Memorial Day

My childhood home was about 1/4 mile from a small country cemetary down a dirt road coming from a field right behind our little white farm house. When my parents were home my younger brother, who I call Bud, and I were allowed to play out in the field and walk just as far as the cemetary to play in the dirt and take the dogs for a walk.
One spring, when I was 7 and Bud was 4 we went on an adventure to the cemetary. Yes, kids, unsupervised, in a cemetary. I know. It was a different time. And, in all fairness to my mother, well over half the people in the small cemetary were proabably relatives. We were sure there wasn't a funeral, because if there was we would have been at the services. Welcome to Idaho.
But anyways. We walked to the cemetary, and noticed that there were new flowers everywhere. Wreathes, boquets, and some people even had potted plants. At this point Bud and I picked our favorites. He liked the blue ones, and I liked some white and yellow ones with a big bow. Then we remembered what mom said about sharing and decided it was really unfair that some people didn't get anything. What great kids we were. Mmmhmm.
The next thing I remember was looking up from the task at hand to a very red-faced mom. That's how you knew (and still know) mom's pissed. Red face, tight lips, and that look. You know the look. Every mom has the look. Mom drove down to the cemetary to find her darling children distributing all flowers evenly among the graves. The best part was that she couldn't even tell where to put what back, because to be more organized we piled all of the flowers in the middle of the graveyard before dividing! After the inital 20 seconds of shock, I think my dear mother realized that there was no fixing this situation. She just shook her head, laughed, and let us finish.
I guess that somedays when the mess seems un-fixable you just have to find the humor in the rediculousness. Plus, who comes to visit the cemetary right AFTER Memorial Day anyways, right? (I hope).