Friday, 5 June 2009
This week I picked two little posies for my daughters' bedside tables. Each different, each marking a "first" of some kind.
Ever since Big Sister was a tiny toddler, back in our old house, we would eagerly await each year the first rose opening in the garden. That first summer she went to the wall at the back of the garden where the old rambling rose grew and Mr Roses picked her up in his arms and she lent forward to pick her rose, sink her nose into its sweet scent and toddle back into the kitchen clutching her treasure. Each year the tradition continues, for many years the roses came from that old rambling rose - these past few years it has come from different roses in our new home.
This particular one has the sweetest, headiest scent and takes me right back to those seemingly endless summer evenings of my childhood. Early evenings spent outside playing with friends, riding on our bikes, skipping and most importantly, making rose petal perfume in jam jars of water. It is a smell I associate with my childhood home, summer, sunshine and all things lovely.
So this rose, once it starts to fade will join the others that Big Sister has kept and pressed in her flower book. Each one marking another summer, another chapter in her life and mirroring , I think the beautiful young woman that she is becoming.
The second little bedside posy was picked for Little Sister to welcome her home from her own very grown up adventure. Her first residential trip without us Roses alongside! Our house was strangely quiet without the youngest rosebud in it and I waited with baited breath for her return. This was a big one for us all, our "baby" returned happier, more confident, extremely tired and a little more grown up. The riot of colour that sat on her bedside table will I think be pressed too, to mark a very big and important chapter in our lives.
I'm not sure if our "babies" ever stop being our "babies" or our "first born" ever stop being our "first born". Of course the years go past and the flowers get picked and pressed and Big Sister now towers above me and the memories fill the once empty flower book but I know that certain things like that big beaming smile when Big Sister picked her first rose, or the triumphant smile Little Sister gave me when I collected her after her trip are as precious as the flowers that mark them.
Have a lovely weekend