Flower Child

A girl always remembers the first time she gets flowers. My Daddy was the first to get me flowers. I won the elementary school election for class secretary. I think it's because I have neat handwriting. Regardless of the reason, I got flowers and I felt special. Today, I felt even more special (sorry Dad, you got trumped) because of a single, horribly ugly "flower," if you can even call it that.

You can probably guess who it's from. He's less than three feet tall, long luxurious blond hair and a cheesy smile that knocks me dead. He stopped to pick this gorgeous flower on our way home from the park. He, of course, has determined that walking to the park like a big boy these days is the only way to travel; except of course on those stretches when he insists on being carried. I'm not sure which is more irritating, the dragging stretches where we have to examine the ground where there once used to be a puddle, or when he insists that he is no longer a big boy, but a baby that should be carried! He made up for it with the flower and the kisses.

He actually stopped dead to pick it, examine it and then hand it to me with absolute pride that he'd selected something so stunningly beautiful for his Mama. What a gift! It wasn't just, "hold this treasure for me," it was "this is FOR you." I was touched, truly. In fact, he said, "petty fo' mama," then paused and added, "fower."

Then, when I asked him to pose with it for a photo, he ate it. Seriously. Yeah, you might think I'm joking, but I'm not. He put the darn thing right in his mouth and popped the head right off the top, giggling with glee. So, I guess there goes keeping it for posterity. What a total boy! At least I got one, semi-awful shot of my sweet little man with my prize before he mangled it. I'll save that shot instead.

And....going in for a bite. Yeah, I should've seen it coming, shouldn't I?

I'm pretty sure that he picked it to thank me for making Daddy pick this car out of the neighbor's trash last month and then spending yesterday afternoon washing the darn thing so he could have it. He played with it all evening shouting "Collin drive car!" He was even talking about it still when we put him to bed. I think it was a successful trash dive. Yes, it was not beneath me to pick that out of the garbage...okay, it was; that's why I made Bryon do it...in the dark.