Dandelion Days

My seven year old son, soon to be eight, bounced down the side yard. I called to him from the kitchen window as he passed through the back gate leading to the playhouse. "What's my buddy doing?"

"Carolyn is playing with me."

I noticed the long-stemmed flower of choice of all young boys gripped in his little hand. "Oh," I thought to myself, "they are playing house and he is the daddy."

"I love you, little buddy!" I called, delighting in his joy.

"I love you, too, Mom," was his voluntary reply.

I smiled as I continued to watch his happy bounce. He returned to the path, but two steps later he stopped and whirled back around. "Hmm. I wonder if he's bringing that flower to me? He's such an affectionate little guy."

Returning to kitchen duties, I wondered some more. Soon I heard the telltale creak of the back door as it turned on its hinges. Up the steps trod two little feet. I determined to not cry at his presentation, not wanting to cause too big a stir. As he proudly handed me my reward, I drew him into a mama-sized hug and told him again that he was my "favorite little boy in the whole world." A big kiss was added to my yellow flower trophy along with a reminder that "it needs water" as he turned to rejoin his great big world of make-believe full of busy agendas and plans. (Trust me, he has plans.)

He had taken time out for me -- because he loves me. Because I am special enough to him to deserve a little boy's flower of choice.

I am going to treasure it. After all, there may not be many more dandelions presented to me in such a fetching fashion.