Sunday, June 6, 2010

Dandelion Sweethearts

I have got the sweetest boys. I can't tell you how many bouquets of flower weeds that I've recieved this Spring. I've never loved dandylions and clover flowers this much in my life. I am often spoted with a bright yellow flower tucked behing my ear and wearing it with pride. Whenever we are out, weather it be at a park or just walking to the car Adam and Zach (following his footsteps) will stop to pick me a flower. It is the sweetest thing.
Adam knows that I like flowers and will often state while we are in the car, "Mom, you love flowers. Don't you?" If he finds himself in a tense moment with me he'll go outside and pick me the biggest dandelion that he can find and bring it back to me with a wide grin. I'll recieve his token of affection always the same. I exclaim how much I love it and how beautiful it is, and how good it makes me feel. I love watching his little spirit sore as I dote over his gift.

It is not only Adam that doesn this now it is also Zachary. He has been following his big borther's example and will bring me little plucked blossoms. This past Friday as we were hurring into Adam's schooling screening Adam took the time to pick me a flower (which at this time irritated me a little bit because we were in a hurry). Then Zachary felt inclinded to join in on the show of love and pick me a flower. As he was trying to catch up he tripped and scrapped both knees. Oh, I felt so bad for my little guy. He is such a sensitive sweet heart and I love that I get to recieve such sacrifices.
This past Saturday Adam was "playing" in his soccer game. He actually kicked the ball this time. As he was running up the field I saw him slow his pase and start looking at the grass. He bent down and plucked up a clover flower. He took the next few moments trying to find a way to stick in his clothes so that he could give it to me at a later time. He found me in the crowd, walked off the frield, and presented me with his flower. Who needs a soccer star when they have a sweetheart.

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