Not My Day

This is a tale of woe.  From the depths of despair and stupidity.  

Woe.

Woe to him who reads it.

Woe to her who lived it.

We have a 27'X27' (as in a 729 square foot) plot at the community gardens.  The cost of this giant plot is less than it would take B.daddy to build a tiny raised bed, not to mention saving him the labor, and it is along our favorite walking path.  There's a pond, wetlands, SWANS!  And so our story begins.

We've had the plot for a few weeks but were informed that most people don't plant until after Memorial Day because our cold climate is unpredictable.  (As if on cue we had a cold, rainy Memorial Day weekend.)  Before the plots were divvied out, the city had the ground tilled, and it looked great.  Dark, soft dirt everywhere.  Hardly a weed in sight. We didn't visit the plot between claim staking day and yesterday.  Why did I choose the first heat wave of 2013 to do my planting?  Well, because I'm a genius.  That's why.  After going all the way back to our house to retrieve the map to find the plot belonging to us--hiccup numero uno--this is what we found:

Hiccup #2

Okay.  I can handle this.  I can do this.  All I can do at this point is do this.  We pulled on our work gloves and got to it.  (B.daddy was at work making the money.)  The kids helped as best they could, and they complained a lot.  They observed that--except for Li'l Bit--they in fact did NOT want to be farmers, and they would even rather be at home doing school work.  This was after a full day of school work.  But after a few hours, we had pulled all the mammoth weeds and leveled the field so to speak.

We still had a lot to do the next day (today), but we had accomplished a great deal and had the achy backs and dirty knees to prove it.  I couldn't plant yet.  I was so anxious to get those plants into the ground yesterday, but I had no idea how much work that would entail.  The longer these plants are in containers, the greater chance they will die.  I can't seem to keep anything alive unless it is in soil that God Himself has put in place.  I.e. In the ground.

So we left our sad little plants on our plot to spend the night alone. (Trust me, they're better off that way.  Black thumbs, people.  Black thumbs!)

On the docket for this morning: rake and hoe.  Rake and rake and rake and rake, and if I'm lucky I'll get to hoe.  The morning was going well.  The kids had their picnic breakfast in the designated kid corner, and we even remembered sunscreen.  Their complaints--they weren't even working at this point--were shut down by some mean lady who showed up and said, "I do not want to hear one more complaint THE ENTIRE MORNING!  BUTTON IT UP!"  Weird.  Don't know who that was.  About fifteen minutes into my raking I heard a rustle in the weeds beside me.  Knowing for sure it would be a snake, I was pleasantly surprised to see this big dude:

Aww, how sweet.  He's like our very own garden pet.  Maybe he'll come cool himself near our plot all Summer. (Wait for it.)

The kids adored him, of course.  (As well as the rabbit and groundhog we saw.)  They tried to feed him a cracker.  He didn't bite.  He eventually burrowed under a pile of weeds and slept.  By that time I wanted to join him.  I was crazy hot.  I had been up since 4:30 for my morning workout, I hadn't eaten a thing, I have a highly pressurized head cold, but I was going to get my plants in the ground dadgumit!!  So I kept beating the ground.  Lift, whack, pull, lift, whack, pull.

I finally had enough weed-free ground for two or three rows, so I got to hoein'.  Much to my chagrin, hoeing is exactly like raking.  Same exact muscle movement being executed by the same exact muscles that the good Lord must have forgotten to give me.  Somehow, someway I hoed three sides.  My arms were spaghetti and I went to Kid Corner for cold water and a sit down.  Now B.daddy and I had met a guy on claim staking day. A very nice guy, he's running a nonprofit for kids and he was getting plots for them to work on together.  Well, as soon as my tushie hit the picnic blanket, I hear, "Oh, are you here to help?"  I look up and I see that guy.  In a split second, my brain--which should always work so well but DOESN'T--connected all the dots and I realized.  I'm on the wrong plot.

