Rose Bushes Are Snobs

I am not the world's greatest yard person. I claim to love yardwork, but getting myself out there to actually DO it is something else entirely.

Due to city ordinances about weed height, I have been trying to clear up the front sidewalk area that has grown without restraint since spring happened.

While weeding, the stickers and flag grass wanted to complain and fight about being uprooted. I reminded them that they knew good and well that they were just going to grow back, and to suck it up.  They shrugged and let me go on with it.

In the back yard, however, it's a completely different story with the rose bush. The homeowners planted a rose bush in a corner next to the patio and the gate that leads from the back yard to the front. I'm not sure why they picked that location, but whatever. The white roses are gorgeous when they bloom.

The thorns, however, are another matter entirely. They are not small, and they are extremely sharp.

I had a talk with this bush today. I informed it that it was growing into my children's play space, and that I needed it to bush out in the other direction, please. Also, it would be great if it would cooperate so we didn't get scratched to bits getting the lawn mower from front to back.

Needless to say, the Rose bush felt like I was being unreasonable. How DARE I snip and trim at it. How DARE I prune off dead stalks. It is a rose bush, and deserves to use whatever space it wants.

I insisted that it be socially acceptable and child friendly. It fought back. I won, but did not come out unscathed.

The wild roses that grow along my fence are much more reasonable. They have smaller blooms, but they are so much nicer and easier to get along with. They're still somewhat snobby, but at least they deign to allow me to trim them when I ask.

Blackberries are eager to please, lilacs are more than willing to take direction, and honeysuckle is sweet no matter what.

Roses, however, are snobs.

Yardwork

I am not the world's greatest yard keeper. The owners of the house we rent have tried to do beautiful things with this yard, and I struggle with feeling guilty that I just don't take good enough care of it. I did a horrible job last year, and am trying to do better this year.

My solution is to take Sandra Tayler's advice and be a turtle about it. (Seriously, go read her article. Her panel at LTUE was awesome.) I'm doing a little bit at a time. I spend a specific amount of time raking and pruning and trying to do maintenance in a yard that is so healthy everything grows too fast.

Today I mowed and raked. And thankfully my daughter came and raked with me. It was much like brushing a horse after they begin shedding their winter coat. Felt like we were either building nests of our own or that my grass really needs to be "brushed" more often. Wow.

Part of the lawn got done today. Part of the lawn will get done tomorrow. And I will keep doing parts until it is time to circle around and come back to it. But this way I'm not exhausted, and I feel encouraged because *something* got done. Even if it wasn't everything.

What Do I Do?

You know that moment, the one where you meet someone new and they ask, "So, what do you do?" For some reason that question was on my mind while I was mowing my lawn today, and I felt like sharing my thoughts.

My first answer: I'm a mom! Yes, with enthusiasm, because without it, somehow that title seems to be one society tells me I should be ashamed of. Well. *hands on hips* I have six kids, but even if I only had one, it wouldn't change my opinion of the job. It's not an easy job, not by any means, but it's a job I volunteered for for life. As for what that entails, let me tell you some of it.

I do yardwork. I don't love yardwork. I find it relaxing when I *want* to do it, but mostly I wish the yard would take care of itself. Take today, for instance. I asked my kids why they didn't play on the swing-set anymore, and my nine year old informed me that it was because the vines were too scary. After mowing the grass around and under the swing-set, yep, there's a scary vine growing there. Very pokey-owie mean vine, that I argued with for a couple of hours convincing it that it would like the compost heap much better than the swing-set.  My 4 year old son was all over the swings and slide as soon as I'd cleared the way.

We put the swingset in front of snuffalupogus here...  It's a high-maintenance spot.

I do counseling. I have six kids who don't always get along. But not only do they have sibling issues, but they have friend issues and school issues and grade issues and worries about the future and dreams and hopes and all kinds of things that they like to share and tell. Mostly I just listen, but sometimes I dispense advice. Sometimes they even listen to it. Once in a while they spark something I feel passionate about, and they have to tell me to get off my soap-box because I won't stop talking.  I'm not sure those moments serve any purpose other than for me to realize I like to talk.

There are a bazillion other things that fall under the large umbrella of motherhood, but everyone already knows the chauffeur, cook, maid, organizer, slave driver, librarian, reader of books, and teacher titles. Mostly I forget things and then run to play catch-up because I've forgotten something important.

I also do non-mommy related things.

I have an art degree. I do portraits because I LOVE to draw people. There's something about eyes and lips and ears that I just love. And wrinkles. I don't get a lot of commissions for portraits, but I do get quite a few commissions for caricatures. I volunteer for all kinds of art things in the community and church so that I stay in practice with software. I figure if I spent all that time learning skills, I'd better not lose them.

I do footzoning. I certified in this about seven years ago and just recently my clientelle has started to pick up. I even have enough clients now that I have to keep a calendar in my purse so I can remember when I have appointments! This is exciting stuff for me!

I talk. A lot. I think there's something about being home with a four-year-old that makes me never shut up when I'm on the phone or in a car with an adult. Or at a friend's house. My poor friends :)

I write. I love to read, and I love to write. I sit and write when I am avoiding any of the above listed jobs. Because let's face it, chores and cleaning and yardwork are really never done. And there are so many story ideas that come while I'm puttering around the house, or listening to the crazy things my kids say. This world is incredible when it comes to inspiration. Writing is another way for me to talk without annoying everyone that I know and love. I posted an excerpt once.

There's always a to-do list longer than I am tall (and I'm not short), so I prioritize based on what sounds fun that day or what will impact my kids the most if I don't do it. Daughter wet the bed? Well, crap, I'm doing laundry and washing a mattress instead of catching up on blog posts and twitter.

I love what I do. I may not always do it as well as I'd like, but I keep doing it hoping that eventually I'll get better. No one has told me to stop yet (er, well, no one I actually listen to). I tell myself more than often enough that I need to do better. But now I've managed to answer to myself what I do and how I value what I do. I expect there are plenty of people out there who value things differently, and that's awesome. It would sure be boring if we were all clones.

A Peace Treaty of Sorts

I have two different blackberry bushes in my yard. In the front yard is the "I'm going to take over the world with kindness and big juicy berries!" Blackberry bush.

When these berries ripen, they are 1.5 to 2 inches long, bursting with flavor and practically hop right off the vine into my hands. As you can see, there are few, if any, thorns to be seen on the vine or anywhere near the berries. Harvesting from this vine is an absolute pleasure and I look forward to going out there every morning to see what has ripened.