Is it weird that I am totally enamoured of the onions we bought to plant?
I never knew they weren't seeds. They're teeny, tiny onions. I don't want to plant them, I want to read them a story and tuck them in to bed. I want to dig out all my old Barbies and have them cook up some french onion soup. I want to pin them to a little scientist board and display them with little name labels like cutus tinybitus.
But then, in the end, I do want to plant them after all, because mmmmm... onions...