My Garden

I'll admit it, I got into gardening for all the wrong reasons.

I think I started because I thought that it was just something I should do- don't all good mothers have a garden?  I started out small, and had some success.  So I made big plans for the next year; which completely fizzled out because I had a baby, therefore no time to garden. 

It was better the next year, Lou was bigger and it was a perfect excuse to get outside and spend some time digging in the dirt, developmentally her favorite thing to do.  But I still had more garden than I could manage and by the end of the summer I had given up trying to pull the weeds that were literally growing like weeds and refused to stay under control.  Although it was overwhelming, it was worth it when I could finally cook with the things I had grown which is what brought me back the next year.  Lou loves tomatoes, picking them when ripe and eating them in the sun; she has no idea that kids aren't supposed to like them, she just knows that it's cool that she can finally eat something she found outside.  Isn't that a good enough reason to have a garden? 

And now I've gotten to a point where, although I'm always expanding, I have an established garden.  I have perennials that come back each year to get me excited for the explosion of color; to help me forget how much work it's going to be.

But I no longer loathe garden work.  I actually enjoy kneeling in the dirt and pulling out weeds, one by one.  Plus, there are few things as satisfying as finally sitting down to admire a newly weed-free garden.  I couldn't care less anymore when I accidentally unearth a worm.  Maybe these years in the garden have made me immune to them, or maybe I'm more confident in the protection of my garden gloves that become more of a body part than an item of clothing over the summer.  I can't wait for the first bloom, the first blossom that tells me I'll be getting a pepper soon, the first tomato that begins to turn from green to red...

Plus, I've got a lot of help these days.  Lou digs holes for the plants and loves adding the new black dirt.  She's an expert at watering, or more aptly, drowning the plants, and is always willing to pick some basil for dinner.  My garden is something I do for me, but it's also a source of food for my family, a way to spend time with my daughter outside, and a great bonding experience with the Hens who are always eager to gobble up any bugs we uncover. 

I may have started out on the wrong path, but I have nothing but pure intentions for my garden these days.    

Girls Night

So the Girls came over this evening for Friday Night Movie Night.  Guess what movie we watched...

Lou's best friends in the entire world are a pair of sisters and these girls are about as good of friends as any three-year old could have.  They came over and everyone promptly changed into a new outfit.  Emotions ran high as Lou remembered that having friends over means that they get to use your stuff.  Sharing is a tough concept for an only child.  The Sisters reminded Lou and myself that, "when her is at our house her gets to use our stuff, so now her has to share hers."  Once we made it over the sharing speed bump they played as only three-year olds can.  Is there some unwritten law that small children can't remain clothed for an entire evening?  Every outfit in our dress-up arsenal was worn and passed around; and when we'd burned through them all, it was time for everyone to run around in their skivvies. 

After the Hour of Underwear, we were once again back to the dress-up clothes.  It was around this time that the melting began, so I quickly swooped in with the Chicken Distraction. 

The Chicken Distraction is this: when things get hairy, try to make everyone forget by pointing out how ridiculous the chickens are.  Works every time. 

So we looked out the window and laughed at the Hens getting cozy in the dirt.  And then we went outside to feed them some pretzels.  Once we got outside the Girls remembered that I have a great pile of dirt back there that's perfect for digging.  I'm starting to wonder if I should just scrap the garden and keep our farm version of a sandbox instead.

I'll admit that a part of me was thinking about laundry, specifically how much I had created in one evening by hosting a play-date, but I tried to make her be quiet.  Most of me was completely enjoying their enjoyment.  They got out every shovel and bucket and took off their shoes.  Honestly, there's nothing like the feeling of dirt in your toes.  And they have the rest of their lives to worry about clean clothes- and besides, I don't want to be the wet-blanket (this term is replacing "killjoy," as in when Cinderella calls the clock a killjoy, a word that I've been told falls under the category of "mean talk").

Goodbyes are always hard, and especially emotional, when you're three.  Our bedtime routine was tossed out and Lou was rushed into her bed shortly after the Girls' departure.  Instead of the usual drawn out collapse into sleep, Lou was out almost as soon as she lay down.  Hell, I'm even ready for bed.  She could sure use a shower, but we'll worry about that tomorrow.  As I sit here and look around my house, it's apparent that The Girls have been here.  The usual order has been replaced with the chaos that comes along with opening every drawer, box, and cabinet to find whatever there is to find in there.  I'm sure my compulsion will force me to pick up a bit before I go to bed, but the disorder is kind of nice.  Just like the dirt in Lou's toes, tomorrow it will remind us of how much fun we had tonight. 

