This did.
And a good thing, too. I wouldn't say today sucked, but I also wouldn't say it was much in the way of easy or restful. Well, at least post lunchtime. I feel like I've hit a wall, so about a half hour ago, I went on strike. It was extremely fortunate that T had come home because otherwise, I may have sent the kids to bed stinky and with dirty teeth and no stories.
The sun and heat came out in full force early today, so after an obligatory appointment, I came home to garden. Had the mosquitos moved in yet, they would have been gleefully swarming in our back yard, but as it's been on the chilly side, I got a bunch of planting and pruning done without being stalked by their horrible presence. Nice. Two Sungolds and two Sweet 100s are now peeking out of their tomato planters, a sturdy sweet red pepper plant is just taller than its pot. I still have a cucumber plant as well as a scalloped-edge squash, finger eggplants and more tomatoes to sow, but when I noticed the degree to which my hostas had procreated and spread, I realized I simply must thin and relocate some of them.
That's easier said than done because when those suckers establish a root network, they go for the gold. Plus the earthworms love to entangle their delicate selves in plants' root systems, and I take great care to make sure nary a one is injured when I garden. You can imagine this really makes everything take quite a long time, but I like looking out for them. They sure help us!
After tilling another bed, I was revolting sweaty and so mud-splattered that I looked like a Jackson Pollack piece. It's so very satisfying to work the land though, even the smallest of plots. And boy did I have some energy to burn.
Do you ever feel like you're the only one carrying your weight? Holding up your end of the stick? I have definitely felt that sensation a lot lately, and after stages of understanding, wondering, compensating, filling in, I just end up mad. Tired and angry. I sometimes wonder if senses of responsibility, duty, and carrying through mean less than they once did. As if everything is a "maybe", as if doing what you said you'd do is a suggested goal rather than an expectation. This is a real loss, a trajectory that will further isolate one from an other.
I've never been busier than I am now, and I wish that weren't so. But to me, the answer isn't to not "show up." It's to try and pare back responsibly, to say a kind yet firm no if I really don't think I can manage something. I'm not great at doing that, not at all. I push and stretch myself, often because whatever the ask is, it's something I want to do. But what I don't do, or rarely do, is bag a commitment (in terms big, small, existential) once I've made it. It just doesn't seem right.
When I feel like I do today, I feel myself literally disengaging, washed over by disappointment and frustration. I draw inward, seeking comfort or solace in quiet distance from everything. Physically, too: I'll realize that I've crossed my arms over my torso, as if establishing a barrier; my posture becomes slack; I feel like a weighty shroud has been placed on my being. The sucky deflation born of disappointment, of giving more than you receive.
If the rumored frost of next Monday strikes, I'll really be pissed, btw. May, people, May.
So, after bath time, I ran downstairs to get my phone, thinking I'd take a cute shot of the boys, but as I headed back up, to hysterical cackle-type laughter, I caught sight of the above. Oliver's sweet bum with WHAT tucked inside? Apparently, a small bit of styrofoam packing material from the box in which my new sandals were (still?) nestled.
