It's altogether possible (but I'm not making any guarantees) that your six-year old daughter might visit the plants every single day to check on the progress of said tomatoes...
It's also possible (but again no promises) that when the tomatoes ripen, the same six-year old girl (who doesn't really even like tomatoes -- that is unless they are grape tomatoes and she's staarrving) will lovingly pluck them off the vine, carefully rinse them off and pat them dry and then gingerly place them in a bowl on the windowsill.
And that same girl just might also declare one evening during dinner that she would like to have tomatoes for dessert.
For. Dessert.
"You know", she'll say... "just sliced up, with a little salt on top."
And then she might eat them all...every. single. slice., so that you and your husband literally have to distract her so you can get just a teeny tiny sliver of homegrown tomato for yourself.
And then you might faint. I'm just sayin. It could happen.
It's also possible (but again no promises) that when the tomatoes ripen, the same six-year old girl (who doesn't really even like tomatoes -- that is unless they are grape tomatoes and she's staarrving) will lovingly pluck them off the vine, carefully rinse them off and pat them dry and then gingerly place them in a bowl on the windowsill.
And that same girl just might also declare one evening during dinner that she would like to have tomatoes for dessert.
For. Dessert.
"You know", she'll say... "just sliced up, with a little salt on top."
And then she might eat them all...every. single. slice., so that you and your husband literally have to distract her so you can get just a teeny tiny sliver of homegrown tomato for yourself.
And then you might faint. I'm just sayin. It could happen.

