My husband sent me flowers this week in advance of my birthday. My birthday happens to fall on Memorial Day this year, so hey! I think everyone should take the day off in honor of me!
I took the “Happy Birthday” balloon home Thursday night so I could share it with the boys — they’re enthralled by balloons. So this morning, it was lovely to come to my desk and be greeted by this bouquet. When I finally got a chance to sit down and settle in, I pulled it toward me and inhaled deeply, and was transported to my mom’s garage as she prepared flowers for a wedding.
A lot of women wrongly believe that working with flowers means the smell of roses all day. No, not so much. To me, working with flowers smells like cut and broken stems (if green had a scent, that would be it), moist Oasis, grungy water and wet jeans (since the hem and often the knees of my jeans always got wet when I helped my mom).
I know the flowers were for me. But really, they just brought my mom back to me.