Mother's Day Flowers

Last year during Mother's Day, some would say that I was technically not yet a mother.  (Please, tell that to the nearest gestating female.  I dare you.)  I was waddling, I was fat, I was hormonal, but I was not yet a mother.

This year for Mother's Day, I was a mother and Wesley made sure to be nice to me.

He came home late that evening from feeding cattle.  He came inside, grabbed up Kenyon and the two of them raced back outside.  I heard the pickup door open and shut and the two of them headed back into the house carrying a lovely bouquet of handpicked flowers.  If I have told Wesley once, I've told him a million times to never pay for flowers, just pick me something pretty from the pasture.

I saw the bouquet and cried.  Hard.  Perhaps like snot-from-the-nose hard.  Perhaps.

(Fast forward a few days.)

I was in the bank cashing a check and talking to my friend Rachel.  She asked if I like my flowers.  This peaked my interest and I thought it was odd that Wesley would brag to his friends about picking flowers.  I mean, seriously.

I told her that I was thrilled with them; I thought they were beautiful.  Rachel agreed that hers were beautiful too.

SAY WHAT?!  BACK THE TRUCK UP!

Then, Rachel mentioned that Jolene like her flowers too.

EXCUSE ME?

So, long story short (or, really long story just made semi-long) Wesley and his friends picked the most beautiful flowers in the world from a friend's garden and three ladies of Greenwood County all got the most lovely, beautiful, 'unique' bouquets ever.  And someone realized on a Sunday at noon that they had been hit by flower burglars in their garden.

Next year, my present had better be freakin' big.