I haven't talked about our garden much lately. Mostly because I'm embarrassed. I just managed to kill a zucchini plant. You know how hard it is to do that?
Meanwhile, I've been hacking away at the weeds in the fourth garden box in order to plant some cucumber plant seedlings that David has nurtured on our back deck. Nurtured, just to hand them over to me so that I can kill them, too.
I know, it's a special talent of mine.
I read Square-Foot Gardening years ago; and I persist in the delusion that this method will work for me. All around me are plots which are now sporting rows of lush vegetation of the non-weed variety. Thick bushy tomato plants staked to poles, crowded beds of lettuce, stands of basil - it looks like the Garden of Eden before the Fall. In the midst of it all is my anal-looking Square-Foot demo garden, with 6 4-foot by 4-foot regulation garden boxes, 2 of which are filled with weeds that are growing with a frightening velocity toward the sky (think Jack and the Beanstalk). The 4 cultivated (barely) boxes look pathetic, with their dying basil, the already dead zucchini plant, and a bunch of tomato seedlings which, while not dying, are not exactly thriving either. It all looks like a botanical practical joke. In fact, I feel like the class clown of the community gardens.
And, yet, I can't give up. I have young children who do not realize that the visions of copious amounts of produce that dance through their heads will never be realized. Who do not understand that, merely by suggesting we grow things in the garden this year, their mother has essentially lied to them. Because she knew that success would be a chimera, a tantalizing pot of gold at the end of a blood, sweat, and tears rainbow. These trusting innocents still believe, gosh darn it, despite all evidence to the contrary, that we will end up with market baskets full of edibles; and who am I to destroy their dream? No, as long as they believe, I must continue this charade of horticultural competence. I'm just praying for an act of God (earthquake, twister, whatever) to come along and destroy our work before the kids realize it was all for nought anyway.
But, I swear, if I read one more blog with people showing off photos of their gardening successes (Barb), I may have to quit the blogosphere until the first frost. Talk about salt in my wounds...
Showing posts with label Gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gardening. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
To-Do List
Google Search of the Day: "teenage girl in poopy diapers"
Maybe I won't complain about my teen daughter Anna anymore. At least she's potty trained, right?
In case you wonder what I do all day:
1. Get up (very important, but much harder than it looks)
2. Shower and dress
3. Check blogs (also very important, though I don't know why)
4. Feed children breakfast so they'll stop whining
5. Remember that we have to do our yearly standardized tests.
6. Look for standardized tests, always a time-consuming activity.
7. Inflict said tests on 2 little boys.
8. Check blogs again (why not?)
9. Cast on for the first of a pair of socks (3rd try, due to needle size and gauge issues). Completing these socks has become a point of honor. I will finish them or die trying.
10. Feed children lunch early, as my dental appointment is at 12:45 on June 4th.
11. Realize that today is not June 4th. I've spent the entire morning dreading a root canal that is not happening for another week.
12. Check blogs (because I can).
13. Go to garden with kids. Water things. Dig up some humongo weeds. Wonder just how much our garden plot neighbors hate us.
14. Reward the kids with McDonald's sundaes (they finished this year's math). Susie gets one, too. She says, "Now I don't have to poop in the potty to have ice cream!" Back to square one on toilet training, apparently.
15. Prep dinner.
16. Check blogs (don't want to miss anything).
17. Take all 3 girls to Payless Shoes so Anna can find appropriate footwear for her Easter/recital dress. Shoes are found, thanks be to God. Anna smiles and laughs on the way home. Will miracles never cease?
16. Take little girls to playground. Try to knit while there. Yeah, right.
17. Drive Theo to bus. Realize for the first time that he has started shaving. The world suddenly reverses its direction of rotation. Concentrate on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
18. Cook dinner. I hate dinner.
19. Feed family. Minor crisis because Larry mistakenly bought watermelon with seeds in it. Gaaah! Much wailing and gnashing of teeth ensues.
20. Clean pots, bathe children, quickly, quickly. Must. Go. To. Knit. Night.
Pretty impressive, right? Now you know why I get paid the big bucks...
Maybe I won't complain about my teen daughter Anna anymore. At least she's potty trained, right?
