I really should be out in the front yard right now. The winter daphne and pink helleborres, the pale yellow daffodils are all beginning to fade, yet the fluffy white cherry blossoms and my bright tulips are now stealing the show. The native bleeding heart, bluebells and rosemary stand solid in their supporting roles. Sometimes I think: Wouldn't it be great if I could choreograph my life as well as my garden?
I've sat here for the last twenty minutes, trying to share the haphazard mess that was my weekend, so that some bright message might emerge from this. What? I'll save you the rehash and just say that I am glaringly aware these days that life does not seem to be organized in the least. Life feels like a Pollock painting right now--- sblobs and lines and dashes of this and that, all glooped up on each other. I'm not a big fan of Pollock, I'm more of an organized person when it comes to art, and thus, I like life to have a little more delineation and form. Sunday was a lesson in Rolling With The Punches, as I watched my lesson planning time dwindle away due to my husband's beard needing attention (an hour and a half in the bathroom? Seriously, you'd better be building something in there.... Like a new bathroom) and the Easter Bunny. Roast that rabbit, for real. I'm a vegetarian, but I swear, that Bunny better not bring chocolate* to my house again or andouille sausage, here we come.
Monday, too, was another test: How Far Can We Stretch This Day? From getting a fire started first thing in the morning because the oil ran out on Saturday, to reorganizing Kiddo's room so he could start sleeping in it that night (weeks worth of work done in hours), to readying the house for preschool, I kept chugging on until I just couldn't any more. And to that end, I will now have four loads of laundry waiting for me to fold tonight come 7ish. Plus, Kiddo needs a hair wash, so that has to be fit in somewhere.
So, I should be in the garden, but it's drizzly and rainy again. See? Somehow, my timing is off, but I'm still getting it all done. I'll check on our recently planted peas, which we'll train to grow on our forsythia. I've still got time to prune it before the sprouts begin to creep upward on the stick and twine frame below. For now, I think I'm going to make a cup of tea and enjoy the silence while Ang still has Kiddo in his care. Only an hour and seven minutes of "me" time left. There are dishes to do and so much more, but this is the first time I've had to relax on my own since before the weekend. Funny how those things are.
*This was the chocolate that set off the Fred Meyer Freakout, wherein Kiddo tried to climb up his father's leg in the produce section, and when Joe tried to hold him at arm's length, Kiddo tugged away-- face first into a produce sign sticking out, hitting right below his right eye, which became a lovely shade of purple--kind of like my tulips--within minutes.