The parents on my street have this sacred ritual: As soon as we hear the garbage trucks rumbling down the street, we rush outside with awestruck toddlers in tow.
This week was a red-letter week: A pinata was tossed into the mulcher, the garbage man stopped to talk to Gabriel. Just then, the bread man drove by in his open-sided truck and waved and honked!
It would be so awesome to drive a big truck and have all the kids gawk at you adoringly.
But this week was also sad: My next-door neighbours are moving - the ones with whom we share a front porch and who have a boy 2 months older than G. "This is the last time we will watch the trucks together!" I said through the latticework.
