Flowers

When Monkey was born, and I started to walk the city streets (rather than run, or at the very least stride along QUICKly....), one of the things I always pointed out to her were the beautiful flowers and plants we would pass. It is part of our routine on our commute. And now part of Jellybean's commute, too.

Yes, I know, I live in an urban jungle. I'm surrounded by asphalt and cement, and my kid (so far only Monkey) knows how to hail a cab as well as she can breath. (seriously, she just knows: it's the same way she knows how to carry a purse or match up her pink clothing - she just does.)

But this urban jungle is covered with beauty. There is a wild, overgrown rose garden by a building that used to be part of the Croton Resevoir Aqueduct just a few blocks away. The roses reach out through the wrought iron fence, inticing us to stop and smell their fragrance.

There are thousands of small plots of land, little well-tended (or not) gardens around the trees planted in every sidewalk we follow. Some have fences. Some have flowers. Some are elevated. Some are blank slates, waiting to be filled.

And even though I have repeated my mantra that flowers and plants are for everyone to enjoy by looking, smelling, or gently! touching - sometimes she just can't help herself and she plucks a flower. Usually claiming it is "for daddy" which is so endearing it almost breaks my heart. And then she sways with happiness as she carries this fragile blossom, this treasure, down the street.

Yesterday she plucked a flower out of flower box we walk past every day on the way home from school. When I admonished her that flowers are not for picking, she told me that she wants to visit Grandma and garden in her backyard. I think that's a brilliant plan.