Something struck me today, as I took a walk with 3/4 of my children (the oldest and the youngest two). My oldest suggested a little game to play as we walked along in the ever-so-rare perfect fall weather. "Mommy, don't step on the cracks!" he said "Because if you do you'll get shrunk down until the crack seems like a huge canyon, and you'll fall in." This atypical twist on the 'don't step on the cracks' game came about on some other walk several years ago when I quite randomly came up with the idea and shared it with my sons. I never brought it up again. Just one silly moment, probably 3 years ago or so in a goofy flash of inspiration.
What occurred to me today was the great importance my boys put in the things I say, be they serious or amusing. Things that I don't even particularly remember, they keep in their memory banks as treasure. This is scary. I mean deeply worrisome. I never know when I may say something utterly life-changing. Four little people put me on such a pedestal and listen to my most random proclamations and remember them forever! Sometimes I think I'm not such a good person to be on such a pedestal... I have very little filtration between brain and mouth. Especially when little boys are accurately pushing my buttons. Sometimes being a parent is a most intensely terrifying experience.
When you think about it, you remember certain things your parents did and said 25 years after the fact, and they have no idea such-and-such event ever occurred. In a child's brain, the most minor occurrence may take on epic proportions. As a parent you never know when that magic switch may get flipped and all your words recorded on some permanent memory file in your child's head.
So 25 years from now, my children may come to me and say, "Mom remember when..." and I'll have no idea what they are talking about, but they will remember it as this enormous, life-altering moment.
No Pressure.... right? Right.
So since you can't pick your family, and they seem to love me as much as I love them, (no matter how many accidental curse words I scream in moments of frustration) I guess I shouldn't completely freak out about this. They may not be lucky to have me, but I am lucky to have them... and I'm going to resolve (yes, months before the new year) to try to remember that when they erase my all-time high scoring game of Bookworm, or wake the baby after I've just spent thirty minutes rocking him to sleep... or run through the house with poo on their shoes... or wrestle with each other for 45 minutes after they've been put to bed... I could continue. But I won't. Because they are wonderful, and I love them always.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Mushroom Mama's Garden Exploits
Those of you who know me well know that I've lately been pushing hard for moving the clan to a piece of land we can call our own. My goal is self-sufficiency, or as near to it as we can get considering Dad and I will probably have to 'keep our day jobs' so to speak. Yes, I've gone hippy. I suppose it was bound to happen, considering the college I attended all those years ago (10 year reunion this year... like that doesn't make me feel old) I want to move to the country, plant a big garden, raise chickens, goats, pigs, and a cow.... and more importantly to me, I want to teach my children that food does not come from boxes and cans in large, air-conditioned buildings.
Well... we all have goals of some sort.
To hone my skills (and possibly as part of the whole 'nesting' instinct), I made Daddy mushroom build me a lovely raised-bed garden in our suburban backyard. I planted, a little late in the season perhaps but this climate is forgiving about that, seeds of several varieties: tomatoes, yellow squash, cucumbers, sweet peppers, carrots, and onion bulbs. I also started a container garden for my herbs. I love basil, I always have good luck with it, and I thought I'd try some dill, oregano, chives, cilantro... the biggies in the kitchen around here.
I can't say I've had a rousing success. My dreams of country-life independence have taken a hit. Many of my seeds didn't germinate at all. My onions are all laying, scraggly and sad, in-between some tiny, essentially non-progressing carrot shoots. My tomatoes are green and lush and taking over the world... with absolutely no flowers, which means no delicious tomatoes. One tiny pepper plant has appeared after 2 months, and has gained a whopping 0.5 inches in height in the month since it appeared.
The only things that kept me going was the exciting and impressive growth of my squash and cucumber plants - sprawling, green, and beautiful, these guys looked like they were poised to give me the bumper crop I'd dreamed of when visions of chickens and cows went dancing across my eyes.
Until yesterday.
That's when I went out to my little backyard haven to discover that some nasty, greedy little insect had decided that my squash plants would be a great place to make a dynasty and lay 2 million, tiny, sticky eggs that would hatch overnight, turning into 2 million little ravenous baby insects that would then feast on my beautiful squash leaves. Now I am the not-so-proud momma of so many sad, wilted squash leaves and vines that will sadly never produce a squash.
I'm on the offensive now. I have two plants left that I may be able to save, and I am determined to keep the horrible little blighters off my cucumbers. I spent thirty minutes last night squishing bugs and removing eggs, and I'm planning a renewed attack today. I will not go down without a fight! Beware buggies, you've picked the wrong gardener to mess with!
