A bouquet for mom

My boys know that I have a thing for flowers.  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.   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 .  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.  “These flowers are for you.”

I thanked him and  exclaimed over them, as I always do.  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. 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.  It changes you.  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?

They do.

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