Over the Garden Gate

Daisies love the rain. I planted two large Blue-eyed Daisy bushes a few months ago and they are beginning to take over their corner of the garden. All the spring rain lavished on them these past few weeks has them rejoicing with blue-tipped blooms.

I haven't had much time these past weeks to tend the garden. Weeds have crept in, black spot painting the rose bush leaves, salvia is raging out of control in the North bed. I usually stay on top of those things, but like I said...its been a tough few weeks. I love the way gardens can be tended but not controlled. I can't force my roses to bloom. I can't force the delphiniums to sprout yellow blossoms instead of purple. I can tend, love, and water them all, but I can never control them to that extent. I always tell J that roses are like children. They require so much care and attention, and when you love them the right way the beauty blossoming before you takes your breath away.

Today I went back to the garden. Like an old friend walking quietly up from behind and slipping a familiar hand into mine, I walked into the garden and began tending. It felt comfortable, even in the blazing noon sun. All the bulbs I meticulously planted months ago are now up and greeting the rest of the garden. I've timed them like a firework display, they'll be blooming at different intervals and I am hoping that my first bulb experience will be a show stopper.

I've had several victories over the past week in terms of my PTSD, actually working in my garden was another large milestone. I feel more at ease in a garden. They are bright reminders of what hard work and patience can bring. I've been working hard these past two months to become whole again for myself and my family. I don't always see the fruits of that labor because even greater hurdles have inevitably sprung up before me. But today I saw physical reminders, beautiful peaches, yellows, lavenders, blues and impossible purples of simple life conquering fear.

The next phase of the garden begins in a few weeks. I hope I am ready to embrace all the plans I've made for it. Starting with some good ol' Kiss me Over the Garden Gate, which was first grown in the United States by Thomas Jefferson, I love its long stems and deliciously pink petals. Its a very flirty flower, hence the name.

Kiss Me Over the Garden Gate

I've also wanted to include some tropical wisteria for awhile. My parents went to Italy for a romantic rummer getaway and my mother sent so many lovely pictures of wisteria that it inspired me once more to include it in my garden.

close up look at tropical wisteria

a glorious far away shot

Wall's Old Fashioned Ice Cream

What a long week. L O N G L O N G L O N G and at times, completely miserable. My PTSD took a turn for the worse over the weekend and I ended up convincing myself that I was allergic to water. Yes, you read that correctly. 100% convinced that if I drank water, I would die. Needless to say, by Monday I was a complete wreck. Dehydrated, worried about my baby, and still hardly able to eat. I realized that I had lost 20lbs in 5 weeks because of all the anxiety and fear over ingestion. I had a major moment of reckoning on Tuesday, followed by a very tough session with my therapist on Wednesday. I'm happy to report that after some major mental boot camp I've been able to eat almost two complete meals every day for the past couple of days. I'm hoping the climb stays at an uphill pace.

When I get sick, my whole family suffers. J has to stay home from school and attempt to take care of the kids, who are crying for me and confused by the unusual schedule, and this ultimately leads to frustration and exhaustion for him. I end up feeling consumed by guilt.

I am amazed to find that whenever I let the PTSD take over my daily routine, particularly in regards to my quiet time with the Lord, my life falls to pieces. Not that when I spend time in God's word my life is happy go lucky and absolute perfection, but I do feel whole inside. Everything can go to pot around me, but when I remain in the word I am reminded that He remains in the situation, and that comfort is immeasurable. These last few weeks I have been distant from my bible study, but this week I returned to it. What a difference it makes...

Today I took the Bear and my Abuelo to IKEA. We bought Cubby's new big boy bed and I'm excited to get the room set up for this next phase. I managed to stay on top of my newly clean home today while the boys wrestled and played in the living room. Later in the afternoon, J took the boys out for a walk while I whipped up a healthy dinner of chicken and broccoli lemon pasta. The boys inhaled their food and I am happy to report that I ate a good sized bowl as well! After dinner, we decided to take our boys to Wall's for some ice cream.

For those outside of the city, Wall's is an old fashioned ice cream parlor in South Miami. They have a nice outdoor patio where they constantly play old movies, shows and classic cartoons. When the Bear was 3 months old, J's family flew down for his beach side baptism. Later that day we went to Wall's for some ice cream. The majority of the family went inside to order their cones while I sat out on the patio with a very tiny Bear and J's feisty 92 year old Grammy. I Love Lucy was running and the night held a delicious breeze. We talked for a good fifteen minutes before the rest of the family returned. While we waited, Grammy told me how much of the world she still wanted to see. Really, quite in depth travel plans. Grammy was well under 5 feet tall and her hands looked like origami. She had a very yoda-esque feel about her, especially when she used a cane. You just had a feeling that if she really wanted to, she could roundhouse kick you in the jugular or do a high flying kick. She was that spunky. So when she talked about her extensive travel plans, it really made me smile.

Grammy died quite suddenly three months later, in fact, her trip out to see us was her last journey out of the home she had lived in for over 50 years.

