My birthday is coming up soonish, so M has been making me n-billion little cards with cheering birthday messages to distract me from my impending dotage. I am compelled to provide n-billion small envelopes for these missives; the envelopes come from a stock I inherited from my grandfather. I’m sure it would please him to know to what use they’re being put.
The adorable part is that I’m not allowed to look at the cards as they’re being made. M makes them at the kitchen table, though, and is not yet good at writing things without sounding the words out verbally. So while I’m not allowed to actually LOOK, as she writes I get to hear “Huh … Ah .. Puh … Eee.. Buh… R.. th… Duh… ay… Muh….mm….eeee”.
DON’T LOOK. IT’S A SECRET MESSAGE.
Her mom was not too good atsecrets either, even after a discussion with dad about surprises. Robyn came whipping out of the garage yelling for the whole neighbourhhod to hea r”it’s a mixer, mom” This was at age 2 1/2.