Permission granted

My youngest asked me if he could pick me a “beautiful red flower.”  I was up to my elbows in paint.  Seriously, I had paint everywhere except on the object I was painting.  I was a little distracted.  I seem to have a habit of being distracted when he asks something that reaps consequences.  Come to think of it, he seems to know just when to strike.  He can see the look of total focus on my face, he can smell the distraction in the air and that’s when he closes in for the kill.  I know it.  Anyway, with my attention diverted to my painting task, I responded “sure.”  Smiling he bolted to pick me the beautiful red flower.  I didn’t give it much thought.  I figured he found one of those small orangish-red weeds in our yard.   I was covered in paint and I think the fumes were interfering with the speed of my mental faculties. 

He returned a short time later.  He was beaming as he said sweetly “Here Mommy!”  In his hands he held my one and only beautiful Red Aster which he removed from my flower bed roots and all.

 
I took a deep breath…deep breath…deep breath…then whoa, thanks to the can of paint, I began to get light headed.   Face glowing, he stood while grasping the uprooted flower awaiting my reply.  A sudden warm and fuzzy euphoria enveloped me.  I think I was high on paint. 

The Red Aster now sits in a vase on my table along with some wild grass that he finds beautiful.   Fearing that my entire perennial flower bed would be uprooted, I threatened the most extreme consequences if his little fingers dared to touch another “beautiful flower”…permission granted or not!

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2 responses to “Permission granted

  1. Ouch–that sounds like something that could happen here.

  2. They keep us on our toes don’t they?

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