…I go to the garden.
And I remember how lucky I am to have what I do. I have this little house. It is big enough. I have a large yard/little bit of land. I have water rights. Thus I have a lovely garden and enough play space for really running.
I do my chores, water, weed, rake, shovel, hoe. I play in the mud. And I am at peace.
But the one part I feel weird about is having to thin baby plants.
The carrots are especially hard to just pull up.
I feel like a mass murder.
But sometimes pulling weeds is the best therapy ever. I rip the little suckers out by the root and think about all the crazy texts Man Baby is still sending me. And I feel better about it all.
Today I watered. And thought about what really matters. About how DD understands how to show our daughter how a man ought to treat a woman. About how there is no amount of money worth selling your dignity for. About how blessed I am.
The old man next door complemented my irrigating. That is a compliment that means something. It is not mindless pat on the back self esteem building.
And I am pleasantly tired now. Spring watering means lots of shovel work. Not only does it make good food, I also get good exercise. Now I get a hot bath and a good night’s rest.