There's nothing quite like a Girls Night. 

Fences Make Good Neighbors

And good gardens, and well behaved dogs; and I'm hoping, better looking plants.

My herb garden is situated so that I can look out my kitchen window and marvel at my green-thumbed success.  But when I look out at it now I become more and more dismayed as it is covered in massive craters created by the Hens as take their daily dirt baths.  Not to mention that our half-dog apparently loves chives because she's chewed off the tops giving them the appearance of having joined the army.  But what I couldn't figure out was why these craters have been steadily growing in size.  The Hens haven't gotten that much bigger since all the snow melted...  Turns out that they only started the problem, but they weren't totally to blame.

My lovely Chowder-puff apparently also enjoys a good dirt bath.  She digs herself a nice hole and enjoys the cool dirt on a hot day.  My Other Half tells me that she's always done this.

So I took a stand and I finally have the white picket fence of my dreams.  Okay, so maybe it's not exactly the fence I had once envisioned- the one that circles my perfectly manicured suburban cottage- but already, I'm in love.  It's a two-foot tall miniature version of that fence to protect my chives and keep furry feet out of my dirt. 

I never used to like the saying "good fences make good neighbors," it seemed so unfriendly and un-neighborly.  If you've got good neighbors then why would you put up a fence?  And if they're not good how can a fence help?  What I didn't realize was that when the boundaries are clearly communicated then no one steps over the line.  You don't have to be the bad guy and constantly tell people- aka unruly dogs and chickens- where they just don't belong.  Let's face it, no one wants to tell someone to back off, or to back out (of a garden, for instance), so let a fence do it for you. 

As it turns out, fences make for great neighbors, and house-mates.

Big Plans

It appears I was a bit over-ambitious in my garden plans this year. 

I have twelve tiny tomato plants and enough basil to make pesto for all of Italy.  I have plans for onions, tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, beans, and every herb you can possibly imagine.

Problem is, even with my newly expanded garden, I don't have space for it all.

You'd think that with six acres I'd be able to find a spot for it all.  But we still need room for the Slip'n'Slide, the driving range, badminton, baseball, and enough yard to keep three dogs happy.

I'm going to have to figure out a way to finance a bigger farm.  Who would've thought this city-girl could turn into a farmer?  Life has a funny sense of humor.

Mom

Nine years ago yesterday my mom turned forty-seven.  On June second it will be nine years since she died.  Five years ago I found out I was pregnant.  In November it will be four years since since I became a mother.  And every day I'm lost as I navigate being a mother with no guide.

I look at other parents who seem to have it all under control.  Who knows if they do or not, but they've sure got me fooled.  What is it that gives them their confidence?  The ease with which they are in control?  Is it their age?  Is it their personality?  Or is it because when they have a question they have a mother to ask?

Bringing home a newborn was the scariest experience of my life.  I had thought that being twenty and telling my dad I was pregnant was scary.  Going to my ultra-sound and actually seeing the child for whom I was responsible, the creeping knowledge that I was somebody's mother.  That going into that delivery room knowing that somehow this seemingly massive child inside me would have to come out. 

But these things were nothing compared to the feeling of helplessness as I was wheeled out of the hospital, ushered into the blinding November light, abandoned by the nurses that had kept me afloat for three days, and left with a bundle of baby that I was supposed to mold into a happy, healthy person.

I had this idea that it would be a long time before I became a mother so I avoided all the issues that come along with motherless mothering- I would deal with it later.  And in a perfect world, I would have.  But that was a foolish idea as there's really no preparation you can do anyways.  I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to call her.  In my haze of postpartum depression I actually picked up the phone a few times and realized that there was no number I could dial.  Sure I have people who offer to be there for me, who say that they'll help out in whatever way they can.  But you can't call those people at four in the morning when you're too depressed to form a cohesive thought and you don't really know what you need anyways.  You juat know that you need something.  When you're drowning the only person you really want is your mother.

It's because mothers know us so well, sometimes better than we know ourselves, because we are of them.  Because mothers give so much for their children they can anticipate needs and are there even when we haven't asked them to be and don't think we need them.  And because we all want to know that we are the light of someone's life, that there's someone who has, and always will, give everything for us and loves us completely for who we are.   

Maybe this is why much of the time I feel as if I've lost my compass.  I'm out at sea and I have no idea where I am or where I'm trying to go and I feel my boat taking on water.  Yeah, I know my mom's still watching over me, but that doesn't help me much when she can't respond.

