Monday, June 24

ARMY PANTS AND GUMMI BEARS

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been on project overload.  Like too many things to do.  Making curtains [read: ordering fabric for, cutting, pressing, and sewing curtains], buying vanities, sanding and painting them to morph them into poppy little desks to shove into the unused closet in my room, taking the doors off said closet to actually help it become an office space, vacuuming, drilling holes in any wall that will stand still, vacuuming again, hanging shelves, hanging mirrors, hanging photos, hanging arwork, buying artwork, returning artwork, probably vacuuming some more, and basically just revamping my whole house.  But somewhere in there, I planted my flower garden again (remember 'BLOOM WHERE YOU'RE PLANTED' from last year?).  

Where did this motivation come from?  
Exhibit A: my eyesore of a front yard.
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Gross.
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Gross.

I waited until the tornadoes and general rain showers subsided.  Then I popped on up to Menard's and Lowe's [two stores, by the way, who have probably noticed a rather sizable increase in sales since I've been bitten by the 'home improvement' bug], and spent a week's wages in flower flats. Sol was uber-excited to be immersed in the world of home improvement as well...  provided she could play with the world's smallest cactus plant while we were shopping, in between eating fistfuls of dirt like it's the greatest thing since banana-flavored Puffs.

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Can you believe that thing?
Oh, glorious glorious glorious flowers.  Not the kind in the vase -- oh hayl naw, never been a fan.  But the ones in the ground, those luscious little pockets of life springing up all over God's green earth, those are the winners.  Planting is rejuvenating, therapeutic, blah blah blah, not to mention a quite legitimate reason to take one's shoes off and dig one's bare toes in the cool, freshly-tilled dirt.  Barefoot bliss.  And because I'd gone on a long run that day at lunch and was suffering a crippling blister-to-end-all-blisters (sorry for the gruesome photo), I was elated to be barefoot in the garden.  So after Sol was asleep one evening, I donned my army pants, prepared a bowl of gummi bears to stave off any gardening-induced hunger pangs, and got to work on my poor little flowers, who had been waiting very impatiently in their flimsy plastic foster homes.

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Interspersed throughout my gardening were texts to my dear mama: "This is a ____ plant from last year, been outside all winter.  Will it grow if I plant it?"  Her answer was pretty much "no" for nearly everything (probably with a slight eye-roll and a head-shake of disbelief over in Frankenmuth).  But, ever the optimist, I planted those bad boys.  The murdered lavender, the completely-failed tomato plant, the remnants of what was once a beautiful basil plant.  I planted every single one of 'em, with great faith that I can resurrect them with water and sunshine.  [note: to date, they are all still very much dead. mom was right.]

And along the way, I was too happy to find little Angus (my prized ghetto-fabulous gnome), who's braved a very tough winter and is quite clearly ready to rock another summer.

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There's just something about planting flowers that brings me back to life.  And reading through last year's post on planting my flower garden, I realize just how carefully and wonderfully I've been planted.  And in such a happy place.

Happy in my home, happy at my job, happy with my daughter, and happy in life.  Sometimes it just takes a year or so of sunshine to help us fully bloom :)

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