Today we pulled into the parking lot at Wall's and I teared up, the way I always do, since Grammy passed away. This time my heart ached a bit too. I am 26 years old and for the past 6 weeks my life has been an absolute mess. I almost died. Someone told me I probably had cancer. I had to be hospitalized numerous times. And somewhere in the midst of all that I convinced myself that I was indeed dying, or about to die at any moment. I've lived in this ball of fear for several weeks now. But when we pulled into Wall's all I could think of was Grammy. Sitting at the table next to her twenty-first great grandchild on the night of his ocean baptism, talking about her fearless plans to see the world while six days ago I was afraid to drink water. Really, quite sobering.

On to the fun stuff. We love Wall's not only because they are a great family place and serve delicious ice cream, but also for their free baby cones. Yup, if you are under 36 inches tall you get free ice cream. Cute, tiny, mini ice cream on a little baby cone. The boys LOVE it. We love it!

The Bear always has a strawberry cone and so far, Cubby prefers vanilla. Any stranger sitting near us at Wall's can decipher my children's personalities strictly by viewing their individual approaches to these baby cones.

The Bear: cautious, clean and careful, holds on to the ice cream by the tip. Extremely slow and serious when taking the first lick. A slight drip here and there (he is only 2 after all) but for the most part, the consummate gentleman. He doesn't like sticky fingers which means he is extra careful with his ice cream. He also takes his time and normally leaves the waffle portion of the cone uneaten.

Cubby: does not lick his ice cream. He BITES it, quite ferociously. If you touch his cone, he will scream at you. Ice cream is not a game. Cubby will smile and coo so long as he is left undisturbed with his ice cream cone. It drips all over him, down his arms, fingers and chins. He rips into the waffle cone without hesitation, sometimes even from the middle instead of the top. Cubby usually finishes his entire cone before the Bear finished even a quarter of his own. I should mention here that Cubby gets this from his paternal grandfather, a major ice cream fiend.

Tonight was no different. After Cubby finished his cone, he ate half of my cookies and cream waffle bowl, then he zipped around the patio like a lightning bug with J chasing close behind. Every so often he would return to the entrance door at Wall's, presumably for more ice cream. The Bear sat quietly in his seat watching old Tom and Jerry reruns until he carefully finished eating.

It felt good to have a normal day and end it with a special treat. I'm happy that we have Wall's so close to our home. I loved sitting at a table with my children, watching them happily eating ice cream while the memory of a spunky old bird lingered in the back of my mind. She would have loved being there with us tonight. She would have ordered a huge ice cream cone and given me a pep talk as only Grammy could, shooting straight from the hip with her dry sense of humor and leaving me with a huge smile and a new determination. In fact, I feel as though she did just that for me this evening. Ah, memories and ice cream, what priceless parts of life.

Ready, Set, Hike

I love boys.

As a young girl I would day dream about my future family and it always looked the same. I was the lone woman with a husband and at least four or five boys to look after. The more the merrier. Back then it made sense. Growing up I always had a ton of male friends and very few female friends. I was always Josephine March, desperate to play war and jump fences and write horrifying novels. Eager to shock old women with my tomboy ways and never without a lizard in my pocket.

These days I still like to get my hands dirty, but I definitely prefer the garden over a mud puddle in the backyard. I've acquired new passions like sewing, Jane Austen, tea and other pastimes that do not hold up to the old tomboy status. I often wonder, "wouldn't it be great to have a daughter I can share all this with?" I suppose it would...

But then I remember camping. The old dream of one day sleeping out under the stars with my hubby and our boys. I'd get up early the following morning to start making hobo breakfasts while J and the boys whiz in the forest. And then, breakfast in our hands, we'd be off down the trail to go exploring. Slingshots, bows and arrows, compasses, and Phillies baseball caps. No toothbrushes, no hair combs, no fuss. It sounds divine.

As you can see, I am wondering about this new baby. Another boy to add to the roster of men I feed on a daily basis? Another girl with a Jo March complex? She just might lead the pack on long hikes and throw a better right hook than any of her brothers. (I'm bursting with pride all ready!)

Or will I have a little girl that adores pink ribbons and barbies? Confusion crowds into my brain on this one... an adjustment, but one I would gladly make.

Whoever is currently brewing in my belly, no matter the gender or personality, will change our family dynamic. I am in no hurry for November to get here. We have 7 months to enjoy our family as it is. I plan on making the most of it. I plan on summer adventures, ice cream cones, mud fights and swimming lessons. I plan on potty training, rearranging furniture and keeping my hair short.

Once I kick this lingering PTSD in the pants, I plan on taking the boys camping at least once before November. Oh how I've missed hiking! Its been too long since I've peed in the great outdoors. No matter what anyone else thinks I firmly believe that there is nothing better than a hobo breakfast first thing in the morning. I'm nostalgic for a big grey tent packed with squirming children and a strong man holding me through the night. And I really do think that a smoky wood burning scent on my two rascals...not to mention my man...would be absolutely irresistible. Bring on the hike!