Things That Give Me Life

It’s been a somber week for middle TN. March 3, in the early morning hours, 4 tornados came through Nashville, Mt. Juliet, and Cookeville killing 24 people and leveling homes, businesses, and schools. While our family is safe and we had no property damage to our home or Tim’s business, our friends were not so fortunate. News has been devastating. Tim has been out around East Nashville all week assessing damage to some of their completed projects and prioritizing the overwhelming number of requests Bootstrap is receiving from homeowners that need anything from simple repairs to massive reconstruction. Usually life works out so that Tim and I take turns being busy and stressed about work. We won’t have that luxury this spring. 

My March Madness has begun. I will soon be launched into the organized chaos that is Spring at Bates Nursery. Here’s an idea of what that looks like:

With all the hours of overtime I’ll be putting in, I will have little time to devote to social media posts. I’m going to try something a little different for a while. I’ve been inspired by Sarah Bessey’s weekly newsletters, in which she gives a list of Good Things she’s seen/heard/watched/read. For about 3 years, I’ve used the hashtag #thingsthatmademehappytoday on Instagram. But lately I feel like my terminology sounds a bit vain. The things that I post pictures of or write stories about aren’t just pieces of fluff that put a smile on my face. Somedays, these things are giving me hope, encouragement, and strength to carry on. So, I’m changing my hashtag to #thingsthatgivemelife, and I will compile a list in a weekly blog post. Here’s my first installment.

Spring is coming!- I figured I’d start with the obvious. No matter how many winters I endure, I am ALWAYS surprised and thrilled to see the plants in my yard waking up from their long sleep; sometimes, I’ve given up hope they’ll manage to return.

Fresh cut flowers- I’m trying to continue what I started during my sabbatical and keep fresh flowers in the house. I got the most beautiful flowers from Fresh Market last week. I also bought lots of spring bulbs and seeds to plant. I tell myself every year that I’m going to have an amazing cutting garden, then I get busy; when I finally DO have time, it’s too late in the season to get anything started. I am determined that this is going to happen, people. THIS IS MY YEAR.

New plants- The trucks have begun rolling in at Bates Nursery, which means hard work for me, but also the pleasure of new and lovely plants. I’ve already blown one paycheck.

Blank canvas- Because of my brainless planting of northern sea oats, evening primrose, and creeping jenny, and the equally stupid decision not to eradicate purple winter creeper and morning glory, my large perennial bed was hopelessly out of control. The only way to restore it was to remove as many perennials as I could, dig out as many invasives as possible, then smother what remained with black plastic. This was a little heartbreaking for me, but now that it’s spring and so many beautiful plants are arriving at the nursery, I’m seeing the potential of this empty space and realizing how fun it will be to paint a new masterpiece. By having all these horrible plants and weeds gone at the start of the season, spreading a layer of mulch, and putting down a preemergent, I’ll be ahead of the game and have more time to devote to planning a new garden and making it a reality.

Little Women- After seeing the newest movie, I wanted to read the novel again. I’m learning that a lot of books I read as a kid were abridged versions. This was the first time I’d read Little Women in it’s original form, and I fell in love with it all over again.

The Wailin Jennys- Sarah Bessey had one of their songs in her Good Things list (a cover of Dolly Parton’s Light of a Clear Blue Morning), so I looked them up on iTunes. Why am I just now discovering these ladies?! They are a Canadian trio and sing the most amazing harmonies. This sent me down a rabbit hole of searching for similar acts and building a new playlist called Ladies Who Trio. 

Friend’s improved health- A friend and coworker has been battling cancer since last fall. Her latest report was excellent, and we’re hopeful that an upcoming PET scan will show she is cancer-free.

Seasonal staff- This is the first year we’ve retained most of the greenhouse seasonal staff from the previous spring. As a manager, it is a HUGE relief that I won’t have to think about training several new people while my brain is occupied with helping customers, keeping the greenhouse neat and organized, unloading trucks, and figuring out where all of the incoming new product can go when the greenhouse is already bursting at full capacity. Some of the seasonal staffers have already stopped by to say hello, and they’re all excited about being back in the greenhouse. I can’t tell you how much joy this brings me. 

Familiar customers- If you love to garden, you are my people. It’s been fun to see the excitement and anticipation of spring on the faces of our loyal customers. Spring fever is contagious.

