Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Out Watering Another Blog!

In my early twenties I lived in the basement apartment of a Welsh woman named Ann. I am pretty sure Ann only rented the apartment to me because my last name was Jenkins, also Welsh, and I told her I was a vegetarian. She said she just couldn't take the stench of meat and in theory I agreed. I say in theory because the week before I moved in the idealism of my twenty year old heart was quickly broken by a whiff of bacon one hungover morning at a greasy spoon in the city. After that I cooked bacon all the time in my rented basement apartment, the smell of fatty pork wafting up over the English rose garden and into Ann's house.
For some reason Ann still liked me. One summer she asked me to housesit for a few weeks while she went back to Wales to visit family. It was a natural, of course, me already living in her basement. I was told to collect the mail and water her garden. Nothing a twenty-one year old renter can't handle, right? Except that by the end of the first week her roses were already turning brown at the edges, singed by the sun. Plants once thick and glossy were curling and shrinking. And so it was that in week two that I panicked and left the sprinkler on for two days straight, thinking surely it was because I hadn't watered enough. Suffice it to say that when Ann returned from Wales all the glued together consonants in the Welsh language could not adequately express how deeply disappointed she was in me. The Welsh language is known for being a phonological roller coaster, but I distinctly heard Ann call me something that sounded like cymraegnadyddyllgowys, which I'm pretty sure translated to "you bacon-eating American twit, you killed my garden and now I'm raising your rent."
And so I am a bit surprised today that I have been asked to water yet another garden, this one of the horticultural variety bloggus-succulentamaternas. I will be posting over at In the Trenches of Mommyhood today while Sarah is on vacation. I am bringing some Miracle Gro and a pair of pruners and hoping against hope that I don't kill her blog. Because something tells me that if I do Sarah doesn't swear in Welsh and I will understand every single name she calls me. Come visit me, if you don't mind, we can raid her liquor cabinet and maybe you can tell me how to turn that damn sprinkler on.


zakary said...

You did a great job posting over there.

It never goes away either, that instinct to rip someone's head off when they jack with your kids.

And my kids friends will tell me, "Thanks for the Crystal Light Drop In, Mrs. W!"

Misplaced Country Girl said...

Loved your guest post. You are an amazing mom and writer. I think I might be in love!

Jules said...

Your guest post was great!

Anonymous said...

Zoey reminds me of my 8 year old son when he was her age - not at all aggressive and extremely safety conscious. He has turned into one of the boys on the playset, keeping away from the blue lava, although, I don't think he would be the one to push Zoey out of the way. no...That would be my 3 year old. The one whose goal throughout his entire busy life has been to keep up with the big kids. He never had the total innocence of the first child. Had I known that innocence would be virtually non-existent, I would not have waited 5 years to have baby #2.

I still hover at the playset, but it's to ensure the safety of other children, not my own.

My apologies from those of us who have obnoxious,lava jumping boys - unless they are the moms who are drinking Starbucks and talking on the cell phone. They suck.

Trenches of Mommyhood said...

Great post S! Thanks for holding down the fort for me!