Hardcore carnivores think my meatless meatballs are the real
deal. I try to make my family's skincare
products, but when I buy them I'm very conscious of ingredients. I can do it all, and sing Edie Brickell's
greatest hits while I do.
We gently shoo bugs out of our home, and are even developing
a respect for bees (which I have a borderline irrational fear of since one flew
into my shirt 28 years ago.) Yup, I'm a
hippie mom.
A few months ago, during dinner, Isla (my three year old)
handed me a bean. She said "look Mommy,
this makes a beanstalk. We could climb it and go see the giant."
It made me think. Why
don't we have a garden? I've always wanted one. I find digging in the dirt cathartic. Alright, maybe it grosses me out a teeny bit. There was that girl who went
blind because of a parasite she caught from touching her eyes while
gardening. I'll just have to make sure I
wash my hands. And I'll get the special
soil, sans parasites.
Hippie moms automatically have
green thumbs, right? Well, not exactly. But I approached my personal Garden of
Eden the way I approach everything else. Full throttle.
From the comfort of our dining
room in March we started our seedlings.
My little garden partner and I planted tomatoes, peppers, squash,
cucumbers and herbs. We're Old and Young
MacDonald.
In a week we had
"babies" as Isla called them.
Little green sprouts soaking up the sun at every south facing window in
our home. Once I caught Isla trying to
motivate them. "GROW!!!" She
yelled at the top of her lungs.
"Don't yell, honey. Be
Supportive." "You can do it,
little guys!" from that moment she made it her job to be their own
personal sunshine. One night I walked
into the kitchen and she was holding a plant in her hand. It obviously needed to be watered and it was
starting to wilt. "Don't
worry. My mommy is going to take care of
you." As I ran for the watering can
she started to sing "Three Little Birds".
It was then that I realized two
things. Number one- the answer to the
age old question "What do you get when you cross a hippie mom with a
surfer dad?" Rasta child.
Number two-this is "our thing". I've always wondered what "our thing" would be. (I mean, of
course, besides cuddling which we pretty much have down to a science.) Isla's
dad is so athletic- he's cornered the market on mud runs and soccer games. And biking and surfing and anything that
requires a ball.
This is OUR thing! Together we are filling our home with life,
our kitchen with organic veggies that we grew ourselves, and our yard with
beanstalks.
I'm hoping that in the fall we
can carve our own pumpkins. Maybe we
will even take one with us when we go see the giant.
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