Chocolate- It’s amazing how just a little chocolate can lift my spirits.

Gloves that fit- One of the reasons I don’t wear gloves on a regular basis when I garden is that I have some of the smallest hands a grown ass woman can have. Ladies small gloves are too big, but kid gloves are too small. On a whim yesterday, I looked in the sports section of Target. I saw that batting gloves come in youth sizes. I tried on a youth small, and they fit perfectly. I’ve worn them in the garden for 2 days now and they work like a charm. I can’t believe it’s taken 45 years to find a pair of gloves that fits me.

Haley Williams solo album- Haley is the lead singer of Paramore, one of my favorite bands. I saw an article about her on Twitter last night and learned that she’s released an EP. I also read that Paramore is in the studio working on a new album. SO. HYPED.

Winter Sabbatical (Part 2)

Yesterday, I answered the what and why questions surrounding my winter sabbatical. Today, I'd like to share a few revelations and reminders that I gleaned from my time in Miami. There's a lot here, so I'll be brief. Most of the books I read were introspective and this little break was the perfect opportunity to fully absorb all of the goodness on those pages. I can share the list of books I read with anyone who's curious. Here goes...

What I Learned

• The thought of being alone in a huge, unfamiliar city was kinda terrifying. I’ve never lived on my own. I’m a rule follower, not a rule maker. Even though I’m an introvert that craves solitude, I didn’t know if I could handle taking charge of every single decision about my day. This experience has bolstered my self confidence. As a 45-year-old woman, I did two things I’ve never done before; I went to a movie alone and I ate lunch in a restaurant at a table for one. It was liberating and empowering to know that I can survive in Miami on my own.
• I’m a doer. Resting isn’t a natural state for me. I made up a daily schedule so I could feel productive while I was away. Tim knows me too well, so he gave me a little pep talk before he left. “You’re going to feel the need to stay busy. You’re going to set these expectations and make lists of the things you want to accomplish. But don’t. Relax, appreciate the silence.” I worried about what people would think if I came home after 6 weeks with nothing to show for it. Nothing written, no accomplished goals. Tim told me there was only one goal to focus on: Make it to Spring without falling into the pit. If I can do that, and nothing else comes from this, my time in Miami will still be a success. In Miami, I was forced to do nothing. There was no job to get to, no laundry, no messy house to clean. No one asked anything of me. I learned how to be comfortable with not having a plan. I had space to listen to myself and my surroundings more. I didn’t feel the need to be whatever so many people expect me to be every day.  
• Vases full of fresh flowers bring me abundant joy. I am going to have them in my house on a regular basis.
• I want to listen to music at home more often than I currently do. Pierce has always been annoyed when I play my music, so this will be a challenge.
• I love the beach. LOVE the beach.
• Coloring brings me peace. I want to do this more in the evenings as a way to destress and unwind.
• I am throwing out my scale. I will eat healthy most days, but I will indulge on occasion because life is too short to say no to foods I enjoy. I will know it’s time to ease up on sweets or comfort foods whenever I feel bloated and sluggish or my jeans are cutting off my circulation. Also, I will no longer make excuses for my food choices, such as, “It’s too hot outside to eat a heavy lunch today” or “I’ll just work these calories off tomorrow.” I won’t be guilted into exercising harder to make up for all the food I ate at Thanksgiving. If all I want for lunch is a protein shake, that is okay, and I won’t eat more than that just to put other people at ease. 
• My self-worth is not defined by anyone else’s opinion of me or my writing. I learned this in therapy a couple years ago, but I continue to struggle with making the lesson stick.
• Occasionally putting my needs before others’ is not selfish. 
• A vast majority of women on the beach look just like me: they have spider veins and cottage-cheese thighs, and bellies that will never be flat again. Yet, they wear what they want to the beach, because they’re comfortable with their bodies. I want to be one of those women. I’m going to wear my sexy red bikini to the beach no matter how I look, dammit! But I can’t be as carefree as one lady on the beach…
