I’ve decided the very best thing about being a grown up is flower bulbs.
The concept is wonderful. You bury yourself dozens of little presents in the ground each fall and you are so damn grown up you’re actually able to wait until the following spring to get them!
When I was nine or ten I never would have been able to wait for my bulbs to come up. I’d have taken them out of the ground every day or two to see if anything was happening. Then I’d have forgotten to put them back. A passing racoon would have eaten them. When nothing happened, bulb-wise, in the spring, I’d have blamed my brothers.