Monkey and I (with Peanut in my belly), 2008,
picking Daylily's from my garden together.
Chin up...it's only going to get better. Those are the words my husband said when I was starting to feel anxiety and doubt about this move, this new start. That's hard for someone like me, who is bound and determined to plant roots. I am a farmer's daughter, mind you. The earth runs deep and the soil and I get along. I am lonely for my husband, and what makes it wose right now is that I can't get outside, into my garden, the dirt and watch things grow.
We are now starting our third month apart in this new adventure of ours. He's all settled into his apartment, although sparse and tiny. It's only temporary. But I miss him terribly. Going it alone with the kids, doing all the running, cooking, cleaning. I am growing weary.
Blessed be Skype, and all the accessories like web cams and instant messaging and Internet. Last night we ate supper together. We placed the laptop with Skype running on one end of the table. He ate his supper there, so far away, and we ate ours here, the three of us. But with magic, we ate together.
Since the house is listed and the signs are up I am like a human vacuum cleaner, following Monkey and Peanut around picking up every little thing they drop along the way in the hopes of keeping the house clean just in case someone calls and wants a showing. While liberating, it is also exhausting having the magazine house I always wanted. You spend all your time wiping things down, doing dishes, putting them away, hiding papers, hiding dirty clothes, hiding....hiding, hiding. Then, your house looks perfect. The only problem with the perfection is the sudden realization that you don't want to sell it anymore. All that work to get it to look livable and now you really want to live in it. The emotional toil adds to the exhaustion and then...it makes you sad. Because you relive all those golden moments...the first night in the house, the baby's first steps, the door you slammed on that one big fight, the nights spent in front of the fireplace just talking...those are the things that cause roots to grow.
I like roots, hence the reason I love to garden. It's hard to leave behind all the seeds that have been planted and survived. Our first house was the one my husband grew up in. He bought it from his parents before we met. Once married, I moved in and, well, started growing roots. After 10 months, the market was good and we decided to trade up while the getting was good. I asked "Are you sure about this? I mean, this is the house you grew up in." He was fine with it, he said. I didn't believe him. At all. How could he not have an emotional stake in this house, all his memories were there. In 10 months it was almost like I had dug deeper into the soil than he had in his whole life. I mean, really...what about that big tree, didn't he play in that tree?
One of my favorite photos of Peanut, 2010, with a
flower from my garden tucked away in her hair.
He made me painfully aware of the fact that I hate moving. In fact, he said I was a train wreck. I don't recall it being that bad, but think about it...I was having my roots ripped out of the ground. It wasn't a simple cutting. I am going to have to leave behind that big maple tree, the one we planted and decided was Monkey's tree. I was going to have to leave behind that big, beautiful, blooming rose bush. I was going to have to leave behind that gorgeous, fragrant blossoming crab apple tree that died and somehow grew a new little sprout out of the dead middle. I was leaving behind my life.
So now, we are officially owners of some dirt. This dirt is going to have a home built on it with a new yard, new trees and new grass. So I vowed to myself that I wouldn't leave all the plants behind. I was going to dig up parts of my garden and take them with me to our new house. Plant them there, grow new roots with the old ones. After all, I am not leaving behind a life, I am continuing to grow the one I have, one I am very blessed to have.
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