It’s time to thin my plants, now that the first true leaves have appeared. I’m to cut back all but the strongest seedling in each pellet.
I can’t do it.
Maybe this is why I’m not a vegetarian, except I don’t envision any problem eating the zucchini and tomatoes and basil my garden is going to produce. (That and I love steak.)
But I can’t bring myself to get out the scissors and snap those fragile green stems. Maybe if I start with the beans. Their stems are thick and tall. And I mostly planted only one large seed in each of those.
My body is the soil my children grew in. They still grow in my time, my attention, my concern, my care.
I’m glad I don’t have to thin my children. But do I have enough soil for the three I have? For another one? Do I have the ruthlessness, the determination, the focus, to thin the other things from my life that might usurp the oxygen and water of my mother’s love that my children deserve?
It’s time to thin my children, now that they’re beginning to grow from me. I’m to prune the weaker parts of their personalities.
And the person holding the shears could use some serious shaping herself.
We walked on Sunday evening, after coming home from a weekend of binge eating and church conference at my parents. Sally and Susan ran ahead, holding hands, giggling, agreeing to play “sister princesses” when we got home. Spot held her plastic ponies in each hand, not letting go even when she tripped over loose gravel. When they got tired, and whined, Dick carried Susan on his shoulders, I carried Spot.
I pointed out airplanes white against the blue sky. Spot showed me “A bubble, Mommy! A bubble!”
“That’s the moon, honey,” I said. It was a three-quarter moon, early and wispy against the still-bright sky. It looked like a bubble.
“Yeah, Mommy, that’s the moon,” Spot agreed.
Susan would obstinately insist on the bubble description. Sally would concede the astronomical explanation, but make me acknowledge that it sure did look like a bubble.
My kids are coming right along. Now if I can bring myself to thin my plants.
Jane
Subscribe by email
Shannon (4)
Emily H. (3)
memarie lane (2)
Beth (1)
gurrbonzo (1)
What beautiful analogies you’ve made here. Very touching (and very true).
[Reply]
Oh dear, the title alone had me Whooping! and poor DB, who’s only just realized that his wifey has an online personality and, gasp! PEOPLE, said “what’s that? one of those bloggy twits?” At least he’s *trying* with the lingo.
Jane… you’ve got to be getting sick of me saying this, but oh my gosh woman, you are an incredible writer! I have a serious (but not stalkerish) Jane-crush!
You remind me of a friend I once knew, and she was totally awesome, but we ended up moving away, and our friendship never had much of a chance to grow. One time I was over at her house, and she brought out 2 tubas (I play) and a trombone, and the three of us had an amazing impromptu concert. I say, once again, poor DB.
Happy Easter friend! He is Risen!
[Reply]
Ok. I have to share. My 8 year old son grew a radish garden last year. Some of the plants grew so well and others struggled. It was hard to not be able to make them grow for him and at the same time such a wonderful lesson for him to see the fruits of his labor. Gardening and motherhood go hand in hand for sure, such a pain in the rear until you get to enjoy some precious fruit!!
[Reply]
Today while pondering my garden and this post, I began thinking of the seedlings mothers have to thin to make the plant stronger and also the dandelions of bad habits, with deep roots and easy reproduction, have to be plucked out. Even though they seem harmless enough at first, before you know it they take over your entire yard (trust me I know–about the dandelions, hopefully not so much about the bad habits). Seeing the dandelion war my husband is raging right now, helps me truly see a mother’s work is never done.
[Reply]
well, said, Jane! You *are* an awewome writer. (It’s easy to compliment your offsrping, basking in the reflected glory).
Your psot reminds me of one of my favorite ever quotes: “If fruit-bearing trees were self-aware, would they consent to being pruned? With limbs surging to sprout and reach in natural directions, could they be pursuaded by the gardener’s promises of increased fruitfulness and health? It is doubtful that they could. Certainly human beings, the creatures that *are* self aware, seldom submit willingly to any sort of pruning, in spite of needing it more desperately than any tree. They are propelled through life by desires that, like plants’ impetus toward growth, press natuarlly for satisfaction; is is accordinly not easy to convince them of the necessity for “pruning”– for denying themselves satisfactions — if their lives are to be meaninglful and happy.” (C. Terry Warner).
One more (I can’t resist): “On wild trees the flowers are fragrant; on cultivated tress, the fruits”. (Philostratus, quoted by C. Terry Warner).
[Reply]
Oh boy, did this strike a nerve within me. Last week, I discovered that I am nearly 3 months pregnant with my 5th baby. For several months, I have resisted the idea of a 5th child, afraid that I couldn’t thin the things I needed to out of my life so that I could take on the awesome task of raising another baby. I already feel like a failure most of the time as I struggle along, inadequately meeting the needs of my family.
I was so surprised to learn I was pregnant and even more surprised to feel peace as I contemplated adding a child to this crazy family. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but already I’ve had to cull lots of things from my plate. I just hope I have the strength to continue to do what is needed.
[Reply]
I love the title of this post too. I have the same problem. Mentally it is so hard to kill off one of those little seedlings. I don’t want to see it die when it has worked so hard to grow and I know the future potential it has to produce.
[Reply]
Hi Jane,
Like other followers of your blog, I enjoy your writing very much. Although we live in very close proximity to each other, our different ages and “times” – as in “a time to rear children” and “a time to spoil grandchildren” – don’t allow for lengthy discussions, let alone deep or humorous ones. Thank you for taking the time to reflect upon your wonderful world.
One last observation: You don’t have to thin grass; just cut, water, and fertilize it. Sort of like cutting,shampooing, and conditioning hair! It isn’t painful, just time-consuming! Now, I’ll let you extend that analogy to rearing children. (Have you noticed our grass is the greenest on the block? Thanks to my hubby who likes to fertilize, water, and cut grass!)
[Reply]
I’m a tech writing student who also happens to be an LDS mother of three. I came here after stumbling into your husband’s tech writing blog. (I’m always amazed how I bump into other Latter-day Saints online. I wonder–can we get spiritual promptings about which link to click when we google the most mundane things?)
Anyway, I think your blog is delightful, and I’m subscribing.
[Reply]
You’ve kinda been MIA (at least on twitter) hope all is well! Just stopping in! (Apparently I’m on an MIA kick, just posted about my hubby being MIA also lol)
[Reply]
[...] “I’m glad I don’t have to thin my children. But do I have enough soil for the three I have?” [...]