A MOTHER'S LAMENT

FLOWER BED

A Moment to Remember: IT WAS TIME for me to win for a change (I enjoy conning myself). So, with a hearty grunt, I heaved the 25-pound bag of weed killer out of the trunk of my car. I believed the ads (don't we all, when we want to?) that within weeks, I'd free of those pesky stubborn dandelions. I'd be able to look with renewed pride at a lush totally green lawn. No matter how many times I had mowed them over in the past, giving them the guillotine treatment, those tenacious dandelions would always come back and often bring their cousins along.

Not this season, I told myself. The gloves were coming off and the chemicals were going on. This time I would be the victor in my long battle with that infernal weed. But the game was rigged. I forgot to factor in the human element - the one inside the heart and brain of my 3-year-old daughter, Mary.

She was in what I call the "interrogation" stage (most parents call it the WHY stage). She'd be curious about something, anything, from "WHY are you peeling potatoes?" To "Why are you shaving your legs?"

The questions would come fast, furious and relentlessly from all angles, making my head reel. What she did with all the answers, I don't know. She was going to be either a rocket scientist or a CIA agent.

But there she was that day, standing next to me with a puzzled look on her tiny face, the brow creased, head tilted, eyebrows raised and lips ready to part.

"What's that, Mom?" "It's just stuff for the lawn, honey." "What kind of stuff?" "It kills weeds and makes the lawn look nicer." I was dead in the water. There was instant realization that I never should have used the "K" word.

"Isn't killing bad, Mom? You told me it was bad. What's a weed, anyway?" She hit me with both barrels.

The first question I avoided, praying her inquisitive mind would let it go, and confidently moved on to question two.

"Well, weeds are plants that grow in places you don't want them to, like having uninvited guests." That got me a blank stare, so I started again.

Like the dandelions, they're weeds... Another major blunder. The questions stopped, the jaw dropped, the crying began. Between sobs and hiccups and back-of-the-hand wipes to her runny nose, she managed to blurt out: "How can you kill the Dandy Lions? I love them, they're so beautiful! Don't you love them, too?"

In just those few seconds, her innocence had transformed an irritating, stubborn weed into a majestic flower. How could I have been so blind? I suddenly remembered the many times she proudly brought me handfuls of the bright yellow flowers plucked from our yard.

Every once in a while, we adults are blessed with a chance to view the world through the eyes of someone very young, innocent and special.

Yes, the Dandy Lions stayed, but we went on to make sure they had friends to play with. It became a magical garden for us to visit. The air was filled with Mary's giggling as we said hello to the snap dragons and tiger lilies and elephant's ear and skunk cabbage and baby's breath.

It changed her WHY to a WOW - but only temporarily.