This afternoon, while the boys played outside, I grumbled to myself as I cleaned off the kitchen counter. “Why can’t anyone else in this house put things away?” I thought, as I shoved the Cheerios back into the cabinet. My sour mood continued as I slammed the syrup back in its place, threw the empty formula can into the trash, and put dirty glasses into the sink. I went to brush the crumbs off into my palm, when I saw Eli’s gift lying there, unnoticed.
He knew just where to put that dandelion and sprig of clover so that Mama would find it.
I couldn’t help it—that sunny little yellow flower made me smile. And I felt more than a little guilty for my bad attitude. I could have a clean house if it wasn’t filled with boys (including that 43-year-old one) messing things up. But if it weren’t for them, I’d never know how much joy could be hidden inside a lowly little dandelion.
When my husband used to buy me flowers—back when there was room in the budget for such frivolities—red roses were my favorite.
But now I think it’s dandelions.