Willow and I ventured down the driveway to get the mail on Wednesday.
The usual stuff came in, junk mail, bills and inefficiencies (when you have a baby, you get bombarded by bills and threats from the hospital, the health insurance company and the employer, the latest being a letter from the employer demanding proof we used the money in our health savings account to pay the birth of an actual baby ... I'd like to invite them to spend a night at our house for proof of said, yawn, baby).
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Please forgive me while I shake the tangent fog from my head.
After Willow and I returned to the house with the mail, I filtered out the important stuff and gave Willow the unimportant stuff, the credit card offers. Willow spent the next 30 minutes opening the letters, organizing then reading them. Getting letters, no matter from whom, is great fun for her.
One particular letter was from Bank of America, hawking a rewards credit card (3 PERCENT CASH BACK ON GAS!!!). I asked Willow to read it to me.
And she read from the letter: "I ... love ... you!"
I chuckled: "I bet they do, hon. I bet they do."
Willow's numbers
One of Willow's favorite things in the whole wide world is the number 2. She probably adores this number because that's how old she is; she'll proudly tell you she's 2 while holding up four fingers (but, hey, she doesn't know the number 4 very well).
Willow also likes the number 5, but I have no idea why, perhaps because it looks like 2.
As Willow meanders through each day, she's on constant lookout for 2. When she spots the number, she exclaims, "Two, Daddy!" And she points at the number on the box, bag or toy until you acknowledge that she, indeed, found another 2. Sometimes she'll do the same for 5, but without nearly the amount of adoration or excitement.
The usual stuff came in, junk mail, bills and inefficiencies (when you have a baby, you get bombarded by bills and threats from the hospital, the health insurance company and the employer, the latest being a letter from the employer demanding proof we used the money in our health savings account to pay the birth of an actual baby ... I'd like to invite them to spend a night at our house for proof of said, yawn, baby).
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Please forgive me while I shake the tangent fog from my head.
After Willow and I returned to the house with the mail, I filtered out the important stuff and gave Willow the unimportant stuff, the credit card offers. Willow spent the next 30 minutes opening the letters, organizing then reading them. Getting letters, no matter from whom, is great fun for her.
One particular letter was from Bank of America, hawking a rewards credit card (3 PERCENT CASH BACK ON GAS!!!). I asked Willow to read it to me.
And she read from the letter: "I ... love ... you!"
I chuckled: "I bet they do, hon. I bet they do."
Willow's numbers
One of Willow's favorite things in the whole wide world is the number 2. She probably adores this number because that's how old she is; she'll proudly tell you she's 2 while holding up four fingers (but, hey, she doesn't know the number 4 very well).
Willow also likes the number 5, but I have no idea why, perhaps because it looks like 2.
As Willow meanders through each day, she's on constant lookout for 2. When she spots the number, she exclaims, "Two, Daddy!" And she points at the number on the box, bag or toy until you acknowledge that she, indeed, found another 2. Sometimes she'll do the same for 5, but without nearly the amount of adoration or excitement.
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