My husband takes pretty darn good care of our yard. He prides himself in green grass and a lack of weeds. He helps me pick out and take care of whatever flowers we choose for that year. He curses the free-roaming cats that ruin our front flower bed every single year. He just loves taking care of our yard.
As such, we have very few dandelions in our yard.
Yesterday, the boys and I were outside enjoying the bright blue sky and sunshine. We planted their little Veggie Tales greenhouses that they got for Easter. We watered my new fuschias and the other two hanging baskets. They got mad when I told them we didn’t need to water the plants in the ground just yet since we’ve had enough rain to take care of those ones. And then LittleBrother spotted one.
“A wisher!”
He ran over and picked the fluffed-up seeded dandelion. He blew it and delighted as the puffs floated away on his breath and the breeze. I smiled. Such a delight of childhood; blowing on a wisher and believing in your heart that your wish will come true.
As we kicked the ball, argued over kicking the ball and pretended to be pirates, LittleBrother picked about three more wishers from the edges of our property, even finding one hiding in a clump of my lilies. And then they were gone.
He stood, looking to the neighbors yard. Our rule is that we stay in our own yard. The other children in our neighborhood don’t seem to know this rule exists and, if they do, they don’t heed it, but we do. And so, he looked longingly at the neighbor’s yard which was covered with dandelions in all stages of dandelion life. His lip came out a little bit as he stared.
“I wish we lived in that house so we could have all of those wishers.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that even if we lived in that house, his Daddy would still get kind of crazy on the dandelions and that his wishers would still be limited. But I may have searched really hard for another hidden wisher for him to blow before we went inside for the evening.
Because what is childhood without wishers?