Perhaps I should wait on getting the cow...
P.S. My basil is beautiful. Awaiting my first pesto.
Well... we all have goals of some sort.
To hone my skills (and possibly as part of the whole 'nesting' instinct), I made Daddy mushroom build me a lovely raised-bed garden in our suburban backyard. I planted, a little late in the season perhaps but this climate is forgiving about that, seeds of several varieties: tomatoes, yellow squash, cucumbers, sweet peppers, carrots, and onion bulbs. I also started a container garden for my herbs. I love basil, I always have good luck with it, and I thought I'd try some dill, oregano, chives, cilantro... the biggies in the kitchen around here.
I can't say I've had a rousing success. My dreams of country-life independence have taken a hit. Many of my seeds didn't germinate at all. My onions are all laying, scraggly and sad, in-between some tiny, essentially non-progressing carrot shoots. My tomatoes are green and lush and taking over the world... with absolutely no flowers, which means no delicious tomatoes. One tiny pepper plant has appeared after 2 months, and has gained a whopping 0.5 inches in height in the month since it appeared.
The only things that kept me going was the exciting and impressive growth of my squash and cucumber plants - sprawling, green, and beautiful, these guys looked like they were poised to give me the bumper crop I'd dreamed of when visions of chickens and cows went dancing across my eyes.
Until yesterday.
That's when I went out to my little backyard haven to discover that some nasty, greedy little insect had decided that my squash plants would be a great place to make a dynasty and lay 2 million, tiny, sticky eggs that would hatch overnight, turning into 2 million little ravenous baby insects that would then feast on my beautiful squash leaves. Now I am the not-so-proud momma of so many sad, wilted squash leaves and vines that will sadly never produce a squash.
I'm on the offensive now. I have two plants left that I may be able to save, and I am determined to keep the horrible little blighters off my cucumbers. I spent thirty minutes last night squishing bugs and removing eggs, and I'm planning a renewed attack today. I will not go down without a fight! Beware buggies, you've picked the wrong gardener to mess with!
Perhaps I should wait on getting the cow...
P.S. My basil is beautiful. Awaiting my first pesto.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Lesson in Parenting #1
The first lesson in parenting, you actually learn about a month before the baby is born. It's called patience! Here I am, pregnant with #4, and I find that I still need a refresher course.
I am so very ready to get this baby born, and get my body back to myself - but baby is happy and comfy right where he is, and he's not budging. Did I mention that I still have over a month to go? I shouldn't even be hoping that he's ready to come yet. So, as I said - patience. That's the key.
Children make you take your time. Late for a doctor's appointment? Too bad! Yelling only creates tears and delays leaving that much more. Tired of reading that same book for bedtime, two weeks in a row? Too bad! Just try 'losing' that book. More tears. Want just one more minute on the phone with a friend, five more minutes to do your hair? Ha! The children have other plans.
This, I think, is why the image of 'mother' is usually one of patience, kindness, a giving nature... etc. We start learning the lessons of parenting long before the husband. It's not built in. Mothering is not inherent. It's pounded in over days, weeks, and yes, even months before the baby is born when your belly is so swollen, there is no room for eating and you are sure your skin is going to pop because there cannot possibly be more give in it, no matter how much 'anti-stretch cream' (read: over-priced lotion) you slather on yourself. While baby is busy upsetting your balance, and playing bongos on your bladder, you learn patience. Because you have to.
But, for all that, there is joy...
I am so very ready to get this baby born, and get my body back to myself - but baby is happy and comfy right where he is, and he's not budging. Did I mention that I still have over a month to go? I shouldn't even be hoping that he's ready to come yet. So, as I said - patience. That's the key.
Children make you take your time. Late for a doctor's appointment? Too bad! Yelling only creates tears and delays leaving that much more. Tired of reading that same book for bedtime, two weeks in a row? Too bad! Just try 'losing' that book. More tears. Want just one more minute on the phone with a friend, five more minutes to do your hair? Ha! The children have other plans.
This, I think, is why the image of 'mother' is usually one of patience, kindness, a giving nature... etc. We start learning the lessons of parenting long before the husband. It's not built in. Mothering is not inherent. It's pounded in over days, weeks, and yes, even months before the baby is born when your belly is so swollen, there is no room for eating and you are sure your skin is going to pop because there cannot possibly be more give in it, no matter how much 'anti-stretch cream' (read: over-priced lotion) you slather on yourself. While baby is busy upsetting your balance, and playing bongos on your bladder, you learn patience. Because you have to.
But, for all that, there is joy...
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