• Topless sunbathing in South Beach is not frowned upon. I learned this fact from my beach chair neighbor, a woman that will forever be known to me as Topless Granny. Yikes, but also, rock on, sister. Thanks for inspiring me to be comfortable with my body, though I’ll be keeping my girls covered up. 
• I am a sexual being. I have tried to deny this fact by suppressing my femininity at work, for various reasons I won’t go into. The way I dress affects how I feel about myself. I’m not going to start wearing heels and pearls in the greenhouse, but I’ve got to find ways to feel like a woman again. This discovery was made while reading the following.
• Every woman, I repeat, EVERY WOMAN, regardless of whether you’re gay or straight, needs to read Come As You Are by Emily Nagoski. I guarantee you will learn something about your body. FYI: If you decide to read this book in public, you should be aware that the cover art resembles a vagina. This prompted me to harken back to my elementary school days when we made book covers for our textbooks. People were probably more curious about what reading material would be so scandalous that I had to cover it up, but I have no regrets.
• As the shorter person, it is always assumed that I will step out of someone else’s way if we are walking towards each other on the sidewalk. I suspected as much already, so this was just confirmation. It’s not as obvious when I’m walking with my tall husband, but I definitely noticed a difference when I was on my own. The world would be a better place if everyone kept to the right side of the path. Maybe all the people I’m playing chicken with are from the UK. 
• I overpacked; I could’ve gotten by on 1/3 of the clothes I brought with me. This is good to know, since I’ll have to travel by plane to next year’s sabbatical. I also brought my entire stash of pictures, scrapbook pages, tools, paper, stickers, etc. I only worked on one scrapbook while I was there, so most of my craft stuff was unused. Speaking of scrapbooks…
• I will finish the kids scrapbooks, then I am done with scrapbooking. I am tired of feeling guilt whenever I look at all the supplies and empty pages I’d planned to fill and haven’t yet.
• Going 7 weeks without hearing any Veggie Tales music or quotes was GLORIOUS.
• I can keep house plants alive for 7 weeks.
• If you’ve been in labor and had a kidney stone, the pain of getting a tattoo is laughable. Mostly. I’m sure there are more painful places to get a tattoo than where I got mine.
• I saw the newest Little Women. At different stages of my life, I’ve been able to identify with Beth (shy and musical) Amy (a teenager pining away for a boy that loves someone else) and Meg (marriage and children are her heart’s desire rather than ambition for a career). I’ve never felt anything in common with Jo (independent and confident, with aspirations of being a published author). As I watched the movie, I realized that I can finally say I’ve been all four March girls at some point. I know what it’s like to have something in your head that will eat you alive if you don’t get it out and onto the page. I’ve experienced the thrill of getting an acceptance letter, confirmation that someone out there wants to hear what I have to say. This realization helps me come away with a message I haven’t before. Women can be a Beth, an Amy, a Meg, or a Jo, and they ALL have value. No sister or their path was more virtuous than the others. Also, it is possible to be all four women, depending on your stage of life. 
• Fireman Derek’s Bake Shop has one of the best red velvet cakes you’ll ever put in your mouth. I want to marry this cake. It’s slap-yo-granny delicious. They deliver via Postmates, which is a good thing. And also a bad thing. 
• Even though I hate to do it and get all torn up with anxiety, I can get from point A to point B in a big city without dying.
• ALWAYS get an estimate from your taxi driver before you get in the car. Ouch. $$$
• Parking garages aren’t as nerve-wracking as they used to be. 
• I have taken free parking for granted in the past. I now have a greater appreciation for the fact that in Nashville, I can go to Target or Kroger without having to pay to park.
• According to my bank (Regions), Miami is the fraud capitol of the world. My account was frozen twice for suspected fraudulent charges (they were all purchases made by me) and the second time, the bank cancelled my debit card instead of asking me to verify the charges that were flagged. This prompted an emergency visit to a branch in Miami that could issue a new debit card on the spot. I then had to try and remember all of the monthly services that had my old card’s info and enter the new card’s info. 
• Whoever designed the roadway system in Miami was on crack.
• And lastly, Miami drivers can kiss my ass. 

