little boy blue

At this time of year, the earth begins to warm, the skies open with gentle rains, wildflowers turn highways into pointillist masterpieces, and across Texas--families pull off onto the shoulder of the road and hall their kids into the grass for photographs. Who am I to mess with tradition?

Worse, I woke Jack from a nap for this adventure into the weeds. He was dazed and confused at first and then a little bit incredulous. There were a few smiles, but he was very uncertain about the hat. I, on the other had, felt sure that it was adorable. Richard said he looked like an aging Englishman with questionable taste and pasty skin who decided to vacation on the Riviera this year. I told him that Jack looked nothing of the sort. Socks and sandals were NOT a part of this carefully crafted bluebonnet outfit.

Still, we were only out in the unremitting sunshine for about fifteen minutes before we started to worry that our English rose was getting to, well, rosy.

We'll be back next year to try again, though I am already wondering where to go so that he can't wander onto the road. By that time, I doubt only the flowers will be wild.