Roses, Again

Remember those enormous roses from last year? Well, they're back. Despite Sarah's continued rapid growth, they're still bigger than her head.

(I'd insert a shot of Sarah and her head here with a rose for comparison, but to do that, I'd have to get her to cooperate, hold a rose and stop moving. Those are all impossible tasks. Trust me. My child is gifted with the ability to ignore my requests, desires, pleads and cries for mercy, even. She can then enthusiastically carry out the exact opposite of my wishes with an energy and delight that drops me to my knees. To say that life with a two-year-old is challenging is like saying that a bite from an Ebola infected monkey is going to throw a wrench (a monkey-wrench, ha!) into your social schedule. It's an understatement of grand proportions.)

Anyway, back to the roses. Here's a crappy photograph of a cluster of them. There just isn't a way to convey the intensity of their color or their startling size.



It's also impossible to describe the glee-inducing scent of this beauty:



I'm waiting eagerly for the peach colored roses to blossom and even more eagerly, for my two-year-old to turn three or whatever magical age it is that brings sanity back to my life. Is there such an age? Oh, just lie to me. Tell me there is.