Winter Sabbatical (Part 1)

There’s a lot to say about the last 7 weeks. I don’t want to pile it all on you at once, so this will be a 2-part post. In part 1, I will try to answer the what and why questions I’ve been asked most often about my time away. In part 2, I will give a summary of my discoveries and revelations. There will also be a separate post on Instagram and Facebook with a few pictures. I’ve stayed off social media to 1) keep all of you from hating me and my sunny pictures and 2) keep the drama of life to a minimum. I don’t have much news to share other than an acceptance email from Borrowed Solace informing me that another essay I wrote last year will be published in their literary journal this spring. To my knowledge, it will only be available in print. When I have purchase info, I will share. Past issues of Borrowed Solace have been $7. I was quite vulnerable and transparent in this essay, so I’m pretty nervous for all of you to read it. So. Without further ado, here’s part 1 of Winter Sabbatical 2020.

FAQ

It really hasn’t been all that cold this winter. Do you regret going or feel like this was a waste of money? 

The cold does make me cranky, but it’s the lack of sunshine that makes me lose the will to live. I mean that literally. If you’ve never experienced seasonal depression, I can’t possibly make you understand my motives. Did you know that in Nashville there have only been 13 sunny days so far this year? At least that’s what I counted; Correct me if I’m wrong since I wasn’t here. By my calculations, 73% of 2020 has been cloudy and/or rainy in Nashville. I work a job that keeps me outside, which means I get more sun than the average person. When sunshine disappears for days or weeks at a time every winter, my brain suffers from starvation. I joke that I’m solar powered, but it’s the best way I know to describe SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). I know there are people out there that see me as some spoiled Brentwood mom that loves the beach and has the luxury of skipping town for several weeks just because I don’t like to get cold. My story is that I went to Miami to avoid the hopelessness and despair I feel for three months straight every year, and right now, my brain is healthier than it has ever been during the winter.  

What did you do everyday? Were you ever bored?

I took walks most mornings. I started a prayer journal. I read. I wrote. I worked on a scrapbook. I colored. I went to a Farmer’s Market every Saturday in a park 1 block away from my condo. I went to the beach a few times. I spent too much money on books and craft supplies. I was never bored, but there were days that I was hard on myself or felt guilty about being lazy. And there were 2 days that wrecked me to the point of wanting to pack up and come home.    

Was it scary to be alone in Miami?

Sometimes. My parking spot was in a gated lot and all entrances to my building were only accessible with a key. I never felt that my building was unsafe. It was on a busy street in a decent part of Miami, and during the day, I felt comfortable walking to the store or the park. But I did not like being out alone at night. Most evenings I made my own dinner instead of eating out.    

Didn’t you miss your family?

There’s a saying that I love: How can I miss you if you don’t go away? Reagan is doing the college thing, so I don’t see her much even when I am at home. Pierce has school or work, but when he’s home he is ALWAYS talking or singing. If I’m being honest, I relished the silence and solitude. Tim and I are at a place in our lives and our marriage where we don’t feel the need to be joined at the hip. I made a brief visit at the end of January, and after having been apart for several weeks, we cherished our time together . A wise woman (Beyoncé) once said, “Ladies, look at here. When you been with your man for a long time, every now and then you got to go in the back of that closet and pull out that freakum dress.” I know this isn’t the same thing, but I really wanted an opportunity to quote Beyoncé, so go with it. My sabbatical was just the shake-up our boring old routine needed. Having the chance to miss each other and anticipate our reunion was…okay, let’s move on.

How did Pierce handle your absence?

He was fine. He did ask about me everyday for the first week, but he was mostly unaffected (from what we could tell). Conversation with Pierce consists of 2-3 exchanges before he wanders off to do his own thing, so we have no idea how he really felt about it.  

How did Tim manage without you at home?

Again, fine. I take Pierce to school every day, so Tim just left a few minutes early and dropped him off on his way to work. Pierce has always rode the bus home, due to our work schedules. At home, Pierce is pretty low-maintenance.   

Do you think you’ll do this again sometime?

I already have a place booked from January 1st to February 28th 2021, so YES. Tim pointed out to me a couple days ago that this may be the first year that I actually look forward to winter. He’s right; I never thought I’d be able to say those words. Despite how much I disliked the city of Miami (more on that later), Winter Sabbatical 2020 was a definite success. I grew in ways I never expected. Most importantly, I haven’t wanted to slit my wrists this winter, which is all that matters to me and Tim.