Talk about deflation.  I was so proud of all my hard work, only to find out I can't find one square plot on the simplest map known to mankind.  I had been to the plot before.  B.daddy held the map before me and explained exactly how to find our plot when I returned.  But did I find it? No.  I poured sweat over someone else's land.  

We can't switch plots.  His organization has four connected plots, and ours is too far away from it.  He did say they would help weed our plot tomorrow.  He has a few volunteers coming in for a work day.  Sometime between now and then I need to convince myself that I can get back out there and do the whole thing over again.  The thing that really, really stinks:  our plot isn't nearly as weedy as this one was.  I could have been so much further along.  I should conclude this paragraph with a metaphor pertaining to wishing for what you can't have.  But I screw those up all the time, too.

So I'm sitting here in front of my A/C.  I'm drinking ice cold lemon water, blowing my nose constantly, and rubbing Mentholatum on the raw skin.  I'm pouring out my far too wordy tale of woe to any and all who care to hear.

In short, I'm licking my wounds.

  

Privacy Policy

You know how you are constantly getting those plain envelopes from financial institutions with plain old privacy policies inside?  That's got to be the most boring mail on the face of the earth.  Anyway, I've been feeling very private over the last few months, which makes my blog quite boring.  I believe we all go through these phases when, for whatever reason, we want to keep our thoughts close.  Social media makes this desire feel strange, since we've grown accustomed to sharing, liking, and commenting on every possible idea from here to Timbuktu. Nevertheless, when my gut tells me to shut my mouth and ponder in silence, that is what I must do.

However, one thing I can do--and have neglected miserably--is give simple updates on what is going on with our fam.  I.e. cute kid stories and pictures.  Let's face it, the kids are getting cuter everyday, but B.daddy and I are just getting older.

We have been doing very well.  As the weather has warmed up we've stayed very busy and happy playing hard with friends and working hard around the old homestead.  Both activities include large doses of sunlight, which we were desperate for!

Above you see the hill "behind" our house.  We live on a one way street approaching the back of our house.  Our front yard is our back yard and vice versa.  So the first sight of our house is from behind; it is NOT it's best side.  We can't do anything about the rock facade yet, but we can do something about the landscape.  We had three trees removed.  The kids thought this was awesome.  We literally left the house to make a Target run, and when we came back the trees were gone.  Never even saw the tree guys.   We've (mostly B.daddy) transplanted azaleas, lilacs, and hostas.  Even though everything is in Transplanted Mopey Plant Mode, it looks a thousand times better.  Symmetry people!  Symmetry!

Enjoying a park play date in New Hampshire and meeting our tiniest, newest friend that day.  

The kids were listening to Nancy Drew.  They love the stories, but if there's any mention of a ghost they get all giggly scared.  I believe Li'l Bit is trying to shield Rascal's ears. :)  She usually doesn't listen to them, but I think that has more to do with her not wanting to be still.

Here we are taking our end of the year field trip. (Rain was in the forecast, and my children were prepared.)  We studied flying creatures with two other families.  To celebrate the fact that we actually made it through the whole year together, we visited the Harvard Museum of Natural History.  It is a hidden gem, and worth the visit!

We are trying out some vegetable and herb gardening this year.  Instead of building a raised bed in our limited yard space, we're borrowing some community garden space.  We are very excited to see what comes of it.  I am cautiously excited since I've managed to kill half of the seeds I started indoors.  If I do have a green thumb it is restricted to the great outdoors.

Last weekend was a great one for the kids!  On Saturday we got to take them to a spring carnival to ride rides and play games.  Then Sunday our town was having a Touch-a-Truck.  We were there from opening to close!  They got to climb in all kinds of crazy vehicles, Li'l Bit got to make a free arrangement of flowers--a little out of place, and we got to see a helicopter land.  I also got to see a bunch of selfish parents pushing their kids to the front of lines, but that's a hopeless complaint.  People are selfish.  It happens.

Babydaddy went to California last week.  My kids have learned that that means they get to watch movies at dinner time and sleep in my room all night.  I don't mind it, I mean seriously it's the sweetest thing in the world.  I didn't sleep very well with all those elbows and knees, but I never do when he's gone anyway.

