I rarely wear an apron, but I remember my mom wearing them, and most assuredly my grandmother. They were great for wiping your hands on, and had nice pockets that held all the little things a mother picked up throughout the day, ie; crayons, dust bunnies, keys, and change. They came in handy for quickie spit baths on an energetic child, and wiping the occassional runny nose. The best thing about an apron though was that they were perfect for wiping away tears.

I remember walking into the kitchen of my childhood home with a bouquet of tulips I had picked from my mothers flower garden. She took them lovingly from my outstretched hands and placed them in a vase. I remember the look on her face as she tried to balance the heads of those tulips that were leaning over because too exhuberant childish fingers had done some damage to the stem. After getting them into their final resting place, she sat down in the kitchen chair, buried her face in the red-checkered apron covering her skirt, and cried. I was so proud!

The first time my flower beds got raided by my boyish imps. I wished I had had my mother's apron on. Kleenex just isn't the same. I now understand why she sat down and cried. I know she was feeling the motherly love that comes from seeing your child with a handful of posies just for you, but I also understand that she was weeping for the flowers, the loss of color in the now vacant spots in the flower garden, and for all the flowers those little shoes had trampled during the flower bed gleaning.

My boys walked away with their chests poked out in pride, and accomplishment just as I had those many years ago. I wonder if they'll ever truly understand why their Mother cried that day. Is it the same for fathers as it is for mothers? I also wonder if something won't be missing in their childhood memories because I don't wear an apron. Does dabbing at your eyes, and nose with a tissue constitute the same memorable Kodak moment that burying your face into an apron does?

The real problem with not wanting to spoil the moment by explaining to your child that his beautiful gift came about from painstaking, back-breaking hours spent on your part, and that he or she just wiped out all your hard work with one fell swoop, is that the feeling of making mom cry tears of joy over a good deed encourages them to do more good deeds.

After they clean out your floral harvest they'll move on down the street until you live in a barren, flowerless neighborhood. When the neighbors start stomping over to your house to complain about your florist son's endeavors to bring joy into your life, and presenting you with the bill to replace their prize peonies, you'll really wish you had an apron to cry into.

In the winter months, when all the flowers are dead anyway, the memory of a childish smile can cause your heart to melt. On a warm summer day when flowers have been delivered by loving little hands, followed by irate neighbors threatening law suits, the feelings are not quite the same.

Anyway, I decided to buy an apron after I remembered my mom, and the flowers, the last time my boys managed to alienate all the gardners in the neighborhood.