My boys know that I have a thing for flowers. Â They see me happily explore the options at Trader Joe’s, choosing a bouquet of daffodils or tulips or mixed flowers for the dining room table. Â I’m always commenting on the pretty blooms that we see when we are out and about, which is just one of the ways that I take after my mom and my grandma.
So every now and then, we we are playing outside on the lawn, Matthew will pick a yellow dandelion flower out of the grass . Â The other day, he handed me a couple of them, with a big smile on his face.
“Here, Mommy,” he said, looking pleased and proud to be giving me something that he knows I like. Â â€œThese flowers are for you.”
I thanked him and Â exclaimed over them, as I always do. Â But instead of hooking them over the edge of my pocket or putting them behind my ear, where they always fall out as we run and kick the ball around, I put them in a bowl of water in the kitchen window.Â And whenever I caught a glimpse of them over the coming days, the sweetness of his gesture made my heart ache.
It cracks you wide open, that five-year-old innocence. Â It changes you. Â I love that Matthew believes that a tiny limp little weed plucked out of the front yard will make me just as delighted as a dozen long-stemmed roses.
And you know what?