After a few very windy recent days, our "backyard" (read: the parking lot behind our townhouse garage) was littered with debris. Most of it is picked up by now, but packing peanuts are the cockroaches of trash -- you can try to exterminate them, but they swirl forever around garbage cans, stick like ants to grass, and create colonies under shrubbery.
And thank God, too, because they fascinate Greta Merrill like nothing else. Elmo himself doesn't hold the allure of these crinkly, s-shaped bits of Styrofoam. I now allot at least 10 minutes in our morning routine for a peanut hunt. "My peanuts!" she declares, as she chases them all over the place. When she catches one, she crushes it in her tiny hands and watches the confetti blow away.
No comments:
Post a Comment