Our grass provides a wealth of buttercups and Warren likes to pick them. He runs back in the house with his floppy bouquet and announces, “They’re for you, Mama!” My heart melts every time.
I put his first gathering in a small vase on the window sill and told them how lovely I thought they were. He decided he needed to take a picture, which he did all by himself. Now, each time he brings me some, he wants to take another picture. Same shot, slightly different composition. I don’t mind so much.