So despite being almost comatose last night when I finally ventured inside (think I’d been in the yard for 5 hours; you might be asking, how did your kids allow you this time? Hah, hah, surely you jest to think such a thing is possible. They were spending the afternoon with my in-laws- shout-out to Nomna and Topta!!), I was back in the yard as soon as I put Oliver down for his nap today.
Finally, it is hot- I am in shorts and sweating. Can’t think of any state I’d rather be in. I loooooove heat!

So anyway, as I’m weeding, pruning, planting, and disgustedly yet enthusiastically tossing grubs into my yard bag to die a slow death, I reminisced about the girl I was growing up. I hated (!) to be dirty, didn’t even like to be wet unless I opted into it, really just didn’t like to be outside much. Louisiana’s climate is extreme, but even if I lived there now, I know I’d be doing all this gardening with equal verve.

How did I escape being so precious?! And, people, I don’t mean that in the “isn’t she darling!” way. I mean, I matched my bows, belts and socks, for the love. Went to Northwestern with a backpack embroidered with my name, including a heart over the “i”- I’m sure people were thinking, well look at country comes to town. Fortunately, my accent smoothed things over.

Anyway, now I just love being in the yard: cheering on my compost pile and all the worms just working so hard in it; watching my flowers beautify our home; hoping the revolting tomato horn worms don’t come back, EVER; thrilled to watch the plants I’ve brought here from my mom’s yard making themselves at home; watching as my boys love all of it too. It reminds me that no matter how static or set or evolved you think you (or anything else) are, life is only dynamic, and the surprises -good and bad- never end.

I’m going to be 35 soon, and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt angst’y about welcoming a new year. Maybe it’s because despite having all the things I thought would be THE answers to everything, I am not yet totally satisfied. I love my life, don’t get me wrong. I feel extraordinarily grateful for my family, our home, the fact that I can stay home to raise the kids (even though sometimes I daydream about running away). But, there are so many works to read, places to go, languages and things to learn. I didn’t take the academic part of college seriously enough and still regret the courses I didn’t delve into enough. And I swore I’d have taken some form of African dance by now and been pretty good at it.

However, I do feel a sense of peace with who I am now in a way I haven’t before. I am, for the most part, comfortable in my own skin, confident about what I can do as well as what I can’t (although acceptance of those things is always tough). I notice this even with such seemingly insignificant things as fashion- hells bells, I wear funky earrings now, I’m willing to mix it up. I recently chopped my hair off just because it seemed fun. Yesterday, I told the kids that since we’re getting a new deck soon, they should just go out and saw and paint our current one- this was awesome! But on the flip side, I still chastise myself when I lose my patience with the boys, when I just cannot get excited about one more Lego structure or whatever the desire du jour is. I still wish I were as fit as I was 10 years ago, but I have zippy interest in exercising the way I used to. I think these struggles are part and parcel of this growing awareness and acceptance.

So, long story short, and yes, this does relate back to the yardwork and sense of satisfaction, fulfillment and joy I get from it (even when my veggies die, and the one strawberry that grows is immediately picked off by a bird), if this new sense of self is what 35 is ushering in, then happy birthday to me. And to you freaking squirrels and birds: I hope you see the nets I am erecting over my gardens this year. Just try to rob me now!