I enjoy gardening, but it's by the grace of God that anything survives. At some point in the summer I completely give up and just let things go into jungle mode. Perhaps my gardening style is actually a metaphor for my life. And it's not me alone who keeps this "garden" growing. I owe so much to so many.
I'm in the grocery store by myself. That's right mamas. I know you're all thinking this could be the first line of a fantasy novel. As I cruise the aisles at my leisure not at all fearing an eminent tantrum for whatever sugary cereal has the best toy, the song “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift comes on.
Like most mornings, it's a cluster. I'm telling the boy to turn around and eat while I'm playing short order chef while people scream for spoons and water. I tell him to turn around in his seat and eat his breakfast again, as he's just sitting with his back turned to the counter staring into the abyss.
We have about five minutes before we are running late. I watch them run around picking up worms as fast as they can like little treasures and then rush them to the garden, like fish back into a pond. "What's happening?" I ask in a slightly inconvenienced tone. "We are rescuing the worms!"
One of the twins is thrashing, causing me to cover my face and hope for the best. She proclaims, "We need better 'propossites.'" I chuckle because I understand what she's trying to say - positions. When you've been a mom this long you can understand an entirely made up language.
I get a little note this morning when I open my desk, informing me that I'm mean. I ask my oldest what that was for and she tells me it's for the other night when I disciplined her and the others for acting like yahoos in public. Yeah, I am a mean mom. I'm not here to make friends, I've got a job to do.