In case you wonder what I do all day:
1. Get up (very important, but much harder than it looks)
2. Shower and dress
3. Check blogs (also very important, though I don't know why)
4. Feed children breakfast so they'll stop whining
5. Remember that we have to do our yearly standardized tests.
6. Look for standardized tests, always a time-consuming activity.
7. Inflict said tests on 2 little boys.
8. Check blogs again (why not?)
9. Cast on for the first of a pair of socks (3rd try, due to needle size and gauge issues). Completing these socks has become a point of honor. I will finish them or die trying.
10. Feed children lunch early, as my dental appointment is at 12:45 on June 4th.
11. Realize that today is not June 4th. I've spent the entire morning dreading a root canal that is not happening for another week.
12. Check blogs (because I can).
13. Go to garden with kids. Water things. Dig up some humongo weeds. Wonder just how much our garden plot neighbors hate us.
14. Reward the kids with McDonald's sundaes (they finished this year's math). Susie gets one, too. She says, "Now I don't have to poop in the potty to have ice cream!" Back to square one on toilet training, apparently.
15. Prep dinner.
16. Check blogs (don't want to miss anything).
17. Take all 3 girls to Payless Shoes so Anna can find appropriate footwear for her Easter/recital dress. Shoes are found, thanks be to God. Anna smiles and laughs on the way home. Will miracles never cease?
16. Take little girls to playground. Try to knit while there. Yeah, right.
17. Drive Theo to bus. Realize for the first time that he has started shaving. The world suddenly reverses its direction of rotation. Concentrate on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
18. Cook dinner. I hate dinner.
19. Feed family. Minor crisis because Larry mistakenly bought watermelon with seeds in it. Gaaah! Much wailing and gnashing of teeth ensues.
20. Clean pots, bathe children, quickly, quickly. Must. Go. To. Knit. Night.
Pretty impressive, right? Now you know why I get paid the big bucks...
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Free At Last!
That's how I feel, anyway, after spending 4 months trying to clear my account at my local diabolical library. Today I was able to walk in there with my head held high and check out books on my own - no need to be debriefed by the librarian about which items are still missing and how many overdue fines I still need to pay. My account wasn't "blocked," my fine was at an acceptable level (you didn't think I would have nothing to pay whatsoever, did you?), and no one looked at me as though they wanted fingerprints.
If our country ever turns into a police state, I swear, those librarians will be the first on board. Don't mess with 'em.
2 years ago, it seemed to me to be a good idea to rent an organic community garden plot down the road from our house. You can read about that here. Although we have had 2 relatively unsuccessful growing seasons (for which we pay 48 dollars each), hope springs eternal in my plant-killing breast; so I insisted that Larry cough up the cash yet again this year for our rather unproductive piece of earth. Being a wise man, he complied; he knows better than to try to confront me with reality.
I didn't manage to get out there in February, as I had planned, and clear out all the dead weeds before they sprang to life again; after all, it is an entire half mile down the road. So, when the children and I arrived at the plot in late April, we were greeted by a scene reminiscent, say, of an Amazonian jungle. I'm surprised there weren't monkeys swinging from weedtop to weedtop. After some effort, we were able to locate the approximate locations of the 6 planting boxes my husband had so lovingly installed for me back in 2006; and we proceeded to hack our way through the undergrowth (where is a machete when you need one, anyway?) in order to clear some space for planting. No poison allowed, remember - these are organic plots.
So now, after several sessions of weed pulling and soil-turning, we have 2 (count them, 2) 4x4 boxes cleared of weeds, surrounded by a sea of unwanted (but organic) vegetation (including a couple of small trees). The compost pile is in there somewhere. I had a picture to show you, but now Blogger isn't letting me upload any more images. I'll try to add it later.
This is not our plot. It is one of the gardens near ours. They are all, apparently, green-thumb overachievers. And we are the white trash of the community garden plot world.
I wish I could show you the other pictures. One garden has a grape arbor in it. Another has a small pond and cute little figurines. Ours has a trash bag, some old windows I dreamed of making into a cold frame, and a forgotten bag of topsoil. And the weeds, of course. Our gardening neighbors must hate us. In an eco-friendly way, of course...
