My honey came stumbling down the hallway a few minutes ago. Bleary eyed, pajama clad, and very, very confused. The dining room table, though rarely used for actual DINING, is covered this morning in seed packets, starting trays, a gallon sized pitcher of potting soil and the skeletonized remains of a battalion of plastic containers rescued from the recycle bin.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Good morning to you, too, dear. I’m planting things. Want coffee?”
“Coffee? Erm…no. It’s 3:30 in the morning. I want sleep. What are you planting? Besides insomnia?”
He doesn’t really wait for an answer, just lights the propane heater for me, then shuffles a retreat back to the bed, grumbling to no one in particular. Because he knows. He gets me.
He knows I’m not going back to bed. These are generally the day’s most productive hours for me. It’s quiet. Even the chicks in the brooder bin in the floor behind me aren’t stupid enough to be up at this hour. My son is asleep, the inevitably oncoming day’s dose of crazy hasn’t begun yet. It’s just me, my coffee, and my project-of-the-moment. The phone won’t ring, no one is yet bellowing for reinforcements in the endless search for stray belongings, the weeks homework, or sounding the ever popular where-are-all-my-underwear battle cry.
Everybody in the house is still the picture of sleepy sweetness. I can’t NOT love them all right now. Oh, don’t get me wrong…I love them all. All the time. But…Eventually, they’ll wake up. And then they begin to speak. It’s the speaking that does it. It’s always what comes out of the faceholes that is the straw that sends me over the edge. Sometimes, this results in a temporary inability to like them much. Or for them to like me. You see, today brings the weekend.
I like weekends. Really. I like it when my family is home and we do the things and spend the time and be the normal. And sometimes, the weekends bring the guilt. Maybe you know the feeling…you know the one. The “Oh MY LORD, if you ask me one more question, expect me to entertain you one more second of this day, test me to the limits of my patience for all this damned togetherness one more instant – Jeez, is it Monday yet so you people can go back to work and school and stuff other than irritating the ever loving crap out of me….I. AM. FLIPPING. BUSY! forcryingoutloud” feeling? Because the weekend is the rush for me. Not the “work week”. It’s a triathlon racing between the things I know I must get done, and the things I know they (and I) WANT to do.
So I guess the short answer to T’s question this morning is, I’m planting time. And patience. Planting my own sanity. I’m crossing one of the big things on my to-do list that will rent space in my head when they want my time and company and undivided attention. I’m planting the ability to focus. Even if it’s on cuddling with a small manchild (or a big one) in fuzzy socks and giggling over some Netflix nonsense and popcorn. That’s what I’m planting. The veggies and flowers are a by-product.
Good morning everyone! And Happy Weekend!