But of course, my two year old doesn't blow out the wishes on the dandelion like mummy does; he doesn't wish away his problems, he has none. All he sees is a flower with silly petals that float away with the wind. He wanders why this particular flower is different, why it is so fluffy, why it tickles him. Little does he know it's not a flower at all. 

His beloved flower is a weed. Something people constantly try to dispose of. Something a gardener poisens or pulls out of their flower patch. Something no one else notices. Yet Charlie is blissfully unaware of this. As he plays and giggles, I am watching, I know his only concern is where the next dandelion is hiding amongst the grass.