The Shame Game

Recently, Tim and I saw It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, and I was reminded that Fred Rogers was one-of-a-kind. Last year, we saw Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, the documentary on Fred’s life, so I already knew that Mr. Rogers was not just a character. Fred Rogers was every bit as gentle with people behind the scenes as he was on camera. He was human, and like all humans, he experienced anger. It was what he did with that anger that made him different. He punched pillows or banged on piano keys, taking out his frustrations on inanimate objects. Fred Rogers was a preacher, and he was motivated to develop a show for children after seeing the violence in programming that was aimed at kids. What I gleaned from the documentary and the fictional movie based on him, was that Fred Rogers was not prone to fits of righteous indignation. He didn’t preach “shame on the world!” from a pulpit. He saw what children needed, and he set to work creating a safe space for them. When asked why he was so committed to his show, he didn’t defend his work by railing against the downfall of society. He only expressed a deep love for children. 

I’ve read lots of books this year (look for another post about my 2019 faves). One of my favorite authors has been Brené Brown; I read four of her books. She is a research professor that studies and lectures on the effects of shame. I’ve learned a lot. There is way too much shame in our society: mommy shaming, slut shaming, body shaming, church shaming, celebrity shaming, even dog shaming (I can’t lie, I love a good dog-shaming picture). Parents use shame to correct their children. Managers and bosses use shame to spur their employees towards better job performance. Teachers use shame to motivate their students into being better than. Churches shame their congregants into believing that they will never be good enough for heaven. And we on social media are panting for any excuse to shame the person that cut us off in traffic, the talk show host that said something inflammatory, the politician that is the polar opposite of all we believe in, the millennials that can’t do anything right, etc., etc. Please notice that I used the word “we”. I’ve participated in this ritual of shaming more times than I’d like to admit; Facebook Memories likes to remind me of all the awful stuff I’ve said over the years. I take the scenic route to and from work mainly because I don’t like the angry, aggressive driver I become on the interstate. 

I’m tired of being shamed, watching others be shamed, and inflicting shame. This year, I’ve begun making a conscious effort to put an end to this type of behavior. I think long and hard about what I want to say. I’ve stopped following the social media accounts of people, conservatives AND liberals, that routinely shame others, either for laughs or for malice. I’ve been called a self-righteous hypocrite. Perhaps the accusation is correct. I do think I’m better than some people. I am better than 1992 Melissa. I am better than 2003 Melissa. I am better than 2014 Melissa. Soon, I want to say that I’m better than 2019 Melissa. If refusing to participate in or listen to the shaming of others or striving to become a better version of myself makes me “self-righteous”, then so be it. By choosing to take a stand, I may lose a few followers, or lose more than I already have this year. I want to live by Michelle Obama’s motto: When they go low, we go high. I am under no illusions that I will wake up tomorrow as a person incapable of having a quick temper. I can only try not to sin in my anger. Maybe I can take a page out of Mr. Rogers’s playbook and focus my energy on telling the world what I am for instead of what or who I am against.

Cheering Section MVPs

So many of you have been excited for me and congratulating me on the news that my first essay will be published in an online literary journal in November. It’s been a much needed bright spot this last couple of weeks. Over the years, you’ve read my indulgent blog posts and have been gracious in your compliments and encouragement. It may have taken reading my work to a roomful of strangers and receiving positive feedback to give me that final boost of confidence I needed to send my writing out into the world. But if you’ve read and commented on anything I’ve ever posted, know that you have contributed to that slow rise of courage within me, and I am grateful. Today, I want to talk about three of my biggest supporters. 

Reagan has been genuinely interested in my endeavors for years. She reads my blog and encourages my singing. When I quit chorus because it was interfering with my attendance at the kid’s games or performances, she was disappointed. She knew how much singing meant to me, and she didn’t want to be the reason that I stopped doing something that made me so happy. She made me promise to go back after she graduated high school, so I plan to be back on the risers very soon. She looked forward to reading my Things That Made Me Happy Today lists, and she wishes I still wrote them.  She thought it was great that I signed up for the writing class at our library. After I read an essay in class, I sent her a Snapchat telling her about how well it was received. She was so excited!

She was the second person I told when I got the notification that my essay would be published. She was so proud of me, she bragged about it on Instagram.

Our mother/daughter relationship is all that I’d hope it would be. It’s a bond built on mutual love, trust, and respect. She is the main reason I’m writing. I want to preserve history for her and any children she may have. To know that she’s pulling for me, I am even more motivated to accomplish my goal.

