Picnic

The morning sun, a golden orb peeking over the horizon, cast long, playful shadows across the plush carpet of Theo’s room. Theo, a whirlwind of energy at three years old, was already up, his bright eyes sparkling with the promise of adventure. He scrambled out of bed, his tiny feet pattering across the floor, and made a beeline for Mama Hazel’s room.

“Mama Hazel! Mama Hazel!” he called out, his voice a sweet, high-pitched melody.

Hazel, a woman with the warmth of a summer day and the patience of a saint, was already awake, humming softly as she folded laundry. She looked up and smiled at Theo, her face crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“Good morning, my little sunshine,” she said, her voice as gentle as a summer breeze. “What’s got you so excited this morning?”

Theo, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement, bounced on the balls of his feet. “Can we have a picnic in the garden, Mama Hazel?” he asked, his voice brimming with anticipation.

Hazel chuckled, her heart meltin