I received no gifts today.
I received mother's day wishes from my husband upon waking this morning, and from father-in-law and grandmother-in-law via answering machine. I called my mother, and we wished each other a happy day.
I declared this weekend a no work weekend. No email. No commitments. No anxiety over our fledgling business. A visit from a friend on Friday night allowed me to do this. At dinnertime, she came bearing raw asparagus and filet mignon, brie, peanuts, bread, wine, and ice cream to celebrate our business opening. After one glass of wine for myself, my shoulders relaxed. My son, husband, friend, and I happily ate beef we cooked in the toaster oven. (Regular oven still broken).
Saturday morning - awake at 5:45 a.m. After breakfast, my husband and son used a dremel tool on a terra cotta pot. "Want to make a toad house, Beren?"my husband asked our son. Thinking they'd be occupied for awhile, I brought a couple flats of vegetable seedlings to the garden. I planted tomatoes and other seedlings (patchy frost predicted for Monday night - I'll toss buckets over the seedlings, which have two sets of tiny true leaves each). I hadn't enough hands to carry tools or water. I was thirsty as I grubbed at the earth. Soil was packed under my nails.
My husband pumped up the flat tires on the wheelbarrow. I fixed a broken drawer. It felt so good.
In late morning, we went to the May Fair at the Waldorf School. When the announcer introduced the seventh grade girls a capella group, I did some quick math - five years ago, I worked at the school as a second grade classroom assistant. These singers would have been in my class. Tears came to my eyes, and I buried my nose into my son's hair. "It will go so fast," I whispered to my husband.
We met a friend and her daughter. They played on the seesaws. My son handed her a dandelion. We ate "Naked" brand pizza and Indian food. We watched a portly man wag his finger at two children who dueled with wooden swords. "There's no fighting here," he said. I wondered if there was a better way to say this. We played in the sand pits and playhouses. We watched the children dance, skip and sing as they wove bright ribbons around the May pole. Children being children.
We met my brother, mother, and father in Flemington for dinner. "Could we sit away form the t.v.'s?" my husband asked the hostess of the chain eatery.
I hardly see my brother. We ate together, and I wished we could spend more time.
We went to Walmart to pick up a couple items (word on the street from farmer acquaintances is that Walmart is the best deal on pop up tents for outdoor vending. Ok, ok, that's work related, but there would be no other time to go there this week. Plus, we rolled over to the toy section to look for a giant Tonka truck our son enjoyed playing with at a friend's house. Beren has not had a new toy infusion for quite a while - a birthday around the major gift-giving holidays makes the rest of the year a toy and clothes drought. While I wandered the toy section, my son told my husband, "Nuff." As in, enough, I am done with this place. Good kid.). We saw a friend in the parking lot - no one else drives a black high rise Jeep with a "Gut deer?" sticker. Not in Hunterdon county, anyway.
Sunday, another early morning. After breakfast, to the garden again. A walk in the woods.
I kept true - no work, no anxiety - up until this evening. My husband and I sat on the couch watching our over-tired two and a half year old son. He turned over baskets of plastic animal figurines, clambered up the armchair and down and up and down, and then pulled sheets from the drawers. My husband turned to me and said, "Basically, I am waiting for him to go to sleep. Might as well be only one of us watching this scene. Go outside. Take some times for yourself. Come back whenever."
Outside, the wind blew threw my Crocs and grey polyester secondhand sale sweater. I wandered over to the hoophouse - some sunflowers were blown over. Some of the plants seemed so little. Wind roared through the shadecloth stretched over the metal pipe frame that protects our woodland stock from the sun's direct light. It's been a cold, dry spring.
From the greenhouse, I wandered to the garden. Rows of onions, tomato, cucumbers and squash seedlings just transplanted on Saturday seemed vigorous. I picked lemon balm and catnip which were partially buried under the foliage of cutleaf coneflower, Joe Pye, and a couple native mints. I breathed in the catnip - I needed a nervous system tonic. Sunday night blues...
It was such a nice weekend. I'm sorry it's over. I received no gifts wrapped in ribbon or paper. Thank you.