On a walk yesterday my 4-year-old reached down and plucked a flower from a grassy spot. “Look, Mom,” he beamed as he thrust the bloom at me, “dandelion!”
I took it and rubbed the petals on his forearm to “make butter” just as my mother had done with me when I was his age. My eyes welled with tears, which thankfully he didn’t see. That bit of familiarity rushed over me so intensely, I guess I needed it more than I had acknowledged.
On the rest of our walk I paid attention to what wasn’t so different from home. Parents pleading with toddlers to stop putting random items in their mouths. Kids of every shape and color fearlessly and naively asking each other to play on the playground. Laughing.
I am on the other side of the world and I’m so excited to experience anything and everything “different.” Yesterday I realized it’s as much a part of this adventure to appreciate what’s the same.
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