Wordless Wednesday: Nine

This child of mine is nine. NINE.

This one is titled, "I'll eat ALL the cake!"

 When did that happen? When did we move into the last year of the single digit birthdays?

Ant looks philosophical with his new plantarium.

Ant enjoys celebrating his birthday on Valentine's Day, even though it's technically not his birthday. It make shim feel as if the entire world celebrates with him, and we don't think anyone would mind sharing.  The birthday festivities were so engaging that I forgot to take pictures of his birthday dinner (buffalo chicken enchiladas) and his other presents (39 Clues and the world's largest map of the US).

FYI: We also rocked Valentine's this year. 

My card to J.

J's gift to me.

Juxtaposition

 I’ve found myself juxtaposing many things during the past few days. I lay things—things about myself, things that are influencing me-- together, side by side. I am straightening them out, viewing them from multiple angles, walking around and around them, trying to understand the complexities in my own life at this very moment. I am doing even more than my traditional over-analyzing. I am trying to experience and experience again, trying to find the symbolism, the meaning, the message.

I am drawn to writing; I yearn for it right now, and yet I’ve had a hard time motivating myself to blog. I have plenty of things to blog about. I have some time available to me to blog. Yet, I am putting words to paper less and less frequently. I want to read something new, and at the same time, I want to read something old.

I am, all at once, interested in teaching myself about Google+ and Pinterest and Storify, and yet, I find myself also drawn to hanging sheets out on the line, picking tomatoes off the plants on the patio, sweeping, making beds with hospital corners, and planning suppers of spinach salad and mushroom risotto. I think about planning new looks for my blog and branding, and then I think about walking quietly along the trail near my house and taking photos of the flowers that have managed to hang on during the heat. 

I am restless, looking for the new thing to see, to learn, to do, to be. I am weary, working hard this summer to accomplish important tasks and entertaining my boys and making myself physically stronger. I plan and scheme of new adventures, and procrastinate on other tasks. I feel bored and overwhelmed—all at once.

I think I am growing, for lack of a better term.

I used to call it being at a crossroads, but I won’t continue to use that terminology. Crossroads implies a choice that must be made; a path that one will leave behind them and never come across again. IT’s too linear for what I am doing. I’m not making a choice—not on any large scale—at this moment. I am growing, in jumps and starts; uneven. This part bounds out from me and, and that part sinks in a bit. Then the other side balloons out, and this side is pulled taut.

There was a period of my life where this would have bothered me greatly—in fact, it probably would have sent me teetering over the edge. In the past, I was not one to handle incongruity well. Today, well, it irritates me, just a little bit. I can handle it; I can ride the waves as they ebb and flow, and know that there is something else which is occurring—perhaps I do not know where exactly I am being pulled, or perhaps I do know where I am headed-- deep, deep, down. No matter. I am along for the ride, and I explore what I feel needs to be explored in the moment. I live in the present, and try not to fret about the future or the past.

It’s awkward, and yet comfortable.

Under Siege

I’m old enough to have lived through this cyclical event three times in my life. I’ve known about and experienced this mysterious-- as of yet not fully explained phenomenon-- since my childhood. At the same time, I did not know; and I did not experience. Before this year I did not live in a town where a large brood secretly coexisted; hidden away, a foot deep in the earth, waiting for thirteen years.

This year we are under siege. I keep trying to tell myself that this is a showcase of nature’s ingenuity. I try to tell myself that my children are absorbing firsthand knowledge of the powers of the natural world.  It doesn’t help. Every time I feel a tickle or a brush, I absently, then frantically, swat at my hair or my clothing—knocking imaginary cicadas off my person. I see their red, buggy eyes in my dreams.

