Roots

About a month ago, as we were preparing to place our home on the market, Dave and I spent an afternoon re-landscaping the planter of our backyard patio. During the busy year, we had sort of let it overgrow in some areas and wither in others. It was a ratty mess of dying Queen Anne's Lace and leafless fruit trees. It was so bad, we decided to rip it all out and start over. So, we went to Lowe's and bought some hearty flowers that would thrive in the Saharan-like composition of our soil and in the unrelenting sunlight that the placement of our patio affords. It's a tough life for plants back there.

As we got down to the business of tearing out the mostly dehydrated plants, we hit a bit of a snag with the fruit trees. While most of the other plants came easily out of the dry soil, the fruit trees, our near death, stick-figure fruit trees, refused to be uprooted. We pulled, we cajoled, we took a spade and dug at their bases, only to find that while they looked as if their numbers were up, their roots had taken hold deep in the soil base. They had almost literally become a part of the property. So, we left them. And watered like crazy. A month later, our nearly departed fruit trees are experiencing a renaissance. They have leaves and lemon buds and are growing like hungry infants. We are so glad that their roots defied our expectations.

The imminence of our move across country has led, subconsciously or not, to another kind of pulling up of roots. In the past month, especially, I am aware that I have begun the process of mentally tugging a bit at the different friendships and other relationships in my life as I prepare to leave. Inevitably, some are going to wither and fade away, while others have unexpectedly developed roots so deep that they have become a part our family for a lifetime.

Moving is always traumatic and I know that the coming months will hold many tears and even more uncertainty. Though, I must admit, in many ways I am kind of looking forward to starting fresh and replanting. Whether it be in the rich red earth of Alabama or in the sandy soil of St. Louis, the landscape of our new garden will undoubtedly be different than the one we have here. But we know our "fruit trees" will always be where we left them and hopefully, those roots will only continue to deepen.

The Edge of Reason

Dave and I made a decision tonight about our already sizzling social life: we either have people over to our house or we hire a babysitter when we go out. At eighteen months, the toddler stage has done us in; we're finished with social outings where we linger over cocktails, appetizers and conversation with adults. For a while, at least.

This decision comes on the heels of several attempts at having dinner at the homes of friends who are almost, but not quite yet parents themselves. The latest attempt left me covered in vomit (twice) and feeling like an annoying friend, a bad mom and a terrible conversationalist. Upon our hasty departure just after the vomit and right before dinner was about to be served, I said to our host, "Thanks for everything and I hope that we didn't scare you!"

To which she replied, "Too late."

Subconciously, I was hoping that she would say it was alright; that the chaos we had brought to her house that evening was endearing, not annoying; that we were still fun to be around. The reality is that if one is not a parent yet, the energy and curiousity of someone else's eighteen month old is cute...for about an hour.

In Amelia's toddlerhood, Dave and I are getting jumped in to the business of being parents. We are learning more and more about the epic struggle between what we want and we need versus what she wants and she needs. The two are opposing forces looking for compromise: to work or not to work, to go out or to stay at home, to keep your sanity or watch an episode of Barney. What I'm finding is that more often it is not a compromise at all, but a choice. And she wins everytime. It doesn't feel like sacrifice, though, and that's because she's not someone else's eighteen month old. She's mine and this is her time.