A Mother’s Day bouquet

Isaac asks, “Can I have the last of the soup?”

I look at Dean. “Can he have it? He’s a growing boy.”

Mabel says, “Mom, we’re all growing boys!” Then as we all laugh, she says, “Um, wait, er, we’re all growing children.”

—

Rose shows me a picture she drew, of her and me as flowers in a garden.

I say, “Yeah, when Henry filled out that thing about me, I don’t know where he got the idea that I like to garden, but I guess it’s true because my children are my garden.”

Mabel says, “Too bad your garden is all weeds.”

Isaac says, “I’m one of those weeds that are really slimy and grow really densely.”

I say, “You’re not a weed.”

“Or I’m a creeper that winds up the posts.”

“No, you’re a sunflower. Get it? Because you’re really tall and you’re really bright and you’re my son? And, let’s see . . . Mabel could be a really colorful camellia with lots of petals. And Hazel could be a little white flower, like edelweiss. But . . . I just can’t think what flower Rose would be.”

(The kids all groaned at my lame joke.)

—

A few posts back I mentioned that Henry had gotten a tiny Lego Buzz Lightyear wing stuck in a toy car that would have to be unscrewed and taken apart, and that I had set it aside for later. He just got the part out all by himself. He says he went and found the tool he needed in Dean’s toolbox. And then he put the car back together. He’s four. I’m impressed. (It also teaches me to procrastinate more often.)

—

This morning when I wouldn’t flat-iron Mabel’s hair for her until she went and found a hairbrush she had misplaced, she said, “I wish it wasn’t Mother’s Day!” (But she’s been very sweet and kind to me the rest of the day.)

—

The Primary music leader told me that she had told the kids to raise their hands if their mother was smart, and they had all raised their hands, but Rose shouted, “My mom’s the smartest of all!”

(And Rose is the smartest daughter.)