Weeds

Yes, in my yard. Again this year, as always. My husband cut the grass for the first time in a while (we've had a drought, I promise) last week, and the smell of wild onion was so heady that it actually made me crave salad.

This time, I'm not talking about the yard. I need headache medicine and a very large glass of wine for that.

My weeds are my children. Because they're growing like them, not because they're nuisances.

Cliche, I know, but I'm overcome with allergies and I think I just sneezed a little of my brain onto the keyboard. I'm too sneezy and wheezy to be clever.

We were at the zoo not long ago, and it was hot, so the kids were wearing shorts and sensible shoes. I'm a big supporter of fashion over function, even when it comes to the kids, so this was a big move for me. They all wore their new tennis shoes, and as I became dazed and delirious from the heat and the crowd, I noticed how BIG their feet looked in those sparkly new, white shoes compared to their skinny white legs. And I wondered, is it just my children who look like they're wearing wood planks on their feet? Will they ever grow into them?

On the one hand, they look straight-up ridiculous.  But if they grow into their feet, it's that little bit more they seem to grow away from me. Again, both a good and bad thing, for different and yet similar reasons.

I can't have it both ways.