This seems to be our season of raising.
Not barns, though that would be nice. We need one of those. We had to farrow our pigs in our garage this spring. I mean, really. Cars in a garage? How silly, how lame.
No, we’ve been spending our time raising toddlers, vegetables, chickens and pigs. When we are not busy with one, we’re busy with the other and if we are busy with one and the other, we are really busy because we are trying to keep the first one from tromping on the second one. It really is quite a delightful/chaotic dance.
While Sparrow (toddler A) napped this afternoon, I trudged outside to the garden
to tend to the carrots (toddler B), thinning them and telling them to grow big. After checking to make sure toddler A was still slumbering soundly, I moved onto the cucumbers (toddler C) and their sprawling ways. I am attempting to train them (not potty train, thank God…toddler A is enough of a challenge) to trellis up tomato cages in attempts to maximize garden space. Truly, it is not unlike teaching toddler A to ride a bike. Its all about muscle memory, scooping them up when they fall over, putting them back on the trellis and gentle saying “you do it like this“. Sigh. Parenting is exhausting, repetitive work. Ah, but so rewarding when finally the bright green vine tendrils grasp the rusty cage and wind themselves confidently around and, just like that, they are off and going.
Then there is the beets. Hello, pretties. I have 4 mouse traps set in my beet plot. Those pesky, brown-backed rodents will hollow out a ruby-fleshed beet faster than I can eat a bowl of peppermint stick ice cream. And it just irks me. Because I don’t even have any peppermint stick ice cream!…I have beets, and they are being eaten by mice! But the traps seem to be working nicely. I believe we have swiftly ended the beet-devouring life of 6 mice so far. And the beets are looking healthy and robust.
Meanwhile, Toddler A is still sleeping and I am pulling weeds and hollering at the hound dog (Toddler E) to leave the chickens (toddlers F) alone and I’m thinking to myself how strange it is that, with all this raising that I’m doing, I still don’t feel like I’m raised up. I have spent most of my life thinking that at some point I will be done. I will be raised up, finished. But it just isn’t panning out like that. While I’m attempting to prune the basil (toddler G), teach toddler A how to share and the devastating short-comings of the concept “fair”, I am having to apologize to my husband for saying something I didn’t mean or beg forgiveness from my coworker for snapping at her when she asked me a question. I mean, really. How old am I? But just when I start to get totally discouraged, I realize it is actually a good thing…this still growing. How wonderful that I am still being raised up!…how fabulous that my Savior isn’t done with me yet. That He still finds me worthy of weeding, pruning, thinning and protection from disgusting mice (because, let’s face it, the world is full of them).
And then toddler A wakes up. And that is the end of that.