My daughter has systematically disassembled and destroyed my VD Day bouquet…
I took it home from the office last night because after a weekend of no extra watering it would not be much to look at when I got back on Monday. Sadly, I have learned this from experience.
There are petals, bits of stem, and wounded flowers scattered across the floor, trailing around the house. She is the Flower Fairy, casting spells and bestowing blessings with her “Valentine’s wand”, the glittery heart shaped Be Mine pick that was intermingled with the red ribbons in the red vase.
“Please, mommy? Pretty, pretty please?!?!! Can I have one of your pretty flowers? Please?”
She always goes for the daisies first. Then the roses. The tulips. The carnations. Anything pink. The daffodils. The lilies. Then everything else.
No flower is safe.
At first I struggled with it.
Please, please don’t destroy my pretty flowers!
They are mine, after all!
What is really important to me? The flowers? Or her joy? What is beauty, what is joy, if it cannot be found in a flower, after all?
What I would have given as a kiddo to be able to tear off the petals of a gorgeous flower, to see how it was made… to feel the feathery lightness of a single petal in my hand… watch it fall to the floor…
…each one a whispered I love you.
So go ahead, sweetheart. Find your joy… I’ve already had mine.