I am always in awe of my children, but there are some days where the things they do and say have me scrapping my jaw off the floor. My three year old daughter, for example, has more creativity in her little finger than I do in my whole body. And more personality than a prime-time sitcom.
Yesterday my husband and I took the kids to the store to get them out of the house. This in itself is an ordeal. Before she makes the thirty foot trip from the front door to the truck, my little girl has to pick every single dandelion in the yard. Said dandelions must fit a certain criteria. The ones that haven't fully bloomed yet are deemed "mommy's." All the rest are bunched up in her left hand.
It is tradition, and it must happen for her to function. So just imagine her shock when she walks outside to find a freshly mowed yard and (brace yourself) no dandelions. Baby girl stops in her tracks, scans the yard again to make sure she saw things right, and bursts into tears.
"Daddy killed my flowers!" she screams. The man walking his dog turns to give me a knowing smile.
"It's okay, honey, they will grow back," I promise.
Another high pitched sob echoes down the street. "But I want those flowers!" The neighbor checking his mailbox stops to watch. "Where is the lawn eater? Get them out!" She is so devastated that the "lawn eater" has her weeds that I can't even get mad at the foot stomping.
It is time to think on my feet, because it is getting late, and if we don't get to the store, my husband insists he will wither away to nothing. I do a quick scan of the yard myself, and thank the good Lord, there is a small patch of yellow under the boat trailer. I wiggle myself underneath, trying to ignore the horror movie-like spiderwebs next to my left ear, and pick every last one.
I hand them over.
She gets in the truck like nothing ever happened.
Calgon take me away! And bring chocolate...
And Vodka...
-Ali
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