Playing In the Dirt and Dealing With An "F" Word

That last part freak anybody out? Good.

Well, today is the first day of spring-yippee!

It's also snowing.

We planted seeds to celebrate.  And thumbed our noses at school to do so.

They way I've got it figured though, since we've been doubling up every day that we can, we'll still finish around Memorial Day. I hope.

Rebecca had the most wonderful seed starting post this morning, that I read while nursing Sprout.

(which is what I'm doing now too, if you were wondering.)

And so I got out *MY* enamel bowl because that is what Rebecca used and it was a good idea to steal.

Muffin jumped right in. She can be a little wary of things so this made me quite happy.

We surprisingly got more dirt in the cow-pots than we did on the table and floor.

And then we planted

Lots of things

With a good bit still left to do

"Take a picture of me hugging the bowl of dirt!"

                                 

AND THEN! I set them under the grow-lights! The ones that I was going to build with PVC pipe and shop-lights and that B. said "NO! I will buy you the set up for your birthday!"

And I said "Are you sure? That's a lot of money if I still kill everything..."

 And he said "Nonsense!" And here they are. I'm really excited about them!

Which brings me to: "The "F" Word.

F.A.I.L.U.R.E

I was wondering why I'm so afraid of doing things. New recipes, new projects, etc., etc. 

And then I realized I'm not afraid of *doing* them. I'm afraid of *failing* at them.

Of wasting precious time or B.'s hard earned money and having nothing to show for it.

I'm trying to change. But it ain't easy. Failure shows its ugly head everywhere: the bathrooms still waiting to be cleaned, the laundry that never got folded, supper last night which I've made plenty of times but yesterday just wasn't that good, the frustrated scoldings, memories of past gardens and projects that have bombed. Going to the store for much needed new clothes and coming home empty handed. Homeschooling and never feeling like I actually *taught* something. Things that others seem to breeze through and then give you a funny look about it when you can't.

 Because *I* wasn't good enough and *I* failed. 

Failed at being the right size, remembering an ingredient, understanding directions, failing at being a calm mama and counting to 3 before opening my mouth, getting started when I had the chance, trying to teach and wondering why b and d and p and q and g are still confusing Biscuit. Failing as a homemaking wife by not having clean socks and underwear for B. in the drawer, or remembering to stow a few rolls of t.p. under his sink for when he needs it.

But I'm trying, a little at a time, eating my elephant in lots of small bites instead of a few big gulps. I have to. I have 10 little eyes watching and taking it all in. And goodness knows I don't want to pass this on to them.