Our school year is winding down.  We've technically finished history and science.  So now I'm just focusing on reading, writing, and arithmetic, which is plenty to keep us busy.  But how can I interrupt them when they're doing something this cute?!  They were "doing school" for their animals and dolls.  Gizmo needed to review his addition facts anyway, so I left them to it.  And I'm very surprised to say that plate (their breakfast) never did come tumbling down the back stairs.  I just knew it would.

So, there you have it.  Our little life over the last couple months.  The sun is shining, the kids are thriving, and B.daddy and I are soaking up every second.

Reptilian Behavior

"'Think of it,' said Frog.
   'We will skip through the meadows
   and run through the woods
   and swim in the river.
   In the evenings we will sit
   right here on this front porch
   and count the stars.'
  'You can count them, Frog,'
   said Toad.  'I will be too tired.
   I am going back to bed.'"

Feeling more like a Toad than a Frog tonight.

Good night, all.

Love That Dirty Water

This is why I love Boston; why I've loved it since we moved here as newlyweds in 2003:

You know where you stand.

Yeah, the city is awesome and the food is pretty spectacular. (When you can manage to taste it with three babies to support.  Which is not often.  Which makes it even more spectacular.)  The history is obviously incredible with both physical and dramatic portrayals year-round.  The architecture is to die for, and there's a park to play in every five blocks.

But what I love most is the culture, the people.  Yes, you read that correctly.  The people.  The honk-at-you, scream-at-you, flip-you-off people.  Do I enjoy being screamed at while I'm pulled over after a fender bender?  No, of course not.  Do I enjoy being flipped off? No.  (That's why I keep my eyes on the road--so as to not see that wagging finger.  Goodness knows I send them 'awagging everyday.)

Two weeks ago, when all of the Go Boston! social media stuff was floating around, I came across an article.  25, or some odd, Reasons I Love Boston.  The one about our roads was my favorite.  Look at a map of NYC and it's a grid, "So you can get from point A to point B."  Look at a map of Boston proper, it's a mess of jumbled up roads, "Because F* You."  The conditions here are harsh.  The weather, the traffic, the parking, the cost. of. everything, the truly mean people.  I have found there are two types of people in eastern Mass: those who love living here and would die to protect it, and those who hate living here and can't wait for a transfer back out of this place.  In the end, I know this city owes me nothing, and makes no promises to accommodate my desires.  I know where I stand.

Here's the thing:  When I lug my minivan into the city, I am under no delusion that the 625,000 strangers living there like me or will be nice to me.  Maybe you're wondering why this is a good thing?  Well, let's just be honest.  Not until you and I have three, separate, personal interactions can I decide whether or not you are trustworthy and likable.  Why smile and pretend that's not happening?  And if we know we'll never have those three interactions to begin with, why mess with it?  I know it might sound harsh, but it's true that I cannot be a true friend to everyone I pass on the street.  So you keep your eyes on the goal and walk fast.  (Or you will get run over.)

Let's say we make it past first base....When I'm meeting someone new here, I see two critical eyes examining my motives.  And I'm cool with that, because I'm doing the exact same thing.  New Englanders have high outer walls.  The wall says, "I'm busy, I've got people, who are you?"  I think I came out of the womb with that wall around me! (It's called being an introvert.)  This wall is not insurmountable by any means.  But one must be far more serious about scaling it than in other cultures where it's much lower.  A low outer wall often means the inner wall is very high, which can be shocking when the outer wall was so easy and smiley.  But once you get over the high outer wall, you're in.  The inner wall isn't nearly as imposing as the outer.  And that is where our story has a happy ending.

The friends we have made here, who really live here, are incredibly faithful.  It's as if we've made a conscious decision to plant our feet on this historic soil, we've tested one another in the fires of friendship, and now we're good.  We are loyal, and maybe even a little protective.  Because, you know, it's hard living here.  We've got to look out for one another.