Dandelion

"Mommy, is this a flower?"

Lisa's flip-flops whacked against her heels as she ran toward the patio in the deepening summer twilight. She carried a dandelion over head like the Olympic torch, clutched in her four-year old fist. Despite my weariness from the week that had just ended, I couldn't help but smile at her boundless energy and curiosity. On the other side of the table Eric's face lit up in a grin. Our Friday night "sit-outs" were quality time, an important link in the family chain.

"That's a dandelion, sweetie," Eric told her. "I've always thought it was a pretty flower. Bright and cheerful, just like you."

Lisa seized upon one word immediately. "Dandelion? Like the lion in my picture! Daddy, can I put it with my lion picture?"

"You certainly can," Eric told her. "That will make the lion happy." The newest addition to the paintings on the fridge, the lion picture was inspired by a certain movie, though no Disney lion had ever been fuchsia with a sky-blue mane. Such, however, is the fruit of a child's fearless imagination.

Lisa slipped through the patio door, and I watched through the glass as she attached the dandelion to the "lion king" on the refrigerator door with tape. A thought struck me, and I turned to my husband. "I thought dandelions were weeds?"

"To some, maybe," he replied with a wink. "But it's made our baby girl happy tonight, and where will you find a more beautiful flower than that?"

Nowhere on this earth, of course. A giggling Lisa ran past us once more, firefly-catching jar in hand, as the first of those magical insects began lighting up the night. I sat back in my chair and let the balm of simple joy soothe my weariness.

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