My human baby has gotten wind of my love for the plant babies. My phone rang late yesterday evening — it was a business call from the West Coast that I needed to take. I talked for a little while, then turned around to find Rory systematically pulling the seedlings out of their pots and throwing them onto the floor. Little exposed roots dangled, stems were broken, and squash varieties got mixed up. I put them back as best I could, wondering whether he knew what he was doing, there, damaging those rivals for attention. It reminded me of a tactic his scheming older brother uses on occasion. When I’m caught up working, or cooking, or doing something that draws my attention away from the kids, Callum twists Rory’s arm or otherwise tortures him until he lets out a heartbreaking toddler cry. That, Callum knows, will get my attention. Absent a little brother for Rory, the seedlings are playing the role.