flower power

today i learned that a flower that has lost it's petals is enough to distract a 4 year old from the ever-present danger of insects on the playground.

this one needs some background, so- i make it a point to take my kids at school outside for at least 15 minutes a day as long as it's not raining. it gives them a chance to run, breathe some fresh air, get out of each other's space, and yell. a lot. without giving me a headache. it is the most beautiful time of day, for all of us.

except poor, sweet lilianna. if only i could post a picture for you to see, i swear this child needs to model for gap kids or something. she has transparently pale skin, piercingly blue eyes, and long, white-blond hair that ripples and waves as she runs. The sunlight practically reflects off of her hair strongly enough to grab a magnifying glass and burn some ants, i'm telling you. she is exceedingly bright (honestly, she's probably the smartest one in my class, and the youngest to boot) and happy all. the. time. in the morning she'll run full speed into the classroom and say things like "i'm beautiful today miss liz!" and "do you just love my new shoes miss liz?" and "my cat's name is dusty and he's a cat miss liz!". but the most important thing to note about lilianna is that her flair for the dramatic may be the only thing about her that exceeds her intelligence. with lilianna, everything is either something to rejoice about with a hallelujah choir, or something to hold a 15 minute, very loud, very tear-filled vigil over. and nothing inspires a lilianna-vigil like our daily trip to the playground. the second we step foot onto that mulch filled haven for any normal pre-schooler and i lock the gate, little lily attacks it with surprising strength and vigor and begs to go inside. it's usually either too hot or too cold or too windy or too bright (or so she claims). but no matter what, she always, always, always says there are too many bugs. a gnat could fly past her 5 feet to her left and she will scream as though she is breathing her last and i will be showered again with sleeve tugs and desperate requests to return to the classroom. "but the bugs miss liz!" she beseeches me, "there are so many bugs out here!" and i can hear her voice steadily rising to a high pitched yell as though she has turned into a little blond teapot, and i know that she will be attached to my leg for the next 30 minutes, screaming and crying about the bugs the whole time.

but not today. today, we took a short nature walk to see what is happening to the trees now that spring is upon us. even lilianna was enjoying herself from the safety of the line, shouting to me about the leaves and the dandelions and the green grass. to show them that flowers can grow in the ground AND on trees, i decided to take them beyond the confines of our regular walking route and head over to the hawthorn tree that is covered in hundreds of beautiful white blooms. the second they spotted it, i heard shrieks of delight and 18 pairs of curious feet hurried over to the base of the tree to touch, smell, observe, and, of course, pluck. after several minutes of discussing and enjoying, we reformed our line, blossoms in hand, and headed over to the playground. when we arrived, 17 of my little darlings forgot all about their flowers, either shoving them in their pockets for safe keeping or abandoning them by the gate, more focused on the important matters at hand, like getting a swing or beating the others down the slide.

but not lilianna. she loved her flower more than mothers love their babies. she stood quietly by the fence as she smelled, caressed, looked, and adored, and every now and then brought it over to me to remind me of its beauty, and more importantly, her possession of it. and i thought, for about 3 shining minutes, that maybe today's outside time would pass in relative happiness and, consequently, silence.

and then it happened.

as she so lovingly stroked the tiny flower's delicate petals, one of them fell off. and then another. and another.

at first, i thought someone had fallen off of the slide and obtained a compound fracture. but no. it was lilianna, loudly and dramatically mourning the loss of her perfect flower. and as she saw me look up in alarm, she must have assumed i was as distraught over the circumstances as she, because she rushed over to me, arm extended, flower in hand, and yelled through her tears "it's broken miss liz, my white flower is RUINED!" at which point she dissolved into even louder tears and insisted on holding onto my leg. if only that had been the end of it. not with lilianna. every two minutes or so, my devastated, heart broken lily would look up at me with her tear filled baby blues and say "it's still ruined miss liz. my white flower is still ruined." and these proclamations were always followed by me vainly trying to explain that it was not going to ever be fixed, because once a flower loses it's petals, it cannot get them back again, it is ruined forever. i would say that the only way to have a perfect white flower again would be to go get a new one. unfortunately, these words of explanation that i spoke (with less and less patience, i might add) were always followed by a moment or two of contemplative silence on lily's part, followed by renewed tears and sobs. until, right at the end of our time outside, i tried one last time to help her understand that she need not cling to the stem of her broken flower, but instead put her energy into finding a new one. after hearing these words, she gulped her tears into silence, took a great breath, and said, with the absolute seriousness and dramatic effect of rose at the end of titanic, "never, ever again, miss liz."

stifling a laugh, i decided that was my cue to take the kids back in, lilianna crying all the way.

but she never once mentioned the bugs.