No one believes in me more than Tim does. I swear I don’t remember this, but he says that he was the first to tell me about Metro Nashville Chorus (because one of his coworkers was a member) and suggest that I look into it. I didn't. A couple years later when a friend heard about MNC and wanted us to check it out, I wasn’t sure I was good enough to audition. Tim knew I had the talent within me, and he thought chorus was a great way to exercise that talent. He gave me the confidence to try out. He tells me that I have a knack for storytelling. Any time I’ve joked about writing a book, Tim has always been quite serious when he replies, “You should!” When I decided to take the plunge and write that book, he grinned and said, “I think it’s a great idea!” When I told him there was a 5-week course at the library on How To Write A Memoir, but I was hesitant to sign up because I’d have to read a sample of my work to the class, he said, “Do it!!” When I read in class and got great feedback, I texted Tim the next day to say that I thought I might submit the essay to a couple of publications. Again, his reply was, “Yeah. That’s a great idea!” After I’d stared, stunned and mouth agape, at my computer screen for several minutes reading the acceptance letter that my essay would be published, I went to our bedroom, stood at the foot of our bed, and said quietly, “I did it”. He was still in bed, but awake and on his phone. He’s said, “Did what?” I said, “I’m going to be published”. He flipped on the light, saying “Oh wow!!” He gave me a high five, which was all the enthusiasm I would expect at 6AM on a Saturday morning. A week later, Reagan and I heard Rainbow Rowell speak. I told Tim afterwards about a couple of technical questions from the audience about writing. I said, “The answers weren’t relevant for me, since I don’t write fiction.” Without hesitation, Tim said, “You don’t YET.” Writing class helped me over that final hurdle; my fear of rejection. I never would have thought I was good enough without the groundwork that was laid by my supportive husband. In fact, every single thing I’ve accomplished that I was initially too scared to tackle, happened only because Tim was behind me saying, “You should do this! You CAN do this!”

Tim called his mother the day I got the email about publication. Her response was, “I KNEW IT!!” For years, my mother-in-law has watched me scrapbook the kids’ lives, keep meticulous notes about Pierce’s extensive tests and medical history, and prepare for annual IEP meetings. She told me when the kids were little that she saw me writing a book someday about parenting a child with autism. I laughed it off. Time and time again, I would tell her my fears and doubts about all that was going on with Pierce and our future with him. Never once did she try to solve my problems or give me unsolicited advice. Instead, she made sure that I knew what a wonderful mother and wife she thought I was, and how confident she was in my ability to advocate for Pierce. I know I can’t possibly be as awesome as she thinks I am. I know I’ve made mistakes, and there’s no way I’m anywhere close to the ideal mom she proclaims that I am. But from the day I walked into her life, she has done nothing but focus on my strengths and all of the things I’ve managed to do right. If she notices the chinks in my armor, she doesn’t waste a breath telling me how I need to repair them. She has never asked or expected me to be better than or more than. We don’t chat often due to our busy schedules, but when we do communicate, she never fails to tell me how proud she is of me. A couple of days after Tim called his mom to give her the news, she sent me two emails.

First email:

I am not physically able to do cartwheels and handstands, but in my mind and imagination I am doing them now. I am so thrilled with the news Tim shared about your writing getting the all important acceptance letter! Wow and yippee and every other exclamation of joy and celebration I can think of! I knew years ago that it would happen. I've watched you be the marvelous woman, wife, and mother. Oh so many years ago I said to you: someday you'll write the book that will help others. Whether it will be a brief story or a whole book, your words will bless every reader. I can't tell you when I've been so thrilled and giddy over something. Yeah for you! Cheers and much love!

Second email:

I take turns in a rotation teaching my Sunday School class. I've mentioned you and your gifts...especially your efforts of encouraging the formation of a support system to families with special needs at church that will give them the gift of community and worship. While we gathered last week I shared your acceptance letter with my co-teacher partner and she asked me to share with everyone when she got to a certain point in her lesson about pure joy. I did. My class of over 50 people broke into applause. Many have spoken to me individually since to express their pure joy for you. We continue to celebrate your gifts and their use. 

