When the chips were small, every summer, they would run inside with grubby little hands, grubby little faces and grubby little feet and huge smiles on their sweet little faces.
In their grubby hands they would be carrying a bouquet of weeds flowers for me. A token of their love, a gift.
The other day, the boy ~~sans grubbiness~~ came to me, a huge smile on is face and in his hand was not a bouquet, just a single spring flower. A token of his love, a gift.
I love you too.