being outdoors in the winter

SweetPea checked out the blueberry bushes Dada & her Godfather planted. They’re looking nice–so are the raspberries & strawberries. But indoors, it’s the Wild West. We’ve been planning the garden since it was subzero. We is a term I use loosely. You know who actually does all the gardening work around here, inside and out. Yup, Mr. AA. He’s our gardener in residence. Literally. There are five large cookie sheets/trays/something of that kind all around the house, anywhere they can get the maximum light possible. Sometimes he’s put them on my desk, near my preccccccious computer. Sometimes they’re in the bathroom at night under the kid’s light that stays on for SuperBoy to make his way to the potty, and then that same tray is whisked to the bench that’s living on the front stair landing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. These things creep and crawl and grow like heck. The cat also tries to eat them. I’m all about the plants, honestly, but do grow weary of watching them grown toward nothing as the ground is barely unfrozen around here, it snowed today, and the chance of getting them into the ground before the baby shows up in basically nil. Somehow, if only I could put away all the winter clothing, get the garden going, and write my fiction novella about being a Catholic-work-at-home-mom-of-X^10-children, I’d be so profoundly satisfied. Nesting. It’s a burden and joy. I do feel sorta surrounded. And watched. It’s a little weird. Anyway, the garden!…