Spring Flowers on the Brain

In my perfect little world, which exists only in my head, I spend all day every Saturday playing in my garden. The weather is always a perfectly sunny 75 degrees, with a gentle breeze blowing from the West and making the windchimes dance.

I start by cleaning the pond, and it's a simple task devoid of any rocks falling into the water, fish freaking me out by swimming up to my arm and making fishy faces, and pockets of stinky black muck coming up through the siphon.

There are no weeds to pull in this perfect little scenario, but there are over-zealous perennials trying to take over the world. There are so many of them that once I'm done cleaning the pond, I have no choice but to spend a few hours transplanting healthy chunks of happy perennials to new parts of the yard.

I never run out of space for new plants, and every single one is vigorous and healthy. The only insects I encounter are a few friendly spiders and maybe a couple of cute little ladybugs.

It's a perfect little day in my perfect little garden, full of ample time to sit on the stained concrete bench and gaze at the pond, while drinking in the pleasant scents of roses and alyssum.

In reality, I get maybe an hour per month to play in my garden. I spend my hour rushing to prune, feverishly trying to get the pond cleanish, and pretending not to see the weeds and pesty insects that are everywhere. It's a damage control sort of hour, not at all an enjoyment sort of hour.

Of course, the reason for all this is Alexis. As much as I adore her, and I do, she is a giant ball of time-suck. Her refusal to sit on the bench and enjoy the garden like I want her to is often the reason I end up giving up on trying to watch her and work in the garden at the same time. I mean, not even duct tape can help with the situation.

After three years of neglecting the garden in lieu of keeping the kid happy and entertained, I've decided to fight fire with fire. Or, to be more exact, to fight fire with zinnias.

Enter, the seedlings.

Alexis and I worked together to carefully plant a couple of packs of flower seeds last week. I am hoping that by getting her involved early in the process, she will maintain some sort of level of interest for more than ten minutes.

So far, so good. Alexis has asked if her flowers have finished growing yet at least 4,682,894 times in the past week. She constantly walks over to them to lift the little greenhouse lid and check on them. She nags me daily that they need water, or sun, or a kiss.

She even talks to them.

Here's to hoping I at least get a chance to put mulch out this year. I'm pretty sure the hydrangeas would appreciate it.

Not Whining. Nope.

I have taken a vow to stop whining about the weather. I can't control it, so I need to just go with it. Sure, when it's between Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day, I'm likely to be wishing for snow, but that's not really whining.

Nope.

Not whining.

And now, snow in April? Why would I whine about that?

Just because it was 70 degrees yesterday and we spent hours riding bikes all around Pittsburgh doesn't mean I shouldn't expect it to get below freezing tonight. It doesn't mean I shouldn't be fine with potentially waking up to an inch of snow. It doesn't mean I shouldn't be prepared for a total of two inches of fluffy white stuff in the next 24 hours.

Except, I'm not prepared. I packed away my winter coat a LONG time ago. I am nothing, if not stubborn. And unprepared.

Nope, not whining.

And if I did kinda-sorta-maybe mention to Alexis that it was a little cold outside? It would have kinda-sorta-maybe done no good.

She told me to put on a coat.

Fact: Multi-Tasking Kills Brain Cells

I am 100% aware that I am losing my mind. 100%.

Not that long ago, I was cheerily sitting in a conference listening to someone speak about trends in computer-based training. My mind kept wandering, and I kept fidgeting with my laptop in hopes of at least getting something done while I kinda listened. Then the speaker, AS IF HE KNEW I WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION, started talking about how multi-tasking is a myth and then presented information from some studies that has proven that multi-tasking kills brain cells.

Lots of people were live-twittering the conference, and immediately they all started tweeting "BS" as they were living proof that you can absolutely twitter and listen effectively. I didn't call BS because I was all like, "Yeah, I'm multi-tasking right now, and I KNOW I'm not listening that well."

And then I started thinking about how it seems like a lot of my brain cells have gone missing lately. I keep thinking it's "Mommy Brain," but then -THEN- it came to me.

Multi-tasking.

Having a kid.

You can't have one without the other.

I mean, you can't even wipe your own butt without wondering what a kid is doing once you have one roaming around your house. Either the kid has to go to the bathroom with you and you have to try to act like the ringleader at a circus to keep the kid out of trouble, or you are left to fear what room of the house is in the midst of being turned into a disaster zone. Everything about life with kids is a giant game of multi-tasking. EVERYTHING.

Ergo, there is scientific evidence out there that having kids kills brain cells.

That's my excuse for what happened earlier.

I was trying to throw together a quickie dinner of Potato Boats (I'm going to get mocked for this one--oh well). A Potato Boat is a slice of bologna (in our case, faux bologna) with a scoop of mashed potatoes and a cube of cheese on top. It's one of those five-star lunches that I remember very well from grade school, and Alexis LOVES them. Dinner can be served in under five minutes, so I'm game for making them once every three or four months.

I threw the mashed potatoes in the microwave to warm up, grabbed the faux bologna out of the fridge, and then got distracted by the bag of grapes that needed cleaning. I had a few minutes before the potatoes would be finished, so I figured I would take care of the grapes right then and there. I set the faux bologna on the counter and turned my attention to a little grape scrubbing.

A few minutes later, the microwave wailed at me that the potatoes were done, so I turned to start slopping the concoctions together.

The bologna had grown legs and walked away.

I was SURE of it.

And yet, I wasn't.

I thought maybe I had left it in the fridge. Or set it in the cabinet when I opened it to put something away. Or threw it in the trash. Or . . . I started to wonder if it really had grown legs.

"Alexis, did you take the bologna?" I called out.

"Yes," she replied.

"Where did you put it?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied.

I believed her on both accounts, but I wasn't sure she really understood the question. We so rarely eat Potato Boats that I wasn't positive she actually understood the word "bologna."

"Alexis, did you take the red box?" I tried rephrasing my question.

"Yes," she replied.

"Where did you put it?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied. Again.

I rephrased the question ten different ways, and each time the answer was the same. Yes, she took it, but she didn't know where it was.

It took twenty minutes to find the faux bologna. In the freezer. Where Alexis put it.

Having kids definitely kills brain cells.