It’s not every day that you are greeted at your door by little people with flowers and a balloon. 🙂 But it’s nice!
My two oldest went to my parent’s house for a little while on Mother’s Day and during their visit, they came by and brought me a Happy Mother’s Day balloon and flowers “they” got me. 😉
They are at an age (6 & 7) where getting a photograph of the two of them together where they aren’t moving, talking, and/or making silly faces is nearly impossible. So I take whatever photo I can get. LOL!
(The flower is an annual called a Lobelia. I kept the basket on our outdoor table all spring/summer and it flowered the entire time. My mom and my husband helped me keep it watered on days I wasn’t feeling well. I was really impressed by how many little flowers it ended up making, and how long it kept them. It was quite a nice gift. 🙂 And outdoors it did not have a strong odor, which is a nice perk for those like me with allergies. I took better photographs of it that I will share later on, as I come to them.)
While the older two were visiting their Grandma for a few hours, my husband and I took the baby out to get some new photographs of her. Here is one of those:
I hope all the mothers out there had a lovely day!
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I took all of the Rhododendron photos from here, on the front deck.
The deck was covered in maple seeds from the huge maple tree.
I don’t spend nearly as much time out here as I would like to. My health issues keep me inside far too much.
Most of my photo taking is done in short trips outside. When I was healthier I would spend almost all of my time outside. I miss the things I used to be able to do, more than words could ever say. If there is something you want to do, you should do it while you can, because you never know what tomorrow might hold.
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While I was out, this slow flying bumblebee followed me around, and I ended up taking it’s photo.
For some reason it made me think of one of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems. So I thought I’d share it here.
by Emily Dickinson
There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire.
And whatsoever insect pass,
A honey bears away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her capacity.
Her face is rounder than the moon,
And ruddier than the gown
Of orchis in the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn.
She doth not wait for June;
Before the world is green
Her sturdy little countenance
Against the wind is seen,
Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.
And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.
Her public is the noon,
Her providence the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, swerveless tune.
The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.
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