My eldest son, when he was not quite two, loved crushing the daisies that grow like dandelions in coastal Oregon. He’d yank them up, then crush them with a satisfied “Doh!” Yeah, probably the cutest thing on the whole dang planet. But, then again, I’m his mother. Biased to the extreme.
Yet, at the same time, we were stressing out about food, money, living, breathing, doing the right thing, and oftentimes find ourselves slumped on the couch and wondering if the whole world is just going to pot.
Well…maybe it is going to pot. Then what?
We’ll buy a rocket ship. Fly to Mars.
Nah, we’ll just take our kid out to crush daisies.
…So we took our kid out to crush daises. Very satisfying, watching those flowers meet their end in the pudgy hands of our toddler. Screw Mars. We’re crushing daisies.
Then of course there was, and still is, all the jazz on war, famine, plague, and general death in destruction in other lands. Can’t watch the tube for too long before feeling overwhelmed by the amount of suffering going on. It makes you forget all the good things that are going on too.
Like…that more daisies are growing for your son to crush.
Or that you actually have a son, who is healthy and chubby and adorable and not taken by the plague, death, or destruction. That you have food still, even if you’re afraid. That you’re all healthy and well, that you have a place to live, a place to sleep, and that, well, you’re doing all right. You’ll get a job. You’ll go up in the world. You’ll get there.
And the toddler will crush more daisies with a satisfied, loud “DOH!”
“Doh!” to the bills. “Doh!” to the taxes. “Doh!” to the rising price in health care. And dang it, “Doh!” to feeling drowned in the sense of insignificance to take it all.
Because as long as there are daisies to crush, or clovers to crush, or just a little blessing to follow after as he explores his world, I figured I’d be just fine.
Author T.S. Lowe 