How Does My Garden Grow?

When you have kids, you have to do things you don’t want to do. You just have to. You have to read the same bedtime book over and over. You have to brush Barbie’s knotted, ratty hair. You have to search for itty-bitty-teenie-tiny Legos under the couch. You have to go bowling (I hate bowling) and ride roller coasters (I actually love roller coasters so I’m cool with this one).

But recently I had to do something I really didn’t want to do. Gardening.

Grady: Mom, can we plant a garden? You know, just in case we need to live off the land?

A garden? You think I hate doing laundry? Wait til you see me kneeling out in the dirt with the bugs and a bunch of temperamental herbs. Wait til you hear the profanities that fly out of my mouth when I try to figure out the sprinklers. Oh, and I have to WAIT for it to grow? Awesome. I have the patience of a teething two-year-old.

Me: Hmmm, a garden. I’ll look into it.

After two weeks of praying that Grady would forget about the garden, I realized this is just another one of those things I’m gonna have to do. So I went to Home Depot and bought ten bags of their finest gardening soil. I stocked up on little potted plants, some rakes and hoes and a forky-looking thing. I even bought a lemon tree.

Grady was a champ. He spent 6 hours in the hottest sun you can imagine helping me make the garden a reality. He never complained once. And I never not-complained once.

Grady: Gardening isn’t easy, Mom. You really gotta put your back into it.

When it was all finished, we jumped in the pool with our sweaty, dirty clothes on. Ahhh. Grady and I rested our chins on the side of the pool staring out at our beautiful new garden. Then Hammy ran over and peed on it.



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