Yesterday morning the front doorbell rang, twice, and two little children were jumping up and down telling me to look in my mailbox. There was a note, tied like a royal decree, from Big Brother (“I’m five and a half!”) thanking us for the lettuce DH had picked and given them.
We sat on the front stoop for awhile, discussing life, cats, cousins, and vegetables. Before too long, Little Girl (age 3) wanted to help pick up sticks and leaves. This is a regular routine before DH mows. So I needed to put on some shoes (I never have gotten used to walking outside barefoot) and get the bushel basket.
Of course, opening the garage is like opening a treasure chest. All those interesting things! Spring clothespins that needed to be clipped together like a snake — how long can you make it? An old pocket watch. The whisk broom, and what do we use that for, anyway? A basket with seeds for the vegetable garden. The badminton birdies, a source of surprising delight.
From their house came a plastic box jammed full of dinosaur figures, then an encyclopedia of dinosaurs. Much discussion ensued about meat eaters and plant eaters and whether they should even be stored in the same box.
Then each of us needed to stretch out on the driveway to be measured (length, not width). We experienced great pleasure at the discovery of a folding ruler.
Alas, Dad was making chicken nuggets for lunch and BB and LG went through the hedge to their house.
Come again to play!