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Stupidity Payment

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ouchie

As the clock ticks down to Baby Q’s arrival, I have a million things left to get planted. I watered for hours yesterday to loosen the soil and today is the big day of mass planting.

However… I made the fatal error of roto-tilling barefoot last week… and destroyed my left baby toe. Everything was going along perfectly… the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was approaching my last pass of the heirloom tomato garden, when I hit a buried plastic pipe, the tiller yanked forward and I stepped right on the pipe I’d just sharpened with the rotating steel blades.

Ya know when something hurts so badly so immediately that you know you’ve really done some damage? Yeah… that’s what it was like.

I flipped the choke on the tiller and stood in shocked silence for a moment, immediately gripped by a stress-contraction. Even little Quinn knew to remind me to go inside, immediately. It takes a lot to make me cry, and I hobbled/waddled over to the outside water faucet to rinse off the dirt and survey the damage. Icy cold water hit like a second stab from the pipe and the water ran red for too long. I knew I was in trouble and I knew I needed to go inside and have my Little Red take a look.

Therein lies the real problem of hurting the bottom of your foot when you’re 9 months pregnant. You can’t even see it to know how bad it is.

I tracked blood across the patio and in through the kitchen, and started to panic a little when I saw how much there still was. I’m days away from delivery and my first concern, as always; is with my children.

Little Red followed me worriedly to the bathroom and had me lift my foot. Her eyes widened and she told me we needed to go to the emergency room. She’s not a kid that worries unnecessarily, so when she says it’s time to go, it’s solid advice. Being the impatient person I am, I wrapped a trash bag around my poor foot and hobbled out to the car. She insisted on calling people, I insisted she get in and buckle up.

Now the funny thing about being so roundly pregnant, is that people MOVE when you walk in to the emergency room. It was the shortest trip I’ve ever had through the ER and the most pleasant as well. They not only move, they take care to make sure you’re resting comfortably and don’t need anything else they never offer you when you are not with child.

I’m not a fan of needles. I don’t like shots at all. I am anti-vaccination…. but I know I’m due a tetanus shot. My darling daughter is raising an eyebrow at me as I negotiate my way out of one until after the baby. I’ve been with my attorney all afternoon and some of his argumentative nature has clearly worn off. My daughter is shaking her head at me while the tiny daughter in my belly kicks happily.

My doc walks in and smiles at me, joining in the head shaking.

D- Flip flops?

J- No… worse. Barefoot.

D- In the dirt?

J- Oh you haven’t lived if you’ve never walked barefoot through the freshly tilled soil… but yeah… perhaps wait until you’re done tilling.

We went through the options and I could see the loophole he was offering.

D- Well you’re really looking at a serious amount of stitches to put all these layers back together. It’s also going to hurt pretty bad for me to numb it.

I see him eye my belly warily and know a window worth climbing through when I see one.

J- It seems to just lie together nicely when you don’t mess with it, couldn’t it just heal on it’s own with a little love and care?

My daughter is wide eyed and her mouth is hanging open.

D- I think it just might. I could glue most of it to hold it while it heals, and you could keep it bandaged, clean and dry and it may heal even better that way.

J- Ohhh…. clean and dry may pose a problem. Could I wrap a bag around it to finish gardening?

D- Actually yes, that’s a great idea! Just make sure to take a lot of breaks and keep it from getting sweaty. It also appears to be broken… so that may slow you down.

I assure him I’ll do my best, the lovely nurse comes in to clean and bandage it, and we are on our way back home in under two hours. I walked in to the house, mopped up the blood, wrapped a bag around my freshly bandaged foot and headed back out to the garden… while my disgruntled teenager followed me, chastising all the way.

The garden got mulched, the beets got watered and I managed to ruin my new bandage in under an hour while my little nurse clucked her disapproval.

Old habits die hard… but at least I’m forced to keep my shoes on these days. The garden is close to being completely planted and despite my ever-growing baby belly- I’ve learned how to reapply the dressing in the last week…

Today: the potatoes get planted, tomorrow the flowers and hopefully in the next two weeks: a tiny baby girl will join us to make our family complete ♥

The Anti-Farmer

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Who needs internet dating, all you really need is a giant garden bordered on one side by the road.

Boobs, sundress, tattoos… and they drop like flies neatly along my fence line.