If our country ever turns into a police state, I swear, those librarians will be the first on board. Don't mess with 'em.
2 years ago, it seemed to me to be a good idea to rent an organic community garden plot down the road from our house. You can read about that here. Although we have had 2 relatively unsuccessful growing seasons (for which we pay 48 dollars each), hope springs eternal in my plant-killing breast; so I insisted that Larry cough up the cash yet again this year for our rather unproductive piece of earth. Being a wise man, he complied; he knows better than to try to confront me with reality.
I didn't manage to get out there in February, as I had planned, and clear out all the dead weeds before they sprang to life again; after all, it is an entire half mile down the road. So, when the children and I arrived at the plot in late April, we were greeted by a scene reminiscent, say, of an Amazonian jungle. I'm surprised there weren't monkeys swinging from weedtop to weedtop. After some effort, we were able to locate the approximate locations of the 6 planting boxes my husband had so lovingly installed for me back in 2006; and we proceeded to hack our way through the undergrowth (where is a machete when you need one, anyway?) in order to clear some space for planting. No poison allowed, remember - these are organic plots.
So now, after several sessions of weed pulling and soil-turning, we have 2 (count them, 2) 4x4 boxes cleared of weeds, surrounded by a sea of unwanted (but organic) vegetation (including a couple of small trees). The compost pile is in there somewhere. I had a picture to show you, but now Blogger isn't letting me upload any more images. I'll try to add it later.
This is not our plot. It is one of the gardens near ours. They are all, apparently, green-thumb overachievers. And we are the white trash of the community garden plot world.
I wish I could show you the other pictures. One garden has a grape arbor in it. Another has a small pond and cute little figurines. Ours has a trash bag, some old windows I dreamed of making into a cold frame, and a forgotten bag of topsoil. And the weeds, of course. Our gardening neighbors must hate us. In an eco-friendly way, of course...
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Nightmare in Target
I went with Anna to Target today (whoa! big surprise there!), because her very existence depended on her finding something new to wear and my very existence depended on my tracking down a certain skirt I spotted on Big Mama's Fashion Friday - a skirt that would actually reach almost mid-calf. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't think most women in their forties look too good in skirts that show their knees, or that wrinkled skin above the knees, or (heaven forbid) their thighs. Just sayin'...
So, anyway, I found the skirt (miracles never cease, and if you go looking for it, please note that the sizes are way off - size down) and headed for the dressing room, where the old ladies in charge look at me suspiciously every single time I walk in there with (gasp!) clothing to try on. Entering my little cubicle (it's time to start the scary music now), I did not realize, as I prepared to try on the Skirt of Wonders, that there were 2 (count them, 2) full-length mirrors in the room, facing each other. (Crescendo)
Folks, I believe this room would be perfect for concerned relatives to hold Weight Watchers interventions for family fatties. I was treated to a full, uncensored view of the backs of my legs and butt (and boy, am I grateful for this blog's "no-photo" policy); 6 pregnancies have not been kind to the veins in my legs (to put it very mildly), and apparently, no one has notified the backs of my thighs that I am near my goal weight. In desperation (and avoidance), I moved my eyes upward for relief and saw the backs of my arms - only, they weren't my arms, they were some old lady's arms. If I hadn't been half-naked, I would have run out of there screaming at that point.
Where did all those folds of skin above my elbows come from? Was there some sort of exercise I was supposed to be doing all these years to prevent those? Why didn't somebody tell me?
The skirt looked nice, though. Thank goodness for clothes - it is beyond me why anyone would want to live in a nudist colony. Oh, and you ladies know that trick where you sort of pull the skin up on your thighs to see if you'd look better with a little liposuction? It makes the veins stand out more.
At that point, if I hadn't had my new haircut to save some tattered shreds of my self-esteem, impaling myself on one of those cheap plastic hangers would probably have seemed like a good idea....
