Skip to main content

The Most Wonderful Season of All...


It's coming.  I can feel it in the air and in my bones.  I'm about to become....a very bad homeschool mom.  My (second) seed order arrived this weekend.  A trailer load of garden mulch is on the horizon.  These sunny days in January are just toying with me, but my bulbs have pushed their green tips to the surface.  And I have gardening on my mind.  All. Day. Long.  

"I have this brilliant idea to move my cucumbers back to the beds along the fence," I confided to my husband earlier today.  His eyes glazed over, and he looked at me like I had spoken in French.  But I don't know French, so it occurred to me that maybe he really didn't care where I planted the cucumbers.  The fence is really a great spot for them though, and in my small worldview, a very exciting breakthrough.  Thank you for listening.  I needed somebody to be fake excited with me.  

I turned the compost bin yesterday and saw lots of worms.  I love my worms.  Please don't tell the cool kids.  

A neighbor is bringing aged horse manure.  My life keeps getting better!  

Now that we have a massive garden space, fence, and decent garden soil, I am giddy to get my fingernails dirty.  Which brings me back to my first point.  I'm becoming a very bad example of a teacher for my homeschooler.  It's the reason I didn't get teacher of the year last year.  Which is kind of crap because I was the only teacher on the ballot.  Politics.  Those homeschool kids are tough.  

I need rain, lots of cold, sleety rain.  It's the only cure to keep me focused.  

Although, seed starting happens indoors, so...      

I can't help myself! 

P.S. What are you planting?  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sheltering in Place

In the past three months Corona Virus has more or less turned the world on its head.  I feel almost guilty for not being more stressed or put out by the whole thing.  We have been extremely fortunate. What we thought was a most impractical move on our part, wound up being a huge blessing.  With our two boys and our two newborns, we moved out of our house with no yard in the city limits and into my parents' house in the country while waiting for our new house to be completed.  The weekend we moved "quarantine," "social distancing," and "shelter in place" became the new mantra of our state.   Moving in with my parents meant ten plus acres of play space and two extra able bodied adults to help even out the score with the four kids.  Win for the St. Clair's!  Unfortunately, my parents are beginning to realize they may have made an error in judgement.   Yesterday, Sawyer gave their cat swimming lessons.   Last week th...

Bump in the Road

 If your kids aren't annoying you at least occasionally, then they probably aren't doing childhood right.  Ours are winning at childhood.  Actually, we came to the conclusion the other day that if they are annoying you all the time, then you probably aren't doing parenting right.  And when I say "you," I mean "we."   We weren't enjoying our kids recently, and we wondered if that meant other people were also finding them unenjoyable.  It made us finally pause and take a long hard look at what was bugging us about our kids.  We felt like we were in a perpetual state of irritation.  Once we made our list, and it was lengthy, we noticed a theme: attention.  Our kids were begging for our attention with every behavior.  It was annoying, but it was our fault, and it was fixable.   We started putting down phones and brooms and laundry and giving undivided and intentional focus to our kids throughout the day.  It wasn't a huge...

Advanced Placement

 Not to brag or anything, but I think we are raising some very advanced children.  At two-years-of-age, our girls have already worked out the art of manipulation and deflection.  It's the antithesis of endearing.   They went missing the other day - the girls did.  That's never a good situation.  They were in the house, and I knew they were in the house, but I couldn't see or hear them.  Silence is the loudest alarm system.  Fischer took action and found them both in my bathroom.   "MOM!" I met them in the hall.  Carter was covered in clumps and blobs of hand cream. "Emi did it," was her unsolicited response.   "No," I told her.  "I think you  did it." That night I got ready for bed and pulled out my one "self-care" splurge - my face cream .  It was in my drawer where I always keep it.  The lid was screwed on.  And it was empty, wiped clean.  "EmmmeerrrrrSON!" Guilty.  They were both ...