potatoes, red and cream, freshly dug from the CC garden yesterday
We let our guard down with baby Avery. She's already a month into her twos and we're having some sleep issues. She's the fourth and she's really cute. This combination made us temporarily lose our focus and she began to sneak into our bed at night. She climbs out of the crib, too. I didn't even realize it was happening.
I planted these potatoes over two months ago. Then let the rains come and the sun shine until I dug them up in sweaty weather yesterday. As I piled the spuds and then washed them clean I thought, "Why can't children be like potatoes?" They would come with these instructions: plant, then let grow.
Children are not like potatoes. Their soft fleshy, vulnerable little bodies require a vigilance like no other.
So I'm retraining Avery. Letting her cry it out. In the dark hall between our rooms last night I stood sentinel-like placing our little jack-in-the-box back in her bed. As I tried to drown out her tearful pleas with my thoughts, I laughed, picturing the potatoes popping out of the ground and spending all day putting them back in until they finally grow big enough to go to college.
I'm glad children are children and potatoes are potatoes.