I spent 10 hours in the garden yesterday, with the sunburn to show for it; and it was insanity. The women smile and wave, generally saying something nice about my garden or muttering about my mental stability under their breath.

The men stop.

The older retired set compliment me on being a good woman, and we chat for a while about how women don’t grow their own food anymore and how sad that is. He leaves with more compliments, referring to me as Sugar, Honey, or Sweetheart as he walks away. He always tells me he’ll be back when the tomatoes are ripe… and he always is. I have at least a dozen older neighbors that wave dollar bills over the fence every September.

The married men… and these are the worst. The big bad wolves of the neighborhood. I could tell you every single husband that cheats on his wife within a mile of my house. They leer at me. they make comments about my appearance. They start running daily during garden season. They come late afternoon to catch me rinsing off. I know these things because they tell me. Eww. There’s really nothing worse than being hit on by a guy, only to sit next to his wife at PTA meetings. Some men are just snakes…

The boyfriends… and these are the best. They talk about their girlfriend’s garden and ask me for garden advice or just tell me they think the garden is beautiful. They usually make the effort to stand my fence up a little straighter too. They’re the good guys, the helpers. Aw. There’s about one a week, so don’t get too excited.

The single men. The most challenging. Don’t get me wrong- I’ll be damn happy if my very own Prince Charming walks up to the fence to hand me a shiny 3 carat princess diamond. Yeah, sign me up- but it just isn’t that easy. These men range from absolutely repulsive to hot 23 year old half naked college student home for the summer. It’s either light hearted flirtation with a side of compliments- or outright whistling, followed by a request for my number.

With a nice exception yesterday.

I was roasting in the mid-morning sunshine. Spreading newspaper and straw mulch in between the rows to keep the weeds at bay. I’m determined to pull off this garden and work full time, and enjoy the summer with my daughter. I’m trying to cover as many bases as I can to make this as easy as possible. I heard someone at the fence and looked up.

Bald.

I laugh at myself because it’s the first thing I notice and acknowledge it silently in my head. I start walking over, smiling and melting at the same time.

Cute.

He’s cute, cute. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before. I’m not sure. Damn cute though- granted his shiny head is only helping him with me. What a weakness… good Lord.

C- Hey, this is quite a garden you have here. Is it a city project?

J- Nope, just mine.

C- Well it’s beautiful and I love the round paths, it’s very feminine.

J- I suppose that happens when there’s not a man demanding straight rows? I like it curvy.

C- It looks that way. Here’s my card, I just moved to town and I’d love to help sometime if you want. I’d like to know what makes an anti-farmer start farming.

J- An anti-farmer?

C- Clearly you’re a girlie girl, but with tattoos and 8 times an average vegetable garden?

J- Pretty much.

C- Call me if you want, I want to know more.

He smiled and jogged off and I laughed…

Perhaps I should make a poster and announce it to the masses. I’m not dating… which is precisely when they all come flying at you. I’m too happy not dating, though I’m definitely wound tightly. My life is a douche bag free zone. It’s complication free, stress free and happy. My biggest concern is a slug eating my cucumber plants. I have a new job I’m really excited about.

I have time with my daughter and my garden is going in quicker than ever before this year. I’m moving my own mountains, instead of wasting time getting my feelings hurt. I crave bad habits like everybody- but I’m finally at a point that the cost is too high for me to consider. I know that I can’t have what I really want in my life if I’m wasting time doing what I know doesn’t work.

Tempting… oh so tempting… but no.

I have tomatoes to plant. A fence to rebuild (ugh…) a yard sale to put together, a new job, etc… I don’t have time for a potential douche bag- so as sweet as they all are- and as easy as it is in the garden.

I’m throwing the number away. Sigh.

I know myself too well…. and he’s gonna look better and better while I’m doing that fence.

My Everyday Fairytale

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For as much as I bitch and whine… I have a beautiful life.

Anything can be better, but when faced with the reality of my day to day existence… I smile.

I miss my son like I’d miss air if I were drowning. I’ve learned to compartmentalize it because there’s simply nothing else I can do. I miss him, I love him, and I respect his teenagehood. I hated my mother when I was his age. I love her now. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

It’s my day off today, and I woke up late from a divinely delicious dream. I woke up smiling, which I do 90% of the time. Either at my darling girl or at the day facing me. I love my job, I love my coworkers and my tomatoes started to sprout yesterday.

