Jamming in Berryland

I kept saying, "You are my berry piggy boys" as I waded through the hedge in search of the little black jewels we call black berries. They aren't really black berries, but the smaller, seedier version called black caps. I was picking them off thorny bushes for my boys yesterday afternoon. Not a clean or a graceful job. There was nothing clean or graceful about the way my boys ate those berries either. That's why I was calling them piggy. It's also why their hands and faces were stained purple. As soon as they finished a handful, I'd go back in for some more. My stained boys waited safely in the wagon. I had to keep reminding them to stay seated in the wagon. It's tough to be a boy when you have to sit still. Every so often I would call out and say, "There is only one reason I am standing in the prickers to get you berries. Do you know why?" And Nolan would yell out, "Why?" And I'd answer, "Because I Love You." And I think that's the reason behind most of what a mom does.