I have a complicated relationship with nature and the outdoors, so the yard is SuperAndrew's purview. I think he likes it; I imagine it is very meditative work, the way I feel about folding laundry.
SuperAndrew asked me *something* about pruning the roses, and I suggested that he cut a few for his beautiful wife, because it might make her happy. (Sometimes, when you live in a house with ten enormous rose bushes, you forget that cutting them and bringing them indoors can make a person happy.)
Genevieve was curious to see what SuperAndrew was doing, so we went outside to investigate. Given that our rosebushes have nasty, nasty sharp thorns, and SuperAndrew was using extremely sharp tools, we had the following conversation:
Me: The rosebushes have sharp thorns. Should you touch them?Once we were outside, watching SuperAndrew, he brought me a rose, and Genevieve said, "Me too, peeeease!"
Me: Who touches the rosebushes?
G: Only Daddy. And Mommy.
Me: Right. Who touches the sharp tools?
G: Only Daddy.
Me: Right again.
And then, as SuperAndrew would bring roses over, Genevieve would claim them. (She ended up with six. I ended with two.)**
It turns out, like many of us, Genevieve LOVES getting roses.
"Smell veyyy good"= "Smells very good"
Aaaank you! Veyyyyy happy!= "Thank you! Very happy!"
Make me happy!= "These make me happy"
Thoughtful!And then we enjoyed the roses. We counted the roses. We twirled with the roses. We smelled the roses. When we were done, Gramzie facilitated the placement of the roses in a vase.
Genevieve, while watching me finish this post, "Daddy cut fowwers. Made me reeeeeey happy."
It really doesn't take much, does it?
**For concerned parties, all but one of our rosebushes have roses without thorns. Genevieve *very graciously* let me keep the rose with thorns.