I woke up to a call from my darling Miss Harley which turned into a stomach-aching giggle-fest. Laughing over boys and how silly they are. Laughing at ourselves while we’re at it.

I decided to make myself a latte and sit in the greenhouse with the stack of pages I’ve written so far, and realizing for the first time that it’s not hard to read about my trip to Puerto Rico anymore. I was batshit crazy in love with him, and it was delightful. I don’t regret it or begrudge myself the guilty pleasure.

It was bubblegum ice cream delicious. I’m at my best when I’m in love. You can’t help but have a good day around me when I’m infatuated- it’s a contact high, to put it mildly. I bake cupcakes, I sew cool shit, I knit a blue streak… I garden. I am happiest when I’m in super girlfriend mode. It’s ridiculously codependent, but it’s true.

I’ve kicked my bad habit, sigh… I’ve waved goodbye to Flintstone and I haven’t really checked my internet dating email since one of my best friend’s ex-husbands emailed me to proposition me. I feel a little dirty making fun of someone for my own entertainment. Even if it is incredibly easy. … …. and fun. Chances are good I’m going to do it again. Purely to avoid fully embracing my role as the cat lady in the neighborhood.

I rolled over to a love note from my little red… with a Reese’s peanut butter cup. My favorite…. and how can any day be anything less than perfect when you start it with peanut butter and chocolate. Seriously.

It’s sunny and bright and I have broccoli to plant and a whole day to get a tan. I throw my bathrobe over the speaker and get to planting… in black panties and garden gloves. Welcome to the beauty of single womanhood. I can plant to my favorite music, in my panties with a mimosa and my shiny purple nitrile gloves the Easter Bunny brought me. Life is beautiful.

Randomly deciding to take thai food to school and have lunch with my daughter- a treat for myself and her… and we both are addicted to the red curry. Giggling with her and her friends over the boys being so weird <and resisting the urge to tell them nothing changes in 20 years… this day is perfect with a side of laughter. One of her friends asks me if I’m her sister, lol… we laughed all the way down the hall and I kissed her cute face on a day I ordinarily wouldn’t see her. AMEN.

Oh and just when things are going swimmingly…

A bad habit sighting… and regardless of the horrible way he treats me… I swallow hard when I’m not expecting to see him. They should make a patch to shake a bad man habit… Trans-dermal crack? I don’t know… I hate being betrayed by my body, and that’s what he inspires. I hate it. I’m craving him, I hate that I have to admit it, but it’s true. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I bolted, drove home and changed into garden gear. Facing the music in the overgrown garden that is the penance I so deserve after abandoning it last summer…well… SUCKS. I’m covering it with landscape cloth to burn off the weeds before I plant. My asparagus is coming up 🙂

The worms are 15″ long at least and things are looking like a beautiful year for a beautiful garden. I’m really truly centered and happy in my giant ridiculously overwhelmingly massive garden. It’s round. It’s beautiful. It’s me. Spending my off time with my feet in the dirt makes me a million times happier than spending them in a bar or on a date.

I poured myself a cocktail, took the price tag off my new wheelbarrow that my mama gave me as an Easter basket… and went out to face the music. Oy…

But… even the worst challenge in the garden beats the worst date. It beats Thomas. It makes me feel better, carves my body into summer hot and makes me smile to my toes.

I have fingerling potatoes planted… Rose Finn Apple and Russian Banana… with more on the way. I planted my French shallots.

I broke in my new garden gloves and broke out of my winter funk. I’m happy. Really, really happy.

I’ve been through hell, and I’ve proven that I should not be the one to choose who I’ll date- so it’s up to my friends from now on. I’m not picking again. I have horrible judgment and horrible taste. I’d rather take a year long sabbatical from men entirely, if given the option.

My seeds are sprouting. My garden is on it’s way. I found 2 newts in the cardboard pile today. I’m so delighted with the simple details that surround me that I don’t feel lonely. I watched a dozen stupid movies this week and slept like a baby. I made the perfect mustache cake. I was a mom hero for the birthday party. My darling MSOK made us all look like a million dollars in big hair, which I’ve found I love.

Life is good… and even without a Prince? It’s a pretty sweet fairytale in and of itself.

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