Flower Child

Natalie’s recent, and rather intense, fear of animals – you’ll have to ask us about the Percheron story sometime – has been beautifully balanced with her new love for flowers. Memorial Weekend the two of us planted a tiny row of Petunias near our garage, along our sidewalk. She’d actually helped me plant Violas there last year, though she was confined to her little bouncy seat as I did all the work. This year, Natalie dug in the dirt, hauled the little plants around by the tips of their leaves and watered them heavily with her little pink can. I thought that would be the extent of her interest, but boy, was I wrong.

Each day as we pull into the garage on our way home from work and daycare she does the baby sign for “hot,” blowing little puffs out her mouth. By now, I understand she means flower, more of a sniffing sign, and she’s begging to water her little plants. Sure enough, as soon as I get her out of the car she trots off around the side of the garage and points to the flowers. I fill up her can and she goes to town, dousing the little row and babbling. Then she wants to walk around the side of the house to water the huge Peonia bushes. She looks at each one, then the rocks, then the ants on the rocks, and by now, it’s nearly impossible to get her into the house for supper without tears. “We’ll come water them again tomorrow, baby,” I promise and scoop her up. It’s one of my favorite times of the day.