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I’m finding myself having to step back again, to regroup and gather my wits. It’s this whole “business of motherhood” thing, the Alpha Moms, making a career of motherhood, with business plans and all. It makes my head spin. More power to them, really, since they have the income to hire nannies and personal assistants and even night nurses. Where was my night nurse when I had 3 children under the age of 4? Care to guess how i juggle 3 in diapers, carseats, and when I needed to buy groceries? I just did. we couldn’t afford to hire help. I never thought of it as a burden, or something that needed to be managed like a corporation. I just did it, because I had to. Motherhood was not a hurdle to be jumped, or a mountain to be climbed. It’s a process, a constantly evolving relationship between mother and child(ren). It’s teaching them that you are human, and have a temper and hot buttons, just like they, the children, do. It’s not rolodexes and daytimers and blackberries and someone to get the kid off your nerves when you want to take a bath. It’s love and stench and mess and peanut butter on the walls and matchbox cars on the floor to be stepped on. It’s children who think they’re grown and do everything you taught them not to do, like running away for days and getting high and just…why do they do that? Because they are not machines to be programmed. They’re people, with opinions and free will and appalling taste in music.
Motherhood is not a race, or a contest, it’s a long process that allows you to watch the fruit of your loins grow and become an individual. Everyone’s process is different. It won’t follow a formula, and trying to make it do so is an invitation to disaster.
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Finally, it’s not cold. I hate cold. I am deeply grateful that I live in the South, because I think the cold is a divine plot, never mind the cycle of seasons and that tulips need cold to bloom.
My roses will soon be blooming. I have a wide variety of colors and styles, nary a tea rose in the bunch. Hybrid Teas are the High Mainentance Paris Hiltonian Rose. I prefer lower maintenance Laura Ingalls rose. Antique varieties, with their loosely formed, intensely fragrant flowers and riotous growth habits.
Jackson and Perkins has me on their Sucker List. I said that to the woman who called me, with some Spectacular Offer, and she said O! No! We don’t have a sucker list! We have a Priority Customer List! So I asked what was the difference? She said Priority Customer sounds better. Indeed. And, indeed, whenever they call me, 3 or 4 times a year, I order something. This last time, 2 Zephirine Drouhine roses- raspberry pink climbing rose with no thorns and can handle a bit of shade, and 1…something else…a white rose with pink edges, also a climber. I forget the name but it started with an S. All 3 for the Low Low Special Priority Customer Price of $15! Who can pass that up? Just a month ago I ordered a Mermaid rose from them, also because I was on their sucke…um…Priority Customer List. In their defence, they are very nice, and helpful, and their sale prices really are amazing. I mean, $5 for a Zephirine Drouhine? Holy Cow! They run $20 normally!
So, in a week or two, I’ll put some young men with strong backs to work, digging some holes and helping me plant. Then, next year, when they’re established, I’ll have big boofy Peony-like blooms of raspberry pink, smelling up my house and making the cat sneeze.
Once my rose count reaches 20, we will be committed to living here forever. Because I’m not moving 20 roses, and I’m not leaving them behind, either.
Isn’t human nature a fickle thing? I know there are people who absolutely adore living in the big city, with all the activity and nightlife, and access to interesting things. There are people who like really really loud music…you know…This Is Spinal Tap and all. I reckon they find it stimulating. It all sounds the same to me *BLAHBLAHSCREECH RIP MY TONSILS OUT BLAHBLAH*, and I am pretty sure those folks would listen to my music and fall into a coma, if they didn’t just stab their ears with a screwdriver first.
My point is, there are actually SOME PEOPLE who(whisper)…don’t…like…roses. Schocking!
I can’t imagine such a thing. There are lots of things I can imagine. BDSM, don’t wanna do it, but I can see the appeal to some. I can imagine someone eating chopped liver. In fact, I saw Ina Garten’s huband Jeffrey actually tuck into a bowl full of chopped liver with great enthusiasm. I wouldn’t do it. That mess looks positively scatalogical. But then I like fish sauce. Go figure. But, not liking roses? I could understand if it’s because of the rose’s demands, they are kinda prima donnish, unlike, say, a marigold. Not liking roses is like not liking…bread. Everyone likes bread. It’s universal. If someone doesn’t, it probably because of some physical issue, like gluten intolerance, but even then who doesn’t like the smell of baking bread? Oh, my neighbor 15 years ago…she doesn’t. But then she likes the smell of skunks. Physical thing.
Roses aren’t so hard, especially if you think of them as a recalcitrant child, in need of constant attention and monitoring. Aphids like roses even more than I do, and I am loathe to spray my babies with nasty malathion stinkin’ stuff, so this is what I spray with (suitable for children and pets, and for use on all soft bodies pestilential creatures. It doesn’t work on the hard ones like beetles, tho.)
1 quart water in a spray bottle
1/2 teaspoon liquid dish soap
2 teaspoons baking soda
Mix it all up.
The soap breaks down the waxy coating on the aphids, so their once plump bodies become dessicated husks. How grim. But, at least you’re not using systemic nasties on your plants, and can underplant with herbs. The baking soda alters the pH of the surface of the leaves, making it difficult for black spot, rust, and mildew to adhere.
You do have to spray after every rain, and whenever you start to see more green aphids.