Their chattering and whining wheedles its way into my brain, and makes it hard for me to think. They surely have reached the 80 decibel range around Ant’s school—just like the paper said they would. They surround us at work, and whenever anyone steps outside, it is a constant act of whiplash trying to keep your eyes on where you place your feet, and also keep an eye looking above your head, lest they drop on you. They sputter around, slow, confused, and are likely to run right smack into you. They make lazy, imperfect circles in the air, from tree limb to tree limb, especially in the morning.  I think they may be drowsy.

That would be, hopefully, the only thing we have in common.

I cannot tell if the newness of their adulthood, their lack of experience with wings, is the reason why they consistently fall out of the trees and meet with the ground. Perhaps it is not newness at all—perhaps it is only their temperament. Despite the fact that I know I should not characterize these insects with any type of personality trait, I like to think of them as enjoying the fact that they are pests. I sometimes think they frame their actions to be pesky.

By the end of the day—they seem to be most active in the evenings, when we are driving home from work—I consistently develop a headache. They sometimes swarm, as they did two days ago, and we drive home through clouds of them. J hits the windshield wiper blades more than once to clear the glass. I love the feeling of driving with the windows rolled down, but now we don’t dare open any window—in the car, in the house, at work.

This time of the year is usually my favorite time to be outside. The air is warm and the earth has fully come back to life. The bitterly cold days of winter and the endlessly rainy days of spring are still fresh in our memories. I plant flowers in the front of the house—irises and daffodils fade into geraniums and then mums. I plant our vegetable garden in the back of the house—and this is the time of the year that we add to our spinach and radishes with young, green tomatoes and baby pea pods. I usually do everything within my power to be outside in June—stocking up on sunscreen and antihistamines and natural products to keep mosquitoes away. This year, things are not going according to plan. This year we are being attacked.

I had hopes that the birds and squirrels and even our dog would take it upon themselves to make a large dent in the population of this brood, but there’s been no such luck. Sophie apparently abhors these creatures as much as I do, and will stare longingly outside, but will evade them when forced into the backyard to do her business.  The birds and squirrels both have put forth valiant efforts, but now bloated and lethargic, cannot seem to eat any more. Yesterday, as I cautiously looked above me while walking underneath a tree, I saw a squirrel. His belly was obviously full, and despite the fact that he was 1) a squirrel, 2) out in the open where predators could see him, and 3) it was the middle of the day, he was stretched out on a flat length of tree branch, too full to do anything but take a nap. 

J chides me for my lack of empathy for the natural world. I know there are many out there who are completely unfazed by our summer guests. I am not one of those people, however, and I cannot imagine several more weeks or months of these unwelcome visitors.  

The Garden Project: Three weeks

Pea plants

I can’t really stand to leave a bummer of a post (like yesterday’s post) on the top of my page.  I’ve written about this before: I am usually a rather pleasant/happy/snarky person, but when I do get down—watch out! I really get down. I thank my lucky stars that I don’t get down all that often.

Baby spinach

Especially in the spring! It’s hard to be in a bad mood when the sun is shining and the breeze is blowing and the temperatures are warm enough to spend the entire afternoon outside.  One of the best parts of spending weekend afternoons outside—watching all of the plants in our container garden grow right before my eyes. 

Radishes

Three weeks ago I showed you freshly planted pots, and only the radishes were peeking up. Now everything is peeking up (although the basil is taking its slow, sweet time—as it is wont to do). 

The Romas are flowering!

In about another week, we'll have spinach and radishes to "harvest" for our salad. We've been making due with the farmer's market (and by making due, I mean eating like freaking kings-- I love bibb lettuce in the spring!)  

Dinner courtesy of the FM!

Now, it's time for us to start focusing on the front flower beds-- which I always hold off on until Mother's Day-- in the hopes that the boys will do it for me-- and begin thinking about what shady flowers we want to put in there!

The Garden Project

Sophie doesn't quite understand

 I'll be honest with you-- we're not really anticipating being able to feed a family of four throughout the whole summer with a small container garden. Basically, we just wanted the kiddos to learn a basic life lesson: food is not brought into the grocery store clean and pre-packaged by magical fairies or house elves.