I would like to stop discussing this now. Instead, I will wonder why, when David and I finally visited our (grossly neglected) community garden plot yesterday evening and discovered a veritable jungle of weeds, the words "poison ivy" never popped into my head. Because I am certainly thinking them now, as I sit up at 4 AM, blogging and trying to ignore the way my forearms are itching. I'm not sure weeding that plot by hand will be the way to go this year. I'm thinking a flamethrower may be a reasonable alternative. That is, after we subdue the growth a bit with a (long-handled) machete. And some napalm...
So, anyway, I found the skirt (miracles never cease, and if you go looking for it, please note that the sizes are way off - size down) and headed for the dressing room, where the old ladies in charge look at me suspiciously every single time I walk in there with (gasp!) clothing to try on. Entering my little cubicle (it's time to start the scary music now), I did not realize, as I prepared to try on the Skirt of Wonders, that there were 2 (count them, 2) full-length mirrors in the room, facing each other. (Crescendo)
Folks, I believe this room would be perfect for concerned relatives to hold Weight Watchers interventions for family fatties. I was treated to a full, uncensored view of the backs of my legs and butt (and boy, am I grateful for this blog's "no-photo" policy); 6 pregnancies have not been kind to the veins in my legs (to put it very mildly), and apparently, no one has notified the backs of my thighs that I am near my goal weight. In desperation (and avoidance), I moved my eyes upward for relief and saw the backs of my arms - only, they weren't my arms, they were some old lady's arms. If I hadn't been half-naked, I would have run out of there screaming at that point.
Where did all those folds of skin above my elbows come from? Was there some sort of exercise I was supposed to be doing all these years to prevent those? Why didn't somebody tell me?
The skirt looked nice, though. Thank goodness for clothes - it is beyond me why anyone would want to live in a nudist colony. Oh, and you ladies know that trick where you sort of pull the skin up on your thighs to see if you'd look better with a little liposuction? It makes the veins stand out more.
At that point, if I hadn't had my new haircut to save some tattered shreds of my self-esteem, impaling myself on one of those cheap plastic hangers would probably have seemed like a good idea....
I would like to stop discussing this now. Instead, I will wonder why, when David and I finally visited our (grossly neglected) community garden plot yesterday evening and discovered a veritable jungle of weeds, the words "poison ivy" never popped into my head. Because I am certainly thinking them now, as I sit up at 4 AM, blogging and trying to ignore the way my forearms are itching. I'm not sure weeding that plot by hand will be the way to go this year. I'm thinking a flamethrower may be a reasonable alternative. That is, after we subdue the growth a bit with a (long-handled) machete. And some napalm...
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Of Kids and Zucchinis
I was having one of those lovely moments with my 2 little girls the other day. I actually forgot about the housework and the unpacking (yes, we're still living with boxes all around) and sat down to just cuddle them in the armchair. Lovely...until Rachel affectionately confided in me, "Mommy, you look just like a grandma!" This move is taking its toll, apparently.
Larry just returned from yet another working retreat. He had a bag of potato chips and a bag of pretzels in his luggage. "Oh, we just had a little party," he claims innocently.
Now he is up in the attic attempting to install some space-age-looking radiant something-or-other that is supposed to lower the heat in the attic by thirty degrees. Looks like a big roll of tinfoil to me. David's eyeing it jealously - I think he wants to use it to build a space shuttle.
I sure hope Theo remembers to return from camp. No one here has had a decent meal since he left. I just keep throwing some form of bread and cheese at the hungry hordes (pizza, quesadillas, grilled cheese) and they stay happy. This can't be healthy. Theo reports that all is quiet at camp, aside from various unexplained fires - including one melted toilet seat in the campers' latrine. I'd like to point out that girl scout camps do not have this problem. Girl Scouts only light fires to cook s'mores.
In case anyone is wondering how the garden is doing this year, I was wondering the same thing. Somehow, I haven't found time in the past month or so to go check on it (yes, it's only half a mile down the road - but multiply that by several children and it makes it much farther). Anyway, since today was predicted to be in the 90's, I decided that it would be a great time to mosey on down (with the 4 youngest in tow - Larry was working) and see if anything was still alive. We found the tomatoes desperately trying to bear fruit while being strangled by morning-glory vines, the basil throwing in the towel and going to seed, and the zucchini thriving on the neglect (are we sure zucchini aren't weeds?). I immediately threw myself into trying to rescue the tomato plants while urging the children to go for water (and hurry!), for all the world as if I were a trained EMT happening upon a train wreck. (That might make a good TV show for hapless gardeners like me - Gardener 911 or Plant EMT.) The kids were extremely excited to discover the 4 baseball-bat-sized zucchini in the plot. We ended up spending almost an hour there (Susie only cried for the last 30 minutes or so), and I think we managed to convince the basil to hang in there and we propped up the thirsty, traumatized tomatoes and we gave everyone a good drink. So maybe we'll have a successful summer - if I ever make it back there again. Stay tuned...
