Dandelions - Children's Roses

    The kids came home from school today and immediately went into the back yard to play.  I set to preparing dinner.  It was not too long before Riley came in with a plastic water bottle filled with big, beautiful dandelions.  Her face shone with pride.  Her eyes were huge and she had that half grin with her tongue in her cheek, looking very assured.  You would have thought that she had brought me in a dozen long stemmed Ecuadorian roses, and to her and to me, she did.
    At what point do dandelions cease to be beautiful and become a hateful weed?   Is it a rite of passage?  Is there a point in time where the magic of childhood just ceases to exist?  Do you feel a pain, like an appendage being ripped away?  Dandelions for so many illicit and angry response.  I'm not sure what makes marigolds desirable, but dandelions a blight.  For me dandelions are still a thing of beauty.  I never outgrew that love.
   I still feel that surge of joy when I see the first dandelions of the season,  like I expect someone to jump out from behind a tree and give me a prize kind of excitement.  I enjoy looking out at my green lawn and seeing a splash of golden yellow.  Don't tell my neighbours, but I enjoy blowing on the dandelion that has gone to seed.  I stand perfectly still and watch the delicate little umbrellas float though the sky.  I could do it for hours.  It is joy.  Most times I get the kids to join me (mainly so that if someone sees me they'll think I'm just having fun with my kids, and not think that I am some juvenile idiot who is spreading dandelion seeds around the neighbourhood, even thought that is exactly what I am.)
    My real life is stressful.  I have the world on my shoulders (at least that is often how it feels).  I try to find the small rays of joy where I can.  I'm not ashamed to admit to some of the more childish ones.  The day I stop loving dandelions is the day that I stop secretly believing that one day my birthday wish will come true (provided that I don't tell anyone what I wished for).  It's the day I stop making wishes on stars.  It's the day that I stop seeing that glass half full.  I know that no matter how hard I wish on that falling star, it makes no real difference to the outcome.  Its the thought that "what if this one time it does"?   So if you see me out in my yard blowing on dandelion seeds, just look the other way.