People grow it. It used to be alive. And if it happens to be meat, this means that someone had to do something a little less than nice to get it to our dinner table.

Of course, I’m not ready for a cow or chickens or anything along those lines (read: J would absolutely kill me before he would kill a chicken) so the meat portion of the lesson will more than likely be illustrated with fishing. Which the boys love to no end. Plus, we have several farmers in the area which sell happy animals (no antibiotics, no hormones, free range). That part of the mission is accomplished.

The veggies— that’s another story. Even a trip to the farmer’s market (which, again, the boys love to no end) doesn’t fully bring the point home. Yes, there’s the lettuce and the tomatoes and the honey. Yes, there’s the people who grew it and/or harvested it. But the actual work involved? There’s no other way to see it other than to experience it.

Hence, the container garden.

We have peas, spinach, radishes, carrots, basil, chives, sage, and now, tomatoes. The Roma plants I picked up today were the best buy at the farmer’s market—four hardy plants for $3.50. I am ready for quarts and quarts of homemade pasta sauce! Okay, well maybe not quarts when you only have four plants.

If I could grow potatoes, corn, pumpkins and green beans in our small backyard, I would. I remember the Nana doing so when I was a small child, along with peppers and lettuce and cauliflower. We also had blackberry bushes in the woods, and a blueberry/apple/peach place where you picked your own on the other side of town. My grandmother used to can and preserve in her tiniest of tiny kitchens. There’s a large part of me that’s realized, as I grow older, that these are lessons our children must absolutely learn.

Radishes are already coming up!

So, this summer, we’re once again talking about our food. Last summer was introductory; this summer will have a heavier focus on making your own and finding local. Last year was about, “Oh! Look! The plants are growing!” and ‘Photosynthesis’ and this summer will be about baking bread and cooking from scratch and how the brown eggs from the farmer’s market will always taste better than the ones you can buy from the store.

This year our state is hosting a 10,000 garden challenge. You can read more about it here. We’ve registered our small container garden!  The more exciting news is that you are connected to thousands of others in the state who are doing the same thing as you, and in the future, I hope we will be able to see others who are gardening and selling things that we want to buy.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I must tell you that I am not the best plant mother. I struggle with growing things. I refuse to have houseplants because they usually meet their untimely end while in my presence. There’s no green thumb in this household, in fact—the boys aren’t much better. If I can keep carrots and peas and the like alive (and I did it last summer!) however, then perhaps others will see that they can do it as well.

We’ll keep you posted…

Musings, Tyrants, and the Garden Project

I have a four day weekend this weekend! I rarely allow myself this luxury, and boy, do I enjoy it when it comes around!

And then, sometimes, I realize why I enjoy being a working mother. You know, restless children, a living room you’ve already picked up three times this morning, a dog that won’t stop barking at joggers, the Tom Cat, the random bit of trash that escaped the truck this morning. Birds.

Gosh, I need to find a way to train her to stop barking at a least a few of these things!

Anyways, for you stay at home moms who like to use cloth diapers and prepare gourmet meals and keep up with the laundry, well, I revere you. Good for you! I can’t join you, though. I’d much prefer to ignore my laundry problems for eight hours a day at the office. It’s just how I roll.

So, when I get tired of dusting (which I do once a month, anyways) and the kids are starting to play punch buggy without seeing any VWs, I take them to the matinee movies (the fifteen bucks is well worth it)! This afternoon we went to see “How to Tame your Dragon”.

I love this movie. I like Vikings. I like that these Vikings have Scottish accents. I like how they used the correct names for Norse Gods. I like how the women fight along with the men. I like that the antagonist has a moral dilemma that really matters! I like that the writing is witty. I like that everyone is a bit worse for wear at the end, and they learn to make do by helping each other, and they are okay with that!

Aren’t we all a bit worse for wear when we go through a trial? Don’t we all need to learn to accept that fact, and who we are afterwards?