I'm still tenderly clutching to my hope of that book we spoke of years ago...the book that encourages families and caregivers with strategies and hope. You have lived it all with grace, diligence, and beauty. You are a model of 'how you do it' when faced with an unexpected diagnosis that changes the entire trajectory of dreams and plans. You are my champion and I take every opportunity to sing your praise.  

I can sum it up in three words: you go girl! 

Much love!

I hope you have a cheering section. Everybody needs one. Mine is larger than these three people; this blog post isn't big enough to call all of them by name. Not everyone I know wants to sit in this section. When I receive messages of doubt and negativity from either those people that choose to sit elsewhere or from my own brain, I just need to call on the people in my corner who will help me see through the horsecrappery. These same people will gently speak truth to me when I lose my way, and if I fail, they will never say, “I told you so”. I have the courage to try new and scary things, because I have a cheering section that makes me believe I can succeed.

Kids These Days

I love plants and enjoy gardening. Therefore, working in a garden center is my dream job most of the year. The Spring months do make me question my life choices some days, though. Mostly, our customers feel the joy of being surrounded by plants and are optimistic about recreating some of that beauty in their own yards. People of all ages wander about our greenhouse and their experiences run the spectrum from novice to Master Gardener. Young adults that are moving into their first home are eager to make the place their own by creating some curb appeal. Families want to provide a learning experience for their children by planting a vegetable garden. Newly empty nesters are finding time to invest in a hobby and are looking to add to their plant collection. Senior citizens that helped THEIR grandmothers can green beans and tomatoes arrive early in the Spring to find the Bradley tomatoes they’ve been planting for 40 years. Children are in awe, and seasoned gardeners are giddy. Most days, it is fun and gratifying to help customers decide on vegetables they want to try or design flower beds for the front yard. Most people are open to suggestions and excited about the possibilities. Some customers are happy to have fellow plant-lovers that they can “talk shop” with and share the gardening hacks that they’ve discovered along the way. About 99% of our customers arrive happy, and leave just as, if not more so, happy. They are polite and gracious. That other 1%…

Working in retail gives me endless opportunities to practice patience and grace. Occasionally, there are interactions that make me doubt my faith in humanity. These customers walk around with a scowl on their face. They ooze entitlement, and my sole purpose is to serve them. Instead of greeting me, they stand at the entrance of the greenhouse and utter a single word, like “zinnias”. When it’s been one of those days and I’m feeling feisty, I’ll say, “Are you asking me where the zinnias are located? Are you trying to tell me about zinnias? Do you have questions about zinnias?”. I feel like the parent of a 3-year-old. USE YOUR WORDS. These customers will be the first to inform me which plants need to be watered and let me know when a plant’s appearance is sub par. They balk at our prices saying, “I can get those much cheaper at Wal-Mart”. They will walk up to me and say, “Give me two trays of those begonias” without a please or thank you. If I don’t have the answer to their question fast enough, they roll their eyes and give an exasperated sigh; sometimes, I’ve barely gotten a chance to respond before they storm off saying, “NEVER MIND! I’ll find someone who knows!” And heaven help me if we are out of the very plant they drove “all the way out here” for. I’m held personally responsible, because I should’ve anticipated the demand.

I’m about to state an opinion that is extremely unpopular. Just hear me out before you massacre me. When we have difficult customers, 8 times out of 10, they are NOT our younger shoppers. They are the generation of people frequently ranting about how America is doomed because of those damn millennials. The people that yearn for “the good old days” when young people “had manners and showed some respect”. I am NOT saying that this behavior is typical of ALL customers older than me; quite the contrary. The vast majority of my elders are a total delight to interact with. I say all of that to say this: Don’t count the youngsters out. I’m tired of all the criticism the Gen Y-ers and Gen Z-ers are getting. It’s old and it is clichéd. Sure, you have studies and articles supporting your theory that millennials are THE WORST. I’m telling you that MY experience in retail has been that most millennials are friendly, well-mannered, excellent human beings. They want to learn, and they are thankful to us “seasoned” employees that are willing to share their wisdom. I’d like to tell you about some customers I observed recently.

