some things just seem universal

Mother's Day came and went at my house, pretty much as expected and not without the results I should know by now to brace myself for and just accept.

I guess I'm expected to accept a lot of things, though, including what's not there.

What seems to be the standard, though, is the one thing given to me - the marigold in the decorated Styrofoam cup. Quite possibly the universal gift crafted by children and received by moms every Mother's Day. This one was put together by my youngest son.

Of course, it wasn't presented to me with declarations of affection and accompanied by hugs and kisses. I discovered it, disheveled and battered in a paper bag that had been tossed in a backpack that had then been thrown on a chair and left to languish there for hours until my motherly instincts sighed and picked it up. I carefully opened the paper bag, scooped the dirt back into the cup, tried to straighten the blooms, gave it water and attention and placed it in a window so it could grow toward the sun.

A reasonably accurate metaphor for how I raise my boys. They seem to accept things, too.