remind me later how you looked as you slept the night before you turned five. your face still resembling the baby you were a few short years ago.
remind me how you fought to keep the TV on longer, though it was way past your bedtime already. 
remind me how it felt when you ran up the driveway earlier that day to greet me after i'd been out buying ingredients for your birthday cake;  you running full speed, grinning and throwing yourself into my outstretched arms.
remind me how you asked, even though i'll be five soon Mom, you can still pick me up, right?  how it stung my eyes as i smiled and replied, of course. 
remind me how your almost five-year-old body looked this summer, diving down to the deep end of our pool, how exhilarating it was watching you learn how to swim. 
remind me how you carried your stuffed cub the mountain lion with you everywhere. how excited you'd get about the things you loved. 
remind me, remind me, remind me. 
as i crawl into bed with you, my nearly five-year-old, i will press these moments into my mind as i would flowers between the pages of a thick book. 
to find later, scattered gingerly when the book is re-opened, yet kept so beautifully despite the passage of time. a wonderful discovery of a moment, a burst of life both fragile and true, and the loveliest, oh so sweetest reminder of these wildflower summer days.
summer days,
    and you
        my wildflower.

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