“They’re fine,” she said. “They’re upstairs.”
“Good,” I replied. “I’m glad they’re still doing well.”
“They might need another transplant,” The Mint Killer said. “They’re getting kind of leggy.”
The brunch was a Slow Food Iowa City event, and so we all returned to eating the delicious potluck contributions as the four-and-a-half-year-old disappeared from the kitchen, winding her way around the many legs of foodie adults.
A few minutes later, though, she returned, the pot of sunflower seedlings clutched to her chest. And I do mean seriously clutched. The pot is nearly half as tall as she is, and probably weighs half as much as she does. Also, the sunflower seedlings? They’re viney and thriving, and at least three times as big as they were when we delivered them to her about a month ago.
“Oh my God,” I said. “They’re huge!”
The four-and-a-half-year-old stared at me as if it was not worth the effort of reminding me that yes, Genie, the plants do grow. Then she looked up at her mother.
“This is very heavy,” she said. “Can you take this right now? It is way too heavy for me.”
The Mint Killer rescued the pot. “Let’s set it over by the door,” she said. “That way we’ll remember to transplant it.”
The four-and-a-half-year-old nodded solemnly, then disappeared back into the crowd.
“You do realize we’re very lucky we didn’t end up with sunflower seedlings all over the stairs,” she said to her husband.
“She would have been inconsolable,” he said.
I’m glad these seedlings are in their care and not mine anymore. Yikes.