I didn’t mean to go a week without posting, but that’s just the kind of week it turned out to be. I found myself unable to string more than two words together coherently, which makes for poor communications.
As a mom, you wait and wait for your baby to finally start speaking to you. It’s so exciting when they say their first word, and then when they start actually stringing a couple together, it’s amazing. You bore anyone who will listen to tears recounting every cute thing that comes out of your little cherub’s mouth; you’re happy every morning to hear their voice calling for you, even if it is too early for your liking.
And then there comes the day, a year or so later, when you find yourself begging them to be quiet for just. two. minutes.
For me, that day was Saturday.
After our disaster of a trip to the nursery to buy plants. After he demanded to drive the car home from bagels because it was his turn, and then continuously hollered (politely) that I “please turn on cd song” as I tried to safely get us out of the parking lot (having rejected his whole driving argument). After two more hours of ridiculous discussions between the two of us, which had me sinking down closer and closer to his almost-three-year-old level, I was begging for a moment of peace.
Then you get to feel bad the rest of the afternoon, because what kind of mother wants their kid, whose only crime is acting like a curious kid, to shut their mouth and go find something else to do? Surely not a good one. No indeed. [I actually believe the correct response to be “the mother of a two year old!”, but that’s not how I felt in the moment.]
That pretty much sums up the week. Saturday was the most action-packed, but there were elements of it could be found in just about every other day. But it was far from being all ba; every day held its share of fun moments, too, which were certainly sanity savers. So we keep moving along, doing our thing, which of course means that there was still a little sewing going on. (I cannot stand to completely waste his valuable naptime. Sweet, blessed naptime.)
I call this a big Pile o’ Progress:
I’ll share more as this stuff is completed. I’m very happy to have such a large pile of goodness in the works.
And this will be part of a new feature I’ll be entitling “Why Do I Put Myself Through This?”:
After last years horrible gardening experience (which can be summarized with two words: Everything died), I still find myself unable to resist the call kitchen plot. As it turns out, you do not plant tomato transplants in May. Nope. Here, you plant ’em in February/March. Well, why are they still selling them in May, I ask you?! And as for the mint, I still don’t know why it failed to thrive, but I can assure you it did. Nothing but a frizzled little stick was left by about June. Hope springs eternal, though.
I’m not sure if this was an omen, but one of the tomato plants was broken in half by the time we got it to the yard from the nursery. I planted it anyway, because please remember this was Saturday and I was already not quite in my right mind, but I think I’ll pick up an extra as insurance. Because I’m sure that is all that stands between me and my victory garden.