A couple of weekends ago, we had a young family come into the greenhouse. Usually, we hear children coming before we see them. They’re chasing each other through the pottery and plant displays while their parents are focused on their landscape plans. This young couple had two little girls in tow; they looked to be about 4 years old and 2 years old. They rode on the cart, but once the cart became stationary, they got out to wander around. When one strayed a little too far from the parents, the kid was called back. When the kid didn’t respond, dad said, “I’m counting to 3”. He barely made it to 2 before the child ran back to him. The girls were getting a little whiny. I couldn’t blame them. The greenhouse is hot, and plant shopping as a kid is B O R I N G. Mom acknowledged that the girls were tired, so they should probably get going. They stopped to look at one more thing, and the youngest kid encroached on that invisible personal space line her older sister had established. The 4-year-old LOST. IT. Mom and dad exchanged the tired look that silently communicates, “I can’t believe our kids are causing a scene. Everyone in here must hate us right now.”  They turned back to the kids cool, calm, and in control. Mom crouched down and quietly said, “We are not going to do this.” The blood-curdling screams died down, and mom said, “There is no reason to be screaming like this. You’re screaming like someone ripped your arm off. Did someone rip your arm off?” The kid whimpered, “No”. Mom said, “Ok. We are going to walk to the register to pay for our stuff and then we’ll go home. Do you think you can hold it together long enough for us to do that?” The kid answered, “Yes.” Mom and dad walked out of the greenhouse. They stopped in perennials to look at one more plant, and I made my way over to them. I said to the dad, “Since I don’t think parents hear this often enough, I just wanted you to know that I think you are doing an awesome job.” He was kind of sheepish as he replied, “Thank you. Some days it sure doesn’t feel that way.” I said, “Oh I bet. But I think you’ve got this.” He said thank you again, and we went about our day.

Maybe the future isn’t as bleak as it seems. Maybe I just try too hard to put a positive spin on things. Maybe, as a parent, I’m hoping that I’ve raised an adult that’s equipped to face this big bad world while being a beacon of light to everyone she encounters. I refuse to accept that our youngsters are going to be this country’s undoing. I choose to give them the benefit of the doubt. I choose to be hopeful about the future.

Conservatorship

Today, a court decided that it would be in Pierce’s best interest to grant Tim and I conservatorship. This means that from this day forward, we are responsible for making any and all decisions regarding his welfare. It doesn’t really change our current way of life. Pierce has been dependent on us for nearly 21 years. But somehow, hearing a judge say that we were terminating his rights made his future feel determined and permanent. This is a process that we should’ve started three years ago when Pierce turned 18, but we were either daunted by the task or in denial that it actually needed to be done. We haven’t been challenged by many people when we’ve spoken for Pierce, but it has happened, and I can see this will be an issue as he continues to age. This is one more step in the journey to set up care for an adult son with autism. We still need to get the ball rolling on social security benefits, create a special needs trust, and figure out health insurance options. I opened a bank account for Pierce today. I had to show the court documents as proof that I can legally make financial decisions for my adult son. He will have a bank card with his name on it, but the account belongs to me and Tim. The home renovations that we’re planning to start soon will be in two phases. In phase two, we will give Pierce a more private place to live downstairs, in case living in a group home down the road doesn't work out. It will be similar to a mother-in-law suite.

This time last year, I was so mired in the bog of depression, I had no mental energy to be proactive in planning for Pierce’s future or keep track of graduation/college requirements for Reagan’s upcoming senior year. In counseling, I told Tim and my therapist that after 20 years of being the parent that stayed on top of things, knowing everyone’s schedules, what papers needed to be signed, how much money each child owed for clubs, youth activities, etc., I was tapping out. I’d gotten the kids through childhood, now I needed someone else to take over. Tim didn’t hesitate, question, or complain. He just said, “absolutely, yes, I will take the lead.” He took Pierce to get a picture ID (since Pierce doesn’t drive, he still didn’t have a legal form of identification at the age of 20). He researched college application deadlines for financial aid and housing for Reagan. He kept track of her schoolwork and grades and attended parent meetings. He got in touch with a lawyer and completed all of the paperwork that was necessary for us to seek conservatorship. I feel guilty for forcing Tim to take on such a burden, but I’m so grateful he’s been strong enough to carry it. 

It is sobering to have an official declaration that Pierce is not capable of making health or financial decisions for himself, but it’s also reassuring to know that his future is less uncertain than it was a year ago. This takes away a little of that panicky feeling I get when I think about what lies ahead for Pierce, me and Tim, and Reagan. I think we are slowly but surely headed in the right direction.