Every so often life needs to come down a few notches. As I sit in the garden, in an Adirondack chair, thinking like a two year old, because I am in the presence of a 2.6 and a 1.1 year old, and in order to stay ahead of them both, I need to think like both.
They prefer to dig up their mother's potted plants. I watch the dark rich potting soil fly from scooper to dump truck to patio concrete. Distraction is an important concept in my notched-down life. I pick up one and call to the other. We settle at the edge of the grow boxes where I inspect the newly transplanted golden berries from my hearty home stock, from my prized golden berry patch.
It's what we do with our children; we keep them in our patch. We nurture, fertilize, taste of the sweet fruit they bare. One day, all too soon, they outgrow the boundaries of our patch. We send them on hoping they are sturdy stock. We delight when they bare their own fruit. And we take it down a notch in their garden enjoying the fruit of their hard work.