Wednesday, May 2nd, 2012
I’d forgotten how beautiful these cheery yellow weeds are to the eyes of a child. It all came flooding back as he rounded the bushes and barreled at me clutching two, their green stems in widely varying lengths squashed skinny by his enthusiastic grip. “Dandelion!” he shouted. “One for Vera. One for Mommy.” I set one on her leg for her to admire, as best a three-month-old can.
Thrill over this newfound activity propelled him across the lawn, where there were plenty more to collect, despite Clint’s recent efforts with his new full-sized weed digger. In the end, there were enough flowers to form the very first hand-picked bouquet from my son. I’d take it over a dozen store-bought roses any day.