The other day during breakfast, David leaned over and whispered into his sister’s ear. Then he looked up at me and said, “Mommy, I just told Mary Virginia she’s going to die soon.”
He informed me like it was something we’d talked about ahead of time, and then he went right back to eating his pancakes.
The comment is so typically David. He says things all the time that make me roll my eyes and giggle behind my coffee cup — wiley, clever, and occasionally just a little bit formidable.
He’s also sweet, thoughtful, and sensitive. Sometimes he yells rudely at me through frustrated tears and I wonder how I’ll ever get him to respect me — his mother! — even a little bit. Then when we all have a chance to calm down, he explains that I hurt his feelings; that’s why he yelled.
He is a little boy who matter-of-factly explains mortality to his baby sister and then runs outside and picks a bouquet of flowers for his mama.
“Mommy, here are some beautiful flowers! For you! Dande-wions!”
I get several dandelion bouquets a day. He picks them when we go outside to play, or any time we’re headed to or from the car. I usually drop them a few minutes later because, well, I get so many. Plus, I don’t love the way dandelions make my hands smell, and because they’re just weeds. Or maybe because I’m a unsentimental, heartless human being.
But I had a change of heart. I’m holding on to these. I’ve got them pressed between the pages of a book to help me remember my sweet little blonde boy when he was just three years old, and as a reminder of how very blessed I am to be his mama.