Charlotte Time Out

Okay. Maybe that title is a bit optimistic but I have high hopes. Sue me.

Growing up my parents always planted a large vegetable garden. Coming from farming families, I think it was in their blood. And even though I was required to help plant, pull weeds, and pick veggies, I remember it being a mostly positive experience with lots of quality time with Mom and Dad. Therefore when I expressed a desire to start a small garden for my own family a couple of years ago, my Dad was quick to respond. In nothing short of two days he had identified the correct location in the yard, erected some wooden ties to separate the area from the landscaping, filled it with nutrient rich topsoil and suggested the best choices of plants. At 65, the man is a machine. Clearly, there was no turning back now.

My 6 year old (then 4) was thrilled. We had a fun and educational trip to the Southern Styles Nursery and then filled in the rest at the garden center at good ole Walmart. She loved donning her sweet little gardening gloves and shovel and helping. Of course she was easily distracted by the random earthworm, grub worm, ant, bee, clover flower, broken flower bloom, gentle breeze, chatting neighbors, barking dog, blowing leaf, etc. so it takes a bit more patience than I anticipated to plant 6 tomato plants, some cucumbers and some peppers but that’s okay. In the end, the kids were so proud and they actually enjoyed tasting the fruits of their labor. That alone is a small miracle.

This year, we’re taking it to a whole new level. First of all, my one-year-old son is intently interested in lending a pair of tiny hands. With three kids helping, my role has shifted from chief gardener to an unhinged referee. Second, you see, first-grade science apparently includes seed gestation so it’s no longer okay to start our garden from those cute little plants. We now start with a mini greenhouse and seeds on the dining room table. (For what it’s worth, these things actually work very well.) Sigh. And guess what, we’ve expanded our selection to include cantaloupe, sunflowers, sugar snap peas, and green beans. Too much for one small garden patch? Absolutely. Unfortunately I lost the in-store negotiations to a shrewd six-year-old and her clever four-year-old sister.

Just a few days ago, the 25 sprouts were transplanted into our garden spot as I held my breath and prayed that the birds and bunnies were not salivating over an easy feast. So far, so good. We’ve lost a few…a couple to the one-year old with a sand shovel and a couple more to more natural causes. This weekend we will make some improvements with the addition of some weed guard. As always it will be an adventure. Stay tuned.

Easter weekend and my husband is plowed under a mountain of work. It’s day 6 of the kids’ Spring Break (see last blog) and it’s the day we are supposed to leave for Greenville, NC to visit the grandparents. The kids are packed, psyched and raring to go. Jeff is stressed, exhausted and on deadline. A couple of tense discussions later, it is decided we will divide and conquer. Jeff stays to work without distraction. I’ll take the kids (ages 6, 4 and 1) and go to my parents house. Yes, I’m slightly crazy. It’s roughly 200 miles from our home in Charlotte to their door in Greenville, NC.

An hour of furious car packing and we are on the road. For the first hour, we chat easily and I point out various exits, signs and landmarks to the kids…Davie Park, Reed Gold Mine, Concord Mills, the transportation museum in Spencer…some places we’ve been and others where we plan to go. I don’t know if I was trying to distract them from the fact that Daddy wasn’t coming along or myself from the fact that traveling with a 1:3 ratio is potential torture. Either way, we got out of town without too much ado.

An hour and a half into the drive, the one year old falls asleep and the girls are busy watching a DVD. Ahh….peace. Ten long minutes later it occurs to me that focusing on a singular task like driving without chaos in the background, is no longer a familiar feeling. In fact, it’s utterly boring. I fight the urge to pick up my i-Phone or take a quick nap. Neither options seems safe, right? I flip around on the radio, hum a little, play with the cruise control, make mental lists of things I forgot to pack…important things like the diaper bag, the Easter gifts, etc. My head hurts. La la la la 3 more hours of this?  

I was saved by the potty alarm and lunchtime bell from the third row. Of course where to eat is always a lively debate. My kids don’t like McDonalds,Burger King or Bojangles. I know, I know, it’s unAmerican but it’s true. Finally we find a Subway and I soak up enough kid chaos in our 45 minute stop to muddle my brain for the rest of the trip.  If you have ever navigated a public restroom with 3 young children by yourself, you’ll understand. 

We finally arrive in Greenville around 3:30. The SUV is trashed. Seriously, it appears the children have shredded, dismantled and unearthed items that I’m certain I have not seen in years. Where do they find this stuff?  But never mind, we are at Grandma and Papa’s house so I shovel a path for them to get out and send them into the loving arms of their grandmother who sees them as perfect little angels. Then I unpacked the truck, spend an hour rediscovering the floor boards and finally poured myself a congratulatory cocktail. Just think 72 hours and I get to do it all again. Sigh. Is it possible to just mail the kids back home?

So here we are on Spring Break day number five. Yes, that’s right five. My 6 year old daughter counts the weekends too. At first I tried to talk her out of this notion by explaining that we always have weekends off so they didn’t count but after two solid minutes of explanation it was clear to me that I was not going to convince her. So I converted to her method. Nine days of Spring Break it is! Woohoo!

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