I get to host the neighborhood Bunko club here tomorrow night. Yes, I'm turning our new house into a suburban gambling den. I hope everyone likes the stacked-boxes look - it's the latest thing in interior decorating...and so inexpensive!
Anna hates me. Oh, but you knew that already. So did I, actually. But she keeps repeating it to me, so I thought I would repeat it to you.
That's all my addled brain can remember to report - someone out there write to me - I want to know what people with normal lives are doing.
Larry just returned from yet another working retreat. He had a bag of potato chips and a bag of pretzels in his luggage. "Oh, we just had a little party," he claims innocently.
Now he is up in the attic attempting to install some space-age-looking radiant something-or-other that is supposed to lower the heat in the attic by thirty degrees. Looks like a big roll of tinfoil to me. David's eyeing it jealously - I think he wants to use it to build a space shuttle.
I sure hope Theo remembers to return from camp. No one here has had a decent meal since he left. I just keep throwing some form of bread and cheese at the hungry hordes (pizza, quesadillas, grilled cheese) and they stay happy. This can't be healthy. Theo reports that all is quiet at camp, aside from various unexplained fires - including one melted toilet seat in the campers' latrine. I'd like to point out that girl scout camps do not have this problem. Girl Scouts only light fires to cook s'mores.
In case anyone is wondering how the garden is doing this year, I was wondering the same thing. Somehow, I haven't found time in the past month or so to go check on it (yes, it's only half a mile down the road - but multiply that by several children and it makes it much farther). Anyway, since today was predicted to be in the 90's, I decided that it would be a great time to mosey on down (with the 4 youngest in tow - Larry was working) and see if anything was still alive. We found the tomatoes desperately trying to bear fruit while being strangled by morning-glory vines, the basil throwing in the towel and going to seed, and the zucchini thriving on the neglect (are we sure zucchini aren't weeds?). I immediately threw myself into trying to rescue the tomato plants while urging the children to go for water (and hurry!), for all the world as if I were a trained EMT happening upon a train wreck. (That might make a good TV show for hapless gardeners like me - Gardener 911 or Plant EMT.) The kids were extremely excited to discover the 4 baseball-bat-sized zucchini in the plot. We ended up spending almost an hour there (Susie only cried for the last 30 minutes or so), and I think we managed to convince the basil to hang in there and we propped up the thirsty, traumatized tomatoes and we gave everyone a good drink. So maybe we'll have a successful summer - if I ever make it back there again. Stay tuned...
I get to host the neighborhood Bunko club here tomorrow night. Yes, I'm turning our new house into a suburban gambling den. I hope everyone likes the stacked-boxes look - it's the latest thing in interior decorating...and so inexpensive!
Anna hates me. Oh, but you knew that already. So did I, actually. But she keeps repeating it to me, so I thought I would repeat it to you.
That's all my addled brain can remember to report - someone out there write to me - I want to know what people with normal lives are doing.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Keep The Home Fires Burning
Well, that was a close one. Our oven caught fire again and for a few minutes I was debating evacuating everyone. The heating element is definitely ruined. I remember replacing it 5 years ago for a similar reason. Maybe I should just buy extra and have them on hand. Or maybe I should clean my oven so gunk on the bottom wouldn't catch fire. Nah. Life is more exciting this way.
I'm in the throes of a knitting obsession. There are little bags of yarn and needles all over the house, and tangled skeins that the children have gotten into are scattered willy-nilly all over the floor. I don't know why I'm obsessed; perhaps because I can knit something and it stays knit. Well, unless Susie gets hold of it before I bind off. Anyway, I've promised Brian a red hat, and David a variegated hat, and I've got my eye on a feathery blue scarf for Anna. And I've promised myself a pair of knitted socks. I've never knit socks. I don't know why I think I can knit socks. But I bought the yarn and I bought the special needles and, by Jove, I'm going to figure it out.
