In other outside news, I let G play in the front yard while I filled an entire trash can with weeds & clippings from the flower bed. While I was out there hacking away at my rose bush and making a pin cushion out of my hand (I need better gardening gloves) our neighbor from across the street walked over to say hello.
We had a nice chat and she is very sweet. And then she noticed my rose bush.
“Oh, your roses have the same disease mine did.” She said with a little flick of the wrist toward the bush.
“Hmmm? There is such a thing as a rose disease?” I asked while eyeing the CLEARLY DYING PLANT
Neighbor: “Oh yes. It’s called witches foot. You can see it here, it’s going to kill your roses. There’s nothing you can do. And it’ll probably spread.” She deadpanned.
And just like that, this rose bush that I really haven’t paid any attention to or cared about in the 2 years that we have spent in this home became very dear to me. The poor thing didn’t even have a chance and had to be diagnosed by a stranger. Terminal AND contagious? What a way to go. RIP, pink roses. RIP.
I guess you just don’t know what you got til it’s gone.