THROWING IN THE TROWEL

     My grandpa was a backyard gardener extraordinaire. From the 1940s through the 60s, he and Grandma owned a double lot on Century Blvd in Los Angeles. Half of their property was dedicated to the home they raised their eight children in, two small yards edged with flowers, and in the back stood a garage that doubled as Grandpa’s woodworking shop. On the other half of the property Grandpa set aside space for the kids to play and another area for his enormous garden, where he grew a variety of vegetables, including lettuces, radishes, tomatoes, and beets. The lavender tops of his turnips enticed four-year-old me to struggle one from the ground one day. After carefully wiping the root on my dress, I bit into it, only to discover a pungent white flesh and gritty dirt, not the sweetness of the same-purple jellybeans it reminded me of. On warm summer afternoons, the red juice of ripe strawberries flowed down my chin as I snacked from the rows while Grandma filled her basket for fresh strawberry pies.  

     These visions of the perfect garden still dance in my mind fifty-five years later. I have often set out to replicate a small portion of this memory in my own yard. I make several trips to Lowe’s to purchase large bags of soil for my containers and small raised-bed garden. I buy pony packs of tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and melons. I buy enough Cory’s Snail and Slug killer to last the season. I plant. I water. I watch. I watch as my plants disappear one by one to the birds, snails, and bunnies.

     I rejoice when flowers appear on my tomato plants, and when yellow blossoms unfurl on trailing cucumber vines. I despair when those blossoms vanish during the night.

     By the end of the growing season, if any of my plants survive long enough to produce, I serve my family some of the most expensive produce in the county, nay…in the state! My handful of tomatoes, three thin-skinned bell peppers, and two {lemony tasting} cucumbers last summer cost about $55.00 a pound. My biggest success came from three small jalapeno plants, with a few dozen fruits ripening to a sweet heat.

     As spring dictates, this year I made my annual trips to Lowe’s, planted my dream, and have watered, hoped, and watched. But the snails have figured out how to vault over the Corey’s and devour my melon seedlings and basil. Birds pick at my still-green tomatoes.

     As I watered my dwindling garden this morning, I finally accepted what I have known­­­­ all along­­—I’m not a gardener. It’s time I take advantage of the local farmers’ market each week and spend my gardening time {and money} on other activities.

     Oh, I’ll plant sweet peas with my grandkids, and maybe even buy a potted tomato plant from Costco in the spring, but, as much as it pains me to admit, it’s far past time for me to give up my dream of an abundant garden like Grandpa’s.

     And you know what? That’s okay…..

Still looking forward….

Success Breeds Success

As some of you already know, I’m not much of a housekeeper. There are usually dirty dishes waiting in my sink {or on the counter, ugh} and a host of other chores in line behind them. Because of that, I didn’t teach my kids much about keeping up with the constant demands of a home. In that light, this post might not make much sense. But on occasion, the advice herein was relevant even to me.

Laundry Day + Toddlers = Lots of Fun!

Each week, my family of seven generated a mountain of laundry that might have taken me two days to fold, if I could get around to it all. Why else did I have laundry baskets? Chest of drawers? Fahggitabut em. I digress…

I did try to get some folding done, with the help of my little ones. Towels were a good place to start. My toddler searched the basket for washcloths as we chatted about, well...whatever we chat about with a person so new to the world. I especially remember teaching Jae how to fold them. Slowly, I demonstrated folding the square washcloth into neat quarters. With much smoothing of wrinkles [and creation of new wrinkles] Jae carefully spread a cloth on the coffee table {or in my case, tea table…I detest the smell of coffee}, grabbed a corner, pulled it aside, and then bunched it into a ball of constantly changing dimensions. Each cloth, she carefully placed onto a growing—lo­osely configured—pile.

