In my fantasy life, I am a great gardener. The kind that remembers to put bulbs in in the fall, deals competently with invasively multiplying perennials and deals out a kind organic death to weeds and pests. Up till now I have had an out in the form of several little people who call me "Mom" and needed constant supervision. Now that they are getting bigger, can swing for hours at a time (OK, minutes) without breaking out into a fight or falling down and getting hurt, or even better, like to "help," I am losing my excuses for why my yard isn't a thing of beauty and a joy forever. So what am I doing on this May morning? Putting off heading outside, drinking another cup of coffee...writing this post. Sigh.
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