Tate and I spent the morning planting flowers in the front yard. (It was the second time this summer; the first set of flowers was gone, thanks to Curtis' decision to chop them down with a shovel one day for no apparent reason.)
While we were planting, I took out the little tab that tells you what kind of flower it is and set it on the ground. When we were done, I said, "Tate, can you throw that in the garbage for me?:"
"No," he replied. "Let's just leave it there until the wind blows it away."
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