Being the different flower

M: Mommy, will you take a picture of the flowers in the garden over there?

Me: Sure. Why?

M: Because all the flowers are the same. Except one. They're all purple except for the one yellow one. I'm like the one yellow one. Different.

That's not exactly what a mother wants to hear. But she's right. She's different just like I'm different. She's a wonderful, beautiful, insanely smart kid but she knows she's not like the other kids. She's a different kind of flower, which is kind of funny considering she's a twin. Both of my girls are a little different. Part of it is my fault. I've taught them not to be followers and to set their own path. That can be a lonely road.

I used to pick them up from school every day. I started to notice I wasn't like the other mothers. I didn't wear flowered pants, cute little shoes and have short mom hair. My nails weren't perfectly manicured and I didn't carry a large designer bag that housed everything my kids might need. No, I wasn't like that. I showed up in jeans with a concert or skull and crossbones shirt, sneakers or flip flops and my pockets stuffed with the things that should've been in a purse. So one day I asked M if it was okay that I wasn't like the other moms.

Me: Am I like the other moms?

M: No, you are different.

Me. Is that okay?

M: Yes, that's okay. I like you being different. You're fun.

Whew. So today when she announced she was like the different flower I asked if that was okay. Yes, she said. She wouldn't want to be any other way. Double whew. But it also makes me a little sad. It's lonely being the different flower. I hope she finds other flowers to hang around with that understand her.