Don't Step on the Lilies!

"Don't step on the lilies!" Is an oft repeated refrain at my house.  I have even begun to hear my girls utter it to friends who venture too near the mounds of leafy potential.

Clearly planting a ring of lilies around their rope swing tree in the path to their treehouse was not a wise move on my part.  The ever present weeds are no help either, they tend to blur the distinction of intention.

They are a long awaited for pleasure.  It takes months for the green blade-y leaves to grow in and the tiny buds to form.  Last year as the plants were getting all covered with promising little buds my daughter, my baby--the ever loved and lovable product of my loins (and her adorable little friend), made a game of plucking all the buds off for their fairy potion. . .

Another year of waiting had to be endured for the pleasure of seeing my efforts bloom.

And even when they do finally bloom, they are lovely, but fairly short lived.  Then they spend months dying and turning yellow before going dormant for the winter.

It's rather like trying to be a mom and maintain some sense of self outside motherhood.  Carving a little  time out of my day to do something all for myself.  I work so hard to maintain it and not let the kids walk on it.  The lilies seem to be the symbol of this struggle.  Then despite my best efforts the weeds grow in, pests visit--unaffected by being unwelcome.  Other things get in the way of my symbol of selfhood.

And eventually my efforts may be rewarded, but in the end they don't have the longevity one would hope for.

Then I look past the lilies and see the giggling girls swinging on the breeze with faces lifted to the sky, or scrambling up the steps to the treehouse hand in hand while pretending to be magic fairies on some grand adventure. . .  picking the flowers from the weeds that are growing among the lilies--placing them in jars to grace their treehouse windows in a place of honor, flowers I only saw as weeds wrecking my perfect circle of lilies.

They aren't picky about who comes to play--everyone is welcome. . . even the salamanders--especially the salamanders.

. . . and suddenly I realize something, I actually did create something beautiful.

Maybe the lilies weren't my grand accomplishment after all.