I'm sure any psychologist will tell you that my collection is an attempt to recreate some of what I lost with my mother.  It's a lousy second best, but it's what I'm working with and, you know what, it gives me solace.

Lou is named after my mom and every day she is a reminder that my mom still lives with us, even if it feels like in name only.  She is my biggest challenge and I would give anything to ask my mom's advice as I try to figure out how to be the best mother to her I can be.  But Lou is also an enormous blessing and I know that my mom does guide me, and when I let Lou down, I let down my mother as well.  I only had her for fifteen years, but she was a wonderful mother, and by being a good mom myself, I can honor the hard work she did in those fifteen years.

And let's be honest, even if you have a mother it doesn't mean she's a good one; and being human means that we are bound to disappoint.  I have to remind myself of this and remember the many people I know who are incredible human beings who had lousy mothers.  And before I wallow too far in self-pity I have to remember that my mom (and lovely Auntie) didn't have her mom either and she did just fine. 

Someday I'll see her again, and when I do we're going to have a lot of catching up to do.  But it's only on my end because my mom's been here the whole time.

Until then I'll keep her in mind, try to get a hold of my counting obsession, and try to get to know her as best I can from those who knew her well.  That's the best way to judge whether or not I'm living up to what she wanted me to be. 

I guess I haven't totally lost my compass, it's just that now it's written in a code I must decipher.

You're Asking Me Now?

An unnamed father at Lou's school recently inquired about my relationship status as he was walking away to his car.

Are you a single mom?

Seeing as how he was literally walking away from me, I tried to keep my explanation short while still hitting the major points- not anymore, I've got an Other Half and I'm no longer drowning in the responsibilities of parenting alone, no I don't mind you asking, etc, etc. And I really don't mind people asking these questions- actually I'm glad when they do.  This is our normal and it may not be yours, but the more I can be open and talk about it the more normal it can be for Lou.  I'd much rather people ask than come up with their own version of events.  Sure it's untraditional, you're right, it's not what my mother would have wanted, but there's nothing shameful about the fact that I chose to keep a child I wasn't planning on and give up my life to raise her alone. 

But I wondered what prompted him to ask such a question now, now that I'm not alone, now that I'm somewhat rested, recently showered, and all together more put together.  Ask anyone who knows me well, it's apparent that I'm no longer single.  Among other things, my clothes no longer smell like mildew now that I'm actually able to switch laundry on a timely basis.  And honestly, our kids are here five days a week and I've given over much of the bus driving responsibility to my Other Half.  Has this man never noticed that Lou regularly leaves with a guy he doesn't know?  How many other children has he allowed to wander off with strangers with not so much as a second thought?

You see, Wife and I were looking through the address book for our hoity toity school here, and we noticed that your name was the only one listed as Lou's parent.

It's April, school's done in like a month, and you've just now decided to look through the address book and scrutinize other childrens' parents? 

That's something I did way back in August.  But I digress.

And then he got embarrassed and kept saying over and over, Well I only ask for the best possible reasons, I'm not trying to say anything by it, I just noticed your name, blah, blah, blah, honestly, the best possible reasons...

The "best possible reasons"?  What does he mean, "the best possible reasons"?  First off, that doesn't even make any sense, but second of all, how thick must you be to think that there are a bunch of great possibilities about being a single parent.

Let's list just a few:

1.  There's no one else to get up at night, so that baby who only sleeps two hours at a time can be even more pissed when it wakes up because your ugly face is the only one it sees.  I'm not saying that my face is necessarily ugly, but after nine days without a shower and having forgotten how to put on make-up because it's been so long, yeah, actually it is ugly.

2.  Besides the fact that you're only allowed to sleep in two hour increments, you still have school, work, and house to take care of.  And by house I mean laundry generated by puking baby because you're too tired to got out of bed to make a meal or do any other kind of activity the living do that could generate a mess.  At least that helps.  And you lose the eighty pounds you gained during pregnancy really fast when you're too tired and poor to eat.

3.  When baby finally does start sleeping though the night, you still don't get to because there's too much to do.  Beauty rest is overrated.  Survival sleep is what counts.

4.  When it's just you, you never leave, so Lou and I know each other really well.  Plus, when you don't have time for friends you don't have to deal with all the drama and gossip that goes along with phone calls.  Who wants to catch up with people anyways?

5.  When you don't have friends, you don't have to clean because no one is coming over anyways.  Less work!  But don't worry, you don't have time to notice. 

