With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row - and don't call me Mary

A little insight into my world:
Before children, I had time. I read. Nonfiction. Anthropological books about societies whose histories have been studied based on old clay pots and trash heaps. Big, huge books -- for fun (dork!!). Now, I'm lucky to take in an article in the Rolling Stone while I crap.

For millennia, in societies around the world, women have been considered the givers of life. I mean, seriously. One day she's a lumpy, waddling, fat thing and the next she poops out a kid! It's a miracle of nature. That and the swinging feedbags from which the new kid hangs for years. In addition to literally being the ones to grow a society, women often were tasked with tending to the family and provide day-to-day for the food of the tribe. While men went out and hunted or protected the tribe, women were gathering berries and other vegetation in wandering societies and later developing the agricultural practices that many in our country associate with large, old men in overalls and straw hats.

Gardening, in my experience, is more of an ideal than a hobby. Every winter, I dream of fresh salads borne from fertile ground I've tilled, amended, planted, weeded, and watered. On this wintery, cold day, thinking of the aroma of tomato plants make me long for these duties. When spring rolls around, I go and buy seeds and the gear to rear tiny seedlings indoors prior to planting. Once these tiny little plants die as a result of my over-ambition, I head to the hardware store for properly reared plants to shove into the ground.

Being of my personality structure - planting a garden is quite rewarding. The rows of perfectly aligned plants satiate the "job well done" need for sure. Pulling the husband outside to applaud my accomplishment helps too.

Unfortunately, that is the end of where gardening and I part ways. See, the delayed gratification just forces me to lose interest. I'll water religiously for a couple weeks. I'll even climb in as tiny intruders threaten my rows of peppers. Then it happens - it always does. I make an excuse one day and procrastinate. Then it turns into late July, and I have a jungle of weeds. I may even hack my way in an attempt to salvage my effort. I'll probably jump out half-way through that task to deal with a child - or to get a drink - or to grab a snack and watch Dr. Phil and the sweaty, sun-beaten, gnat-filled garden loses its appeal.

Of course, I'll start the process again this year. I won't have the anti-weeding excuse of pregnancy like I did last year. I will have the fussy baby excuse, but anymore I have to hold that card fairly close to my chest. I can't blame fussy baby for not grooming myself, not cleaning, not getting the grocery shopping done, not doing the dishes, not getting all the bills dealt with, not bathing the dogs, AND not weeding the garden.

I do have the desire to provide fresh veggies for my family. I also have the desire to start my own craft-based business and to use only energy I can produce on our property...I'm a dreamer...sue me.