When I was younger, under 7 years old, I remember picking flowers for my mother. We always had a nice, landscaped yard and I remember living in Annapolis on the water. There were flowers planted all around the house and I remember admiring all of their colors everyday.
There was this one time specifically, that I have always remembered.
I don’t remember what provoked my wanting to gift my mother with something other than just wanting to please her and make her happy, because I loved her so much. I was so young, I obviously couldn’t buy her anything and I guess I didn’t think to make her anything. So I wanted to give her flowers. I remember having the bright idea of going around the house and picking the prettiest of all the flowers and making a bouquet for her. When I was finished, I took the bouquet to her, so proud of myself, awaiting her response. She had the perfect mix of emotion….delight from the intention I had and then the disappointment that the flowers would soon die and she had probably waited so long for them to finally bloom. I remember every single move she made and the exact expression on her face. She was kind and said….’thank you…but please don’t pick my flowers again, okay?’ She didn’t explain to me that flowers died after you separated them from the ground, and she kept telling me how pretty they were and how much she liked them (I kept asking her if she liked them). But I was a little confused by the mixed reaction. I have never forgotten that. I am not criticizing her, and I don’t think she meant any harm at all…but she didn’t explain anything to me, and so I never understood what exactly happened.
Anyways, I always knew that that day would come for me when I had kids….the ole’ picking of the flowers on the property….the flowers that I don’t want to be gone…the killing of the beautiful flowers (hee hee). Well, yesterday, as I was sitting inside my house, I was reading something and here come my little boys. They are 5 years old and 3 (4 next month-what?!), and they had me close my eyes. I open them and voila! A picked flower from my planter. And then, voila! One from Diego too. And then voila! More flowers from the planter. I just smiled and thanked them for the flowers. The boys lingered around, so I did end up telling them that I love the flowers and that once they pick them, they die, and so they don’t have to pick flowers from the yard. Max added that he had picked one from the yard as well. We talked about it some more, no feelings were hurt and there was no confusion.
They were so proud and I was so flattered. I remembered the amount of love I had when I picked those flowers and gifted them to my mother. If those boys have half of that love for me….then, I’ll take it.