Amy the Mom

15

Dear Alex,

I remember the first time you read to me, and I realized you could REALLY read and comprehend what is was you were reciting.  You were barely five years old.  We were in the car, the twins were in the backseat and we were in dreadful rush hour traffic.  I had a copy of The Giving Tree in the car, and you opened it up and said, "Mommy, do you want me to read you a book?" 

"Sure, Pumpkin.  I'd love that."

And you read that book, cover to cover.  I had forgotten how sad that book is.  I wiped away tear after tear as I listened to you read that book and I realized what it really meant.   

Even though I love the young man you're turning into, I can't help but long for that sweet voiced little boy.  I don't know how the years have slipped away so quickly, but it doesn't seem like it was 15 years ago today that I first gazed upon you.  If I was a braver mom, I would be taking you to get your learner's permit today.  I'm not ready for that yet.  I look at the giant hunks of steel that your stepdad and I drive and I think, "no way can my baby be ready to move those machines."  But then I look at a smaller car, and I think, "no way would I let my baby drive something so small and vulnerable."   Give me some time to wrap my brain around the thought of you driving a real car on real roads with the rest of us adults. 

I remember you at age four with impossibly big brown eyes and luxurious lashes.  The one who referred to Cartoon Network as "Cartoon Edward".  This was during the Thomas the Tank Engine obsession of 1997, when your entire world revolved around Thomas and his friends, Edward among them.  That phase was quickly followed by the Star Wars phase, much to the delight of your dad and I.  We both loved the first three installments of that saga, although I'm still trying to pretend that George Lucas never made the final three.  The Star Wars phase lasted a good long time, but has been eclipsed in dedication to the World of Warcraft phase.  I can't feign interest or comprehension in this game, and I wish you felt that way too. 

About a month ago, I realized you are taller than me by a couple inches.  This is sad.  Very sad.  You are now taller than your older stepbrother, too.  And your feet?  Obviously you get your Sasquatch feet from me.  You are shaving now, more sadness.  With your new haircut, you look much older.  Still, I'm amazed and thrilled that even at 15 you still hug me in the morning and when I come home from work.  I hope that you never stop wanting to hug your crazy mom.  After witnessing our nighttime ritual, one of our friends commented recently that she couldn't believe you willingly hugged me and told me you loved me before going to bed at night.  I won't take that for granted anymore. 

When you were just a little baby, I only knew the words to two lullabies-"You Are My Sunshine" and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."  The former was the first lullaby I sang to you and the latter (while not a lullaby in any sense of the word) was the only tune I could belt out that would calm you down when you were strapped into your carseat, held hostage in Atlanta traffic.  I don't get emotional during the seventh inning stretch, but whenever I hear "You Are My Sunshine" I get a lump in my throat, remembering the sweet smell of your baby skin-a mixture of milk and Johnson's Baby Wash.  Mmmm. 

I know we started to butt heads a little over schoolwork the last year.  Trust me, this is nothing compared to how your grandma and I butted heads.  I will take our head butting any day of the week over the strife your grandma and I went through.  Please remember-I'm 40 years old.  I want only the best for you, and am frustrated when I see you squandering your enormous potential.   

This month you started your first job.  I am so impressed that you took this initiative on yourself.  You and your younger brother have some pretty lofty financial goals, so now you are going into business for yourselves with a lawn mowing service.  Bravo!  I think Mario might have you beat in the motivation department, but I know the two of you will do well.  My advice to you today is to always maintain a strong work ethic.  I think it will make you stand out among some of your less motivated peers and you'll be rewarded for ambition and persistence.  Even though I am saddened by the unavoidable truth of you growing up, I am still excited to see what the future holds for you and what kind of man you'll become. 

I love you, Alex. 

Mom    

True Colors

I have four lengthy yet unfinished posts in the queue.  However, the sun has been shining a lot more in these parts lately, so I've traded my blogging obsession for my gardening infatuation.  I'm pretty sure it's a healthier pursuit physically, but I sure miss all you guys. 

I'll return to my regular posting schedule when I finish transplanting perennials and filling terra cotta pots with colors so vivid they're almost obscene. 

If I didn't have to work, I think I would take a part time summer job in a nursery and milk the employee discount. 

I love the name of this rose, "Paint the Town."  I just planted this a month ago, but I'm already dazzled by it's brilliance. 

I love these pots.  I have two that flank my front entryway and they're my pride and joy.  In the autumn, I fill them with mums, and as December nears I decorate them with evergreens or mini Christmas trees.  One of my favorite days of the year, though, is the day I go to the nursery and decide what color combination I'll use and return home with a truck full of plants ready to be potted.  I love the smell of the dirt and the fresh greenery.  I baby these displays, deadheading them each morning and fertilizing them every Saturday. 

If you were to watch me garden, you'd wonder why I just walk around sometimes, staring at the beds in deep concentration.  I'm in another world.  I'm imagining plant placement, figuring out what needs to be moved, deciding that the  Polenium Caeroleum needs to be relocated to the flower beds near the front walk because the 125 pound beast is crushing the tender plants with his massive paws.  I'm making mental lists of all the plants I would love to have and imagining a yard filled with fragrance and color for three or four months out of the Minnesota year. 

Because of Clark's aforementioned girth, I've made the executive decision to cover the hill behind my house in hardy rosebushes.  I have a Darwinian approach to rose gardening-survival of the fittest.  I will not put frail and needy tea roses or hybrids in my yard.  They're too demanding and prone to failure in our Zone 4 climate.  They require constant chemical spraying, an extra blanket of protection during winter months, and still they aren't satisfied-they are the divas of the horticultural world.  Shrub roses are a perfect compromise, often more fragrant than their sissified counterparts and they take a brutal winter beating and still return to life each spring requiring nothing more of the gardener than a clean up pruning.

For the gardener on a budget, I highly recommend Craigslist. I got a bunch of incredibly beautiful irises like this last year and I'm already going to have to divide them.  You get to meet some awfully nice people this way, too. 

Amazingly, the rabbits have stayed out of my front flower beds this year.  These hostas were decimated last year, but have been untouched by the rodents this season.  It might have something to do with Nori, or they could be just satisfying themselves with all the extra birdseed laying beneath my feeders.

Sadly, gardening is often plagued by disappointments and frustration.  Case in point, my once flawless front lawn...

I have only two words to say about this...

BAD DOG!

I will return later this week with a delicious new recipe!