The power of anger

Charlie's 8th grade class is going to Washington D.C. this week, and he chose not to go.  It is a lot of time spent on a bus, and somehow he got it into his head that it wouldn't be fun (how could it not be fun?) and so, he really has no reason to be in school this week.

So I was trying to come up with something fun and yet somewhat educational to do with him.  I have been going back and forth, forth and back about putting in a vegetable garden.  The main problem is that I absolutely HATE to garden.  With a passion.  And yet, the thought of fresh vegetables straight out of the earth has such an appeal to me, it almost outweighs the part where you know, I hate it.

I was mowing the lawn the other day and there is this patch by the garage that grows like mad.  It always has, and I thought to myself that THAT would be the spot -- it is close to the hose that draws off the dug well, it gets tons of sun and yet it is protected by the wind from the house, and clearly things like to grow there.  So I've been mulling the idea back and forth, and then Charlie had a school project recently where he had to "live simply" for a day, based on stuff he had read by Thoreau, and I thought, we just out to go out there with shovels and dig until we can't dig anymore, and then plant what we can.  Forget about plotting it out (I hate that stuff too) blah blah blah, just dig a patch of earth and put in, well, maybe I'll go buy a lot of plants already started.  CHEATER!

So?

So I began to draw Charlie into the idea, and said that I wanted lettuce, tomatoes, cukes, peas and squash, what did he want?  He said he didn't like any of those, what else was there?  Geesh.  Fine, he can be a laborer, not an eater.  So he kept asking me skeptically if I too was going to turn up the earth, and I said Yes!  I am.

So Peter came home and Charlie made reference to the fact that he wasn't going to go to school, but that we were going to put in a garden. And Peter made a face and said "a vegetable garden?" And I said yes, and he then went on about how I never did anything with the little garden that I put in on the patio year after year (well, I went out and picked the stuff and ate it, what more was I to do?) But apparently, I had not proven myself worthy of something or other.

And then I got Mad.  No, I got furious.  That deep, seething anger that whooshes through you and you want to scream and yell and hurt people kind of mad.

Oh, I'm sorry, I felt like saying, I forgot how pathetic and stupid I was, thank you for reminding me of all of my shortcomings. 

And then he asked me what was for dinner, as I was winding up to break things.

So I came here instead, and this is the nice version of how I feel.