Beans for the Teacher

"Mama," my seven-year-old son said. "We need to do something for my teacher." "Why is that?" I asked. "She's having trouble with the furniture." Huh? I asked the little guy to explain himself. "She keeps bumping into the desks. The other day she broke her toe when she whacked it on one." Ouch. I bet that hurt. He continued. "Then another kid in my class sat on a chair. Except the leg of it was on my teacher's foot." "The broken one?" I asked. "No. The other one." Not good. "So what do you want to do for her?" I asked. "Plant a flower and give it to her." I thought that was a very nice thought. "Okay," I said. "I'll get a flower tomorrow and then you can plant it in a pot." "No, Mama. I want to give it to her tomorrow." Well that tomorrow was today. As we scrambled to the car to head to the bus stop, my son stopped. "We have to make the flower!" "No," I said. "It's time for school." He didn't listen. He found a pot in the garage and a bag of dirt. He put his little hand in the bag and scooped out handfuls of dirt. "Mama, where are the flowers?" "We don't have flowers, Bubba." I looked through my seed packets. "Here are some beans," I said. He planted those things and we marched to the bus stop dirty hands and all. After school, he hopped off the bus, grinning from ear to ear. "My teacher thought the beans were great! She can't wait 'til they sprout!" All I can say is, that is one nice lady!