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My daughter takes the small red-handled shovel from the bucket. Since she is barely two years old, she can only toddle to the brown mound of dirt which she quickly spied from the front door. I watch her from my own mound of brown dirt in the planter next to the garage. Her little hands tightly grip the handle, and I pray to myself that she doesn't drop the heavy metal tool on her pudgy pink toes. A trip to the emergency room is not on today's schedule. She reaches the planter and glances at me over her shoulder with a look of pride and utmost confidence.

"Mommy, I do it too," she says with enthusiasm. "I need my hat."

I smile back at her with my own sense of pride. That's my girl, I think to myself. "Yes, you do."

Within seconds I reappear from the house with her pink sun hat, the one we bought on sale this past winter. Tiny red lady bugs make their way in a single file line across the floppy brim. I hand it to her, since she insists on placing the hat just so on her own head. Her brown curls hang down in ringlets under the lady bug parade. Besides the hat, she wears a simple white diaper with Sesame Street characters on it. This is her outfit of choice on a warm spring day, perfect for gardening with mommy. The smell of coconut sun screen on her back and shoulders reminds me of the beautiful red, pink and yellow hibiscus gardens at our hotel in Hawaii. If only I could recreate those gardens in our front yard. With that in mind, I wander back to my empty dirt canvas which is surrounded by small containers of snapdragons and violas.

My miniature gardener begins her work with a forceful strike of the shovel on the dirt pile. She strikes it several times, flattening the dirt into a pancake. She again looks over her shoulder toward me just to make sure I saw her sophisticated gardening moves. Satisfied with my smile, she turns back and puts the shovel down on the path next to her feet. Her expression suddenly twists into a look of panic. "Mommy!" she yells with her back to me. "Where's the water? I need water now." Her voice softens, "Oh, please."

My gardening chores, as do most of my daily chores such as laundry and shopping and cooking, take a back seat to her explorations and constant curiosities. I point her to the white Crate and Barrel watering pail adorned with yellow flowers and green stems. She toddles over to the pail and almost beats me to the faucet, but my longer stride serves me well. My daughter and a running hose are a dangerous combination.

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