Because she loves to make sachet, I let my 11-year-old pick apart my anniversary bouquet of 14 roses, petal by petal. I handed her some newspaper and explained that she should spread the petals out to dry.

I came home to … a rose sausage.

She had decided to get creative. At first, she tried stitching the petals together to make a blanket. It kind of worked, but the fragile results didn’t please her. So she picked the stitches apart, re-threaded her needle, and painstakingly threaded each petal onto the thread. Then she proudly presented me with a partial lei about 18 inches long that we could hang up in our room. “Feel it mom — it’s just like a snake!”

Ah. Yes, that’s how I like my roses. Snakey.

It’s surprisingly heavy and supple, because she strung the petals together densely. We’ve hung it up at her request, and she’s sooooo proud of herself that I can’t bear to tell her it looks for all the world like a fresh sausage hanging around. And because she used thin thread to make it, it kind of looks like it’s floating in mid-air. A creepy rose sausage.

The cats, of course, are FASCINATED with this new development. I fear for the health of the littlest one, who has been lunging desperately at the rose sausage.

We’ve moved it from our bedroom to our bathroom to limit cat access, and I now duck around it when walking across the bathroom in the mornings. It smells faintly, of course, like rotting rose petals because there’s no freakin’ way air is getting to all sides of the petals to let them dry.

I’ve also got an Addams family bouquet still in the room, where the kiddo left the rose stems behind in the vase. I keep forgetting to throw the remains away, and she has moved on from her own personal Rose Bowl Parade. This is SUCH a “me” kind of moment.

Cats? Frustrated. Me? Smiling. Eleven-year-old daughter? Infinitely happy.

Win.