6.  You're the only one making every decision, so all that time you saved by eliminated friends, you can waste away worrying over whether or not you said or reacted the right way.  Oh, and if you ever have any extra money, you can use it to pay off those medical bills you've accumulated because, without a second opinion, every cough is life threatening.

This is not to say that being a single parent has absolutely no up-side.  Lou and I have a much closer relationship than we would have if we hadn't been chained together for two and a half years.  I'm sure there are other upsides too, it's just that being a single parent is too stressful for you to remember anything other than what needs to be dealt with right now.  You have no energy or brain space left to store away anything that isn't an immediate concern so those upsides have been lost to our chaotic first years.

But this post isn't supposed to be a list of those best possible reasons about being a single parent.  It's more along the lines of, YOU'RE ASKING ME NOW?

And not, now that I'm no longer single, but now that Lou's second year at this school is drawing to a close.  Now that I've seen you picking up your son at least 1200 times and I've listened to more than my fair share of your boring life stories.  Did you never pay attention in the 982 other times we've had a conversation?  Are you that wrapped up in yourself?

I've been so worried about what the other parents think of me, taking their avoidance to be a sign of judgement.  But maybe it wasn't that at all.  Maybe when you're in a relationship and have a child you planned for you take for granted the fact that not everyone else is and maybe they didn't chose to have a child right now.  Maybe when you've got your ducks in a row you forget that there are parents out there who worry not just about parenting, but who are also trying to make their way in the world.  Trying to squeeze in a few moments to plan where my life is going, not just my child's. 

But you've been too busy thrilling me with your weekend plans to build a tree house larger than my house to notice that I have to go RIGHT NOW, I've got things to do!

But maybe his whirlwind life chock full of himself is just as much of a blur as my days of indentured parentage were.

But maybe not.  Maybe he's just oblivious. 

Furmination

For those of you with a shedding pet and no Furminator (that magic brush that takes out the undercoat), now is the time to invest. 

I just Furminated Gidge for the third time this weekend and got enough fur to make a Chihuahua.  A long haired one.

Fido

Fido is our aptly named cat who thinks he's a dog.  He comes when you call for him.

Descended from a proud line of panther/house cats he's one of the biggest cats I've ever met.  He's been slowly shrinking over the past few years but still weighs a good fifteen pounds.  In his prime he was closer to nineteen.  Forever dressed in his black tuxedo, Fido always looks sophisticated and debonair.

Fido will be sixteen this year, and having burned through about seven of his lives early on, he takes it easy in his old age.  Any sunny spot will do for a nap; although Lou's bed is by far the best.  He willingly takes handouts and is always looking for a hot meal.  He's less inclined to go out and kill a meal, but he gladly accepts the extra goodies Aiko brings home. 

Fido is big and strong, I've seen him bring home mice, birds, large squirrels, and he often hunted our old pond for goslings.  In short, Fido is fearless.

But Fido is also loving and patient.  When Lou wants someone to sleep with her, Fido is always up for the job.

Some close enough to be family members came out the farm on Easter, and the girls were deathly afraid of Fido.  This is something I had a hard time understanding.  This cat they ran from is the same one who let me dress him in baby clothes and cart him around in a carriage.  He willingly let me snuggle him in the blankets of my dolls' crib and read stories to him.  He's not too happy about it, but he's more than patient when Lou tries to carry him around.  He wants nothing more than to be loved, fed, and carried like a baby. 

I'm all for having a healthy, respectful fear of animals.  We bring them into our homes and treat them like family, but they are, after all, animals and can be unpredictable.  When it comes to instinct and intellect, instinct always wins.  But a cat that purrs as you approach is most likely not a threat.  If he follows you around trying to rub against you, you can be pretty sure that he wants some love, not a fight. 

Sibling calls me a "collector," referring to my constantly growing collection of children and animals.  I know that not everyone is like me, and it's not realistic for all families to have a pet.  But try as I might, I still don't get it.  I don't understand how you could come home to a furless house every day, to an empty house with no one waiting for a pet and a hug.  When I lived in the dorms I spent a good chunk of time at the local humane society, trying to fill the void left by the animal-lessness of the dorms.  I, for one, cannot live without my four (and two) legged friends.  And I certainly can't imagine raising Lou without them.

As an only child, if it weren't for the animals, Lou would be under the impression that the world revolves entirely around her.  She still kind of thinks this, but it's better than it could be.  But around here she's not the only one that needs to be taken care of, not the only one who needs my attention.  And she can help me take care of them, giving her a big sister mentality without the siblings.  Lou has learned compassion, empathy, and responsibility from the animals.  And when I'm too busy to dig in the dirt with her, I know that she's not digging alone as one ore more of the dogs is always hanging out with her.

