I made a mistake on Tuesday and told L that it was two weeks until her birthday. With Thanksgiving early this year and my mind basing its calculus on a more traditional last-week-in-November Thanksgiving, I was wrong; her birthday was at that point really three weeks away. Somehow this pleased her when we figured it out, because 20 days away is nicer than 13 days away, 20 being the more pleasing number of the two choices. That's how her mind works: there are strictly ordered logic systems in there. But those systems probably don't look like mine or yours.
And anyway, now her impending birthday is on my mind. That wildest of my sweet monsters will soon be five.
The bushes in the front yard really party hard in late autumn. They're ablaze now and festooned with berries. L calls them bird cherries.
It's hard to argue against 'bird cherries' when you look at them, isn't it?
Every time this week that we've lingered in the front yard, L has asked for a bowl so she could gather some bird cherries. At first I didn't think anything of it but eventually I asked her: why? Can't the birds pick their own cherries?
Mama! THESE cherries are for the BACKYARD birds. They deserve delicious bird cherries, too.
And that's my girl: tenacious, generously minded, caring for others, and with a perspective on the world not quite like anyone else's out there.
[Please don't tell her this, but I've never seen a bird show any interest in those berries.]