One of the Many Rewards

We were driving home the other night from an eventful family shopping trip to Walmart (not going into that on this post) and D, my 10 year old son piped up from the back seat of the Suburban. "Hey Dad.  Today in school I had to answer some questions from the birthday bucket (I guess on their birthday at school they draw a couple of questions from a bucket that they answer to help their classmates get to know them better) and one of my questions was 'who is your hero?'.  I said that you were, Dad.  My other question was 'If I were to get stranded on a deserted island, who would I want to be with me?'.  I said you again, Dad.  I chose you 'cause you have taught me everything I know and I figured we could just sit and fish.".
     I got a little teary.  Okay, I got a lot teary.  I realized how lucky I am to have married a man that CAN be his son's hero and best friend but most of all, who CHOSE to put enough time into making it happen.  D also wants to be what his dad is when he is all grown up.  My husband works as a maintenance guy for a local school district.  We are not rich by any stretch.  I'm a stay at home mom.  But what is important to my kids is that their dad can take time off to take them on field trips, he's home every day by four to play with them, he's off for Christmas break to help them make cookies and take them sledding.  They don't seem to care that we can't clothe them in the name brands or the latest styles or take them to Disneyland.  It's the little things.  Fishing, sledding, shooting hoops, bike rides, blowing bubbles, waterfights, jumping on the trampoline, sharing popsicles. 

I saw this on Facebook and it reminded me of WHY we are parents and how the little things are what make the difference.  Hope it touches you as much as it touched me.
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10150765551480935

Two bunches of flowers

Today, I received, as many moms do, a bunch of flowers.  It was not so carefully picked but very carefully delivered by somewhat chubby, dirty caked fingers. An assortment of colors (sunny yellow, deep purple and a pale lavender) with the appropriate attached greenery, was placed in a small vase that had been filled with water and put in the window sill.  I will get many bouquets like this through the year until my husband goes out with the weed killer and obliterates the sunny yellow dandelions, the deep purple violets and the goat head weeds that produce dainty, pale lavender flowers along with the most painful "pokies" ever created.  And I treasure these simple bouquets.  They come from children who can see the beauty in a weed.  As an adult, too often I see only the weed.

The other bouquet I received today was of my own choosing.  On a small card table, outside of our local grocery store, was a poster that read "Ethan's Yard Sale: Origami Flowers". I don't know Ethan well - haven't ever heard his story.  I see him often at the store where he works as a bagger.  I see him around town, riding his oversized tricycle with the basket hooked onto the front, usually full of a variety of things.  He always waves.  He always says hello.  And he always brightens my day.  You can tell that Ethan has some issues, disabilities of some kind.  One hand hangs pretty much lifeless at his side.  He walks with a pronounced limp and he has some trouble talking.  But his heart and spirit radiate through his eyes and his smile.  I've never seen him without his smile.  Today, he was selling origami flowers.  As I stopped after I had finished my shopping, I asked him about the flowers.  They were 3 for $5  "on special".  He was selling them to raise funds for the American Cancer Society.  He assured me that he had made every single one.  I picked three - interestingly enough, in the same exact colors as the bouquet that my children would give to me an hour later - paid him my five dollars and walked away with his cheery "thank you" ringing in my ears.  And I was amazed as I looked at the flowers.  They aren't perfect.  But they are a lot better than I could ever do.  And I have the use of both of my hands.  The amount of time and effort each flower must have taken him as he painstakingly folded each small fold and twisted each stem is awe inspiring to me.  I wondered about his story and then I started thinking about his mom.  What an amazing woman she must be!  She has raised her son to always focus on the beauties, the flowers of this world, when it would be so easy for him (and her) to focus on the weeds that surround them. 

The flowers that my two little ones gave me today will wither and die, probably before I even go to bed tonight.  Ethan's flowers will stay vibrant as long as I protect them from dust and curious little fingers.  I hope that I can raise my children as Ethan's mother raised him.  His flowers will remind me of that lesson, each time I look at them.