Making wishes.

Cooper noticed it first.

His eagle eyes are always searching, searching, and then he will point out the best of what he finds.

"Mama LOOK!  It's a wishing flower."

And it was.

The first dandelion of the season was right there, in our yard, full of endless possible wishes, magic, fluff and allergens.

He ran over to it and plucked it up.  His little nose scrunched up as he blew and blew and blew until every last bit of fluffy white swirled away in the wind, because everyone knows you have to get every last one or your wish won't come true.

"What did you wish for?" I asked.  He hasn't figured out yet that that wishes are supposed to be secret.  He will learn that soon enough, along with all the other things he will learn to keep from me, but for now he is happy to tell me.

"I wished for a toy rocket ship," he said.  "So then I can have TWO!"

The "oh my God I'm not a good enough parent" voice in my head kicked in right then.  I'm not doing this right.  I'm a horrible Mama.  He should be wishing for non-tangible things like love and world peace and freedom and harmony and happiness...

But then I reigned myself in, just a little.  He's three.  Maybe it's ok that he is wishing for a toy.  It lets me know that all his basic needs and wants are being met, that he feels safe and secure and well taken  care of, and that the biggest thing he has to worry about it whether or not he will get a $10 plastic toy.

"Why do you need another rocket?" I asked.  "Is your other one broken?"

"Oh, I wished for another one so I can play with one, and Zachary can play with the other one," he answered earnestly.  "Zachary likes my rocket, too, you know."

Oh.  Ok then.

Maybe I'm doing ok with this parenting business after all.

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