I would recommend this movie for a good rainy afternoon, and we didn’t even see it in 3D.

Back to restless natives for a moment: Elisabeth Badinter believes children are unintentional tyrants. Well, there’s only one thing to say to this: DUH! Of course children are tyrants. Of course they want their needs met first and foremost.

One of the most interesting aspects of my undergrad degree was learning this simple statement: Children manipulate adults for everything they need and want. I was on the child psychology track, you see. I also had a manipulative one-year-old at home. Of course he was trying to get on over on me during all waking hours (if you’ve had children between the ages of 1-4 years of age, you know exactly what I am talking about. They may be perfect angels, but they still want what they want). Of course babies and toddlers and even teenagers want you to provide them with what they think they need. Since they are wholly reliant on you, they will harp on you (whether it is crying, door slamming, or full blown tantrums) to get what they need, or what they think they need.

The thing that really got me was this: they are programmed to do this. Shoot, we were programmed to do this as well. Maybe you were a terror who threw fits. Maybe you were a really nice girl who always did as told. Nonetheless, you were trying to get your needs met by manipulating your parents. From Birth. Infants’ biology works against parents (they are cute, they smell good, they coo and laugh) and parents’ biology works against parents as well (the hormones, the lack of ‘smell’ of dirty diapers). Jeez, even the finger grasp that everyone loves, or the gas bubble smiles of newborns work against us! Newborns have these to help them procure adult care in their most vulnerable state-- even when they are sleeping.

This is the way it is supposed to be. This system has been worked up after thousands upon thousands of years of evolution, and they stick around today because they work.

As Damomma and others have said: Perhaps if we paid less attention to our rights as parents, and paid more attention to our obligations as parents, we would get this, inherently.

But this is beside the point of whether the quest for ‘perfect motherhood’ is anti-feminist. My mind is not made up on that yet.

Baby radishes, on day four of the project!

In my quest for better motherhood, and fun, and saving money, and healthier eating, we’ve decided to start a garden at home. No, this is not in response to the Naked Chef showing American children how they make chicken nuggets (hell, I was eating chicken nuggets while watching that!); this is not expected to keep my family in vegetables throughout the summer sans grocery store either. This is to commemorate my Great Grandmother on my mother’s side. This is to keep the tradition going…

The summer I was about Ant’s age was a magical summer for me. My Granny Jones was a small, wizened Irish woman still living in her own house. She was getting to the point, however, where people should be checking on her on a regular basis. Granny Jones also loved a garden (she was raised on a farm, and raised her daughters on a farm as well), but was unable to put one out. My parents, in my first summer in Missouri, came to her aid.

Her backyard was large and magical to begin with. There were lilac bushes taller than a grown man. There were walnut trees everywhere. Then there were my special birthday flowers (Surprise Lilies). There were huge purple irises everywhere. And that summer, there were rows of corn, tomatoes, potatoes, beans, peppers. There were huge mounds of cucumbers and melons and pumpkins. There was fresh lettuce. The garden was immense. My parents worked in it all weekend long, every weekend. It was magic. I would hide in the rows of corn, I would pick heirloom tomatoes (before I knew what heirloom tomatoes were, other than ‘ugly’). I would revel in the greenness of it all; compared to the arid mountains and water shortages I had known before. And when it was really hot, I would sit on the porch with my Granny Jones, and she would teach me about snapping beans or shelling peas or some other thing that she would always know oh so much about, and I will never know enough about.

I wanted to share this with the boys, especially Ant. Ant loves growing things. But we are renting right now, and we don’t have room for that kind of garden.

So we are container gardening! I plan to share how it goes on here. We started the seeds last week, and we already have sprouts on everything but the carrots (they take so long). We have basil and spinach and peas and radishes and carrots to start. All early spring crops. If the boys and I enjoy this, we’ll keep it going throughout the summer, with tomatoes and peppers and the like. Like I said, we’ll keep you posted!