I’ve been busy lately—too busy. Work has been interesting and fun, but researching and preparing for this series of shows on disposing of unused embryos created through IVF added on top of re-doing the website has made for days that begin too early and end too late. And then because I’m not a person who knows her limits and takes an unhealthy pride in “getting a lot done”, I decided to re-work my flower beds.
In fairness to me, I didn’t really decide to do a major overhaul- I was the victim of logic. You know the drill: if I dig up a perennials from one bed, I have to plant them in another bed. As long as I’m moving to another bed, I might as well move a few plants in that bed that are looking puny and try to fill in the blank spaces. And since I’m digging up the dirt anyway, it is only logical to amend the soil while I’m there. And you know, this plant is too finicky, and I’m not much for pampering prima dona plants, so as long as I’m at the nursery, I probably should look for a replacement. And before I knew it, my car port was filled with plants lined up smartly in their black non biodegradable pots, and my every spare moment was filled with yard work. I like to work in the yard, but after a couple of 18 hour weekends and after work gardening, the fun was gone, and I was kicking myself for my stupidity and inability to set limits.
Oh, and did I mention that I am also in the midst of planting the vegetable and herb garden? Now, I maintain that this one is not my fault since nature dictates when you have to plant. We had a late frost, so what could I do?
Unfortunately, the logic-on-steroids saga continues. Last month I agreed to host my book club at my house in May. It was getting close to my turn, and I figured having a group at the house would force me to get the front porch ready for front porch season. You know, buy the hanging ferns and potted plants, clean the furniture, and generally make it usable. (We spend most summer evenings on our front porch.) And since I was already going to the trouble of cleaning, picking flowers, and cooking, it only made sense to schedule another gathering at my house later that same week. It’ll probably come as no surprise that I love the expression “Getting more bang for your buck.” By midweek, I was sick of bang.
After another hastily prepared dinner of spaghetti and meatballs from a jar served way too late, one of my daughters called from her bedroom, “Mom, come tuck me in.” I said, and yes, I’m cringing as I type, “Not tonight honey, I’m too tired.” Now, all obvious jokes about other uses for this one-liner aside, I only felt mildly guilty from my vantage point in front of the fire with a glass of wine. It wasn’t until later that night when I was trying to sleep that I thought about all the times in the last two weeks I had said a variation of the same thing.
Creating a home is why I do most of what I do, and the operative word there is home not house. I spend my work days helping others figure out how to create a family. The irony of the clash between my words and my actions was not lost on me. And in case I needed to be reminded even more, the next day I read about Steven Curtis Chapman’s daughter being killed in an accident. [If you haven’t heard, you can get more info on the “In the News” page under Adoption on this website.] I just sat staring at my computer feeling literally sick to my stomach and aching for what the Chapman’s are going through.
I know it is a cliché, but life is just so very fragile, and I often take for granted that there will be a tomorrow—another day, another chance to “get it right”. Tomorrows are a gift. It shouldn’t take the death of a child to remind me. Now excuse me as I go try to find a kid to spend some quality time with.
Image credit: wwnorm