I think I'm trying to bury my problems in yarn. Or I'm just trying to keep busy and ignore Larry. Larry thinks we need a bigger house. I have no problem with this idea, except it would involve moving and moving involves packing all our crap. A friend of mine has the right idea. She burned her house down (a homeschooling science experiment run amok, would you believe it?) and so she gets to move without packing anything. Because it's all gone. Larry thinks this approach is a little drastic, however; so I'm not going to get a chance to try it out (oven fires aside).
I probably shouldn't worry about moving - there's no money for it, unless Larry is planning to print some of his own. Hey, or I could knit some! Cool!
Anna spent 45 minutes sulking in preparation for 30 minutes worth of work this evening. Highly inefficient. And then she blamed us for her getting to bed late. Speaking of which, I should get to bed. Although, what's the point? Either Susie will be waking me up or Larry will start snoring or, if I do get to sleep, Brian will wake up and need the bathroom and he'll need my help because we are still keeping the bathroom doors locked because we are never ever going to rest easy in our beds again,at least not until Rachel goes to college, which is in, oh, 14 years. (Of course, by then Brian will be able to reach the lock.) So I think I should just stay up all night and learn how to knit a sock.
I told you - knitting on the brain. I even like the way the word "knit" looks. So much yarn, so little time....
The snow is rapidly melting away, which is fine with me. I hate old snow. It's dirty and crunchy and not much fun. Time to wash the skipants and put away the snowboots and start looking at the seed catalogs for a change. Because hope springs eternal in this hapless gardener's breast. This may be the year that I manage to grow something. You never know. I think the law of averages may be with me by now.
Here's to an early spring!
I'm in the throes of a knitting obsession. There are little bags of yarn and needles all over the house, and tangled skeins that the children have gotten into are scattered willy-nilly all over the floor. I don't know why I'm obsessed; perhaps because I can knit something and it stays knit. Well, unless Susie gets hold of it before I bind off. Anyway, I've promised Brian a red hat, and David a variegated hat, and I've got my eye on a feathery blue scarf for Anna. And I've promised myself a pair of knitted socks. I've never knit socks. I don't know why I think I can knit socks. But I bought the yarn and I bought the special needles and, by Jove, I'm going to figure it out.
I think I'm trying to bury my problems in yarn. Or I'm just trying to keep busy and ignore Larry. Larry thinks we need a bigger house. I have no problem with this idea, except it would involve moving and moving involves packing all our crap. A friend of mine has the right idea. She burned her house down (a homeschooling science experiment run amok, would you believe it?) and so she gets to move without packing anything. Because it's all gone. Larry thinks this approach is a little drastic, however; so I'm not going to get a chance to try it out (oven fires aside).
I probably shouldn't worry about moving - there's no money for it, unless Larry is planning to print some of his own. Hey, or I could knit some! Cool!
Anna spent 45 minutes sulking in preparation for 30 minutes worth of work this evening. Highly inefficient. And then she blamed us for her getting to bed late. Speaking of which, I should get to bed. Although, what's the point? Either Susie will be waking me up or Larry will start snoring or, if I do get to sleep, Brian will wake up and need the bathroom and he'll need my help because we are still keeping the bathroom doors locked because we are never ever going to rest easy in our beds again,at least not until Rachel goes to college, which is in, oh, 14 years. (Of course, by then Brian will be able to reach the lock.) So I think I should just stay up all night and learn how to knit a sock.
I told you - knitting on the brain. I even like the way the word "knit" looks. So much yarn, so little time....
The snow is rapidly melting away, which is fine with me. I hate old snow. It's dirty and crunchy and not much fun. Time to wash the skipants and put away the snowboots and start looking at the seed catalogs for a change. Because hope springs eternal in this hapless gardener's breast. This may be the year that I manage to grow something. You never know. I think the law of averages may be with me by now.
Here's to an early spring!
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