I know you're not all collectors, but everyone can benefit from some animal time.  There's something to learn from domesticated animals: there's nothing better than being around the people you love.  Which is all my animals and I want to do.

Holiday Hypocrisy

On the eve of Easter, as I tried to find a spot to hide all of the goodies from the Easter Bunny, I began to seriously wonder what was I doing.  I had these same thoughts around Christmas time.

Why have we created the myth of the Easter Bunny?  Is this some cruel teaching moment where we prepare our children for the fact that life if wrought with disappointment?  That people lie and deceive us?  What will Lou think of me when she realizes that it's been me lying to her all along, not some faceless bad-guy from a story?  Speaking of which, what did I think about my parents when I uncovered the awful truth?

Oh, that's right, I couldn't have cared less as long as the gifts kept coming.

But that's not my point. 

My point is that, as parents, we have an obligation to be honest with our children about the world that they were born into.  Of course we want to shield them from disappointment, but disappointment is a part of life, and successful adults need to be able to deal with it.  So as parents we can't shield our children from all of it, the best we can do is to help them to learn from it and move forward.

So, if life is full of disappointment, why do we create more?

The Easter Bunny isn't real, and that's disappointing to learn.  But even more than creating a moment of memorable disappointment, the Easter Bunny serves to create chaos around our house.

For some reason (probably connected to the unattainable image of the mother I should be) I have this need for the house to be perfect before the Eater Bunny, or Santa Claus, comes.  I'm probably going to speed clean before the Tooth Fairy makes an appearance too.  So at 1:30 in the morning I found myself vacuuming. 

I did the same thing right around the same time on Christmas eve.

This time I actually stopped myself.  What was I doing?  Lou couldn't care less if you can't tell that the rug is green for all the dog hair it's buried beneath.  But I'm terrified that in fifteen years we're going to look back on our pictures from this Easter and we'll see dog hair on the rug.  It's as if I'm afraid I'll remember how chaotic these years really are. 

Maybe that won't be the terrifying revelation from these pictures, maybe it will be just how exhausted I look in them.

The hypocrisy sold with these holidays is not the lie of the unseen gift-giver: it's an image of a completely unreal holiday morning.  Easter, and Christmas, with a small child is a roller coaster of emotions, it's not all Kodak perfect.  It's exciting to wake up to baskets of goodies and candy-filled eggs all over the house.  But it's also a bit overwhelming- especially if you just couldn't fall asleep last night for all the excitement.  And I know I'll remember that, but will Lou?  Will my doctored-up pictures truly deceive her?  Will they make my friends think that I've got everything under control?

Maybe this awful lie I'm telling her is not that there is an Easter bunny, but rather, I'm encouraging her to think that we all always had a good time; setting up an expectation for life that isn't realistic.

But probably not.  She knows that we're not always having a good time, but who wants to remember the angry times?  I'm going to keep vacuuming and hope that nothing memorable happens when the house isn't clean, lest I'm unable to document it. 

And I think I'm starting to outgrow the Easter bunny.  Maybe next year his visit will arrive with slightly less fanfare.

But only slightly less.   

Diet Pop Is Not Pop

Or soda, for all you folks down south.  I'm not sure what it is; cancer would be my first guess, but it's certainly not pop.

Recently at a friend's house I spotted a case of Pepsi ZERO who's box proudly read, "One Calorie, Zero Carbs, Zero Sugar."

No carbs?  No sugar?  So why does this taste so sweet?  What makes up this beverage claiming to be a Pepsi?  But most importantly: what the hell is this?

Pop is made with loads of sugar, syrup, and yeast.  It's a high calorie, high sugar drink.  Pop was not made for every day consumption, in the words of Cookie Monster, "it's a sometimes food."  If you need to have a pop every day, well, then you have a problem.  And if you're on a diet, pop is probably the last thing you need. 

I could go into the cases that document migraines, among other ailments, caused by that fake sugar they use in diet pop.  I could remind you that people who drink diet pop are more likely to eat more sugary foods later in the day than non-diet drinkers, craving the sugar they didn't get from their drink, completely undermining the low-calness of it all.  Or I could just point out that you probably can't pronounce the majority of the things on that list of ingredients on your diet pop.  Does that not say something? 

For all you Diet drinkers out there I want to say something very important:

DON'T DRINK THAT, THAT'S NOT POP! 

I have no idea what it is, but it sure as hell isn't pop.