That said, let me now paint a tricky scenario for you: we live on the bottom floor of our landlord's home. Our landlord, a constant presence in our lives, resides on the second floor. Roses of every shape, size, and color fill the small backyard that we share - the first real backyard we've had access to as a family. These rose bushes are constantly laden with the most enticing blooms imaginable. As an added bonus, the backyard is also home to two lemon trees, their branches weighed down with plump yellow goodness at arm's reach - short little kid arms, that is.
What could possibly be wrong with this lovely scene? My three-year-old is unable to spend a minute in the backyard without plucking roses, petals, and lemons. In the interest of amiable relations with our landlord, I have become the scroogiest mom around. Every time I spot my daughter cradling a handful of flower petals I give her a stern look and say, "I hope you didn't pick those!" The pinnacle of scrooginess is when I must reprimand her for her gift of flowers that she has picked just for me.
My flower picking paranoia has apparently rubbed off on the five-year-old. Both my daughters are quite enamored with the California state flower. In fact, they always refer to it as such instead of the poppy. "Mom, she's picking California state flowers!" has been her watchcry lately with the abundance of rich orange poppies that spring has brought.
I thought poppies would be an appreciated addition to the Easter dress I made for her this year. The dress was made out of the same silk dupioni that made up part of the five-year-old's dress. The three swooping pintucks in the dress echoed the three delicate poppies that I painted onto it.
I was a bit worried it might not be apparent what kind of flower they were supposed to be. But I almost felt redeemed again as a mother when she donned it excitedly on Easter morning, exclaiming, "Look! The California state flower is on my dress!"