Mission accomplished. Next, we put the towels away {unless something else caught my attention, which happened more often than not—did I mention I’m a bit distractible?}. The under-counter bathroom cabinet was perfectly within my toddler’s reach. After I put the big towels into their space, Jae placed the washcloths next to them. Well, she grabbed a few at a time from the stack (remember, it’s a loosely configured stack) and shoved them in next to the bath towels.

Although I liked the washcloths folded into quarters and placed in two neat stacks alongside the towels, I left the gobs just as Jae put them there. Here’s why…

Bath time.

Jae wanted to do as much by herself as her little two-year-old body would allow. But, I think she didn’t have a two-year-old brain. Being so much younger than her siblings (14, 10, and 8 years), she thought she was much older, and that she should be able to do more than her limited muscle memory allowed. But, back to bath time…warm water covering the bottom quarter of the tub, toys floating, nekked kid antsy to get in….but wait! She needs one more thing, and she can get it by herself. She opens the cabinet and grabs a cloth. From the loosely configured stack.

If I had straightened out the cloths, folded them neatly the way I like them, her job would have been meaningless. I’d have told her by my actions that her job wasn’t good enough.

As we teach our kids the importance of participating in family life and helping to keep hearth and home in order, I think it’s equally important to accept their work at their ability level. Bedspread askew, washcloths in gobs—t­hese things are nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment kids feel when they’ve done a job and the warm glow they feel from your praise of their efforts. {Fear not. Success breeds success. Each time a child­­—or­ grown up, for that matter—wo­rks at a task, they become more proficient at it. The bedspread won't always be askew.}

There’s plenty of time to correct and perfect. It’s a long job, this parenting business.

Still looking forward.......

STOP GROWING!

When I was a girl, my aunts and uncles used to tell me, “You’re growing like a weed!” Annoyed by the comparison to a garden menace, I’d shrug and run outside to play with my cousins. As the next generation of kids were racing through those formative years {as a Wonder Bread commercial called them}, I used that oldie a few times, myself.

 But these days I’m hearing something from parents that I find disconcerting, just a bit. “Will you please stop growing!?”, usually said with a laugh. I’m sure what they really mean is the same thing all of us who have looked on with amazement at the rapidity with which children grow"Oh my! You’re getting so big so fast, I can’t keep up!” {So, why don’t we just say that?}

 In a literal sense, the consequence of compliance with this innocent demand would be dire, indeed. The opposite of growth is stagnation at best, let's not think about the worst.

I wonder….If a child could obey this command, where would that leave us? A perpetual three year old­­­—­or twelve, pick an age­­­­—­never knowing the wonders of the next phase in life? And think of all the joy we would miss out on—­bec­ause ­each stage of development brings its own joys as we help them navigate waters we have already sailed: the sweet toddler, learning about the larger world outside her core family; the preschooler’s emerging sense of humor; in early elementary school, learning to be a partner in the family as he participates in the care and upkeep of the home (okay, okay….. that’s just how I spin chores); junior high brings growing independence and new responsibilities. And high school­­—w­here they can polish their understanding of the world, helping them to form the society we’ll grow old in? We want them to get there, right? They can’t if they “stop growing!” at one of their cutesy stages.

As a parent, when we’ve been blessed to shepherd our sons and daughters into the adult world, we realize new joys, as this person becomes much more than our child. The amalgamated relationship of son/friend or daughter/friend is like entering the "Bonus Round". They see us from a unique perspective. [Sometimes they remember things we’d rather forget, like how we yelled at them for staying out after the street lights came on, or became frustrated while teaching them how to vacuum.]  This is someone who has run the full range of relationship with us. From utter dependence, to student, to antagonistic, to accepting, and finally the greatest blessing that comes from that simple statement, “We’re going to have a baby!”, the child becomes an equal {though never a usurper}, worthy to be called “friend”.

I was blessed with five kids. Each grew up. Each became my friend. Thank God, they didn’t stop growing!

Still looking forward…

Deb

PS…now I teach to vacuum using the analogy of “painting” the floor…..live and {continue to} learn.J