MY FIANCÉE AND I HAVE WELCOMED new life into our home. Each morning, we wake to feed the little guy, yawning as we scamper out of bed, thinking of nothing other than our new arrival. It’s not easy having so much responsibility, but this experience, this joy of cultivating and tending to a helpless living thing has taught us much about ourselves. He has to come first, our needs are secondary.
I have to admit, in the beginning it wasn’t easy. On the outside, I played the part of proud parent, basking in the compliments and good tidings others bestowed upon our wonderful creation. But inside, I felt chained and constrained, suffocating from obligation. I wanted to flee and never return. Maybe I’m not cut out to raise a garden, I thought. Maybe flowers, herbs and freshly tilled soil weren’t for me.
It started with 22 patches of sod. We decided it might be nice to replace the mulch in our front patio with fresh green grass. I’d always had a nice relationship with grass, enjoying its lush contours and pleasing smell at cocktail parties and barbecues over the years. Only when I found myself schlepping chunks of moist sod through the parking lot of Home Depot did I realize that “lawn” meant “work” and “moving massive amounts of loose dirt around.” I looked longingly at the group of capable helpers gathered at the entrance. Maybe they could pitch in?! “They look like garden experts to me!” I exclaimed to Samantha. “A lawn care Dream Team!” She shook her head. The message was clear. No surrogate parents or nannies for our lawn and garden. We were going to raise our precious baby the old fashioned way, by doing everything ourselves.
The lawn installation wasn’t so bad. The space isn’t huge, so it didn’t take all day. I also had a baseball game on the radio, drank a pitcher of iced tea and took a long nap halfway through the process. Who said thinking about something other than myself would be hard?
When the sod was laid out, we proceeded to water it until an Ark was needed to cross the patio. “It needs a big drink so the roots take hold,” Sam told me. My mind started to spin. Watering. Roots. Growth. Lawn mower. More watering. I went online and entered “astro turf” into the search box. You know, just in case.
The next weekend, my future mother-inlaw arrived. I was genuinely happy to see her and show her our new home. But in seven years of dating her daughter, I hadn’t realized that the two of them, given the proper conditions and light, could turn into the Alexander The Great and Napoleon of gardening. Every patch of soil was an opportunity to expand an empire. Our smallish front stoop was an open canvas on which we could express the myriad beauty of blooming life. The dingy terra cotta planters that had been collecting cobwebs out back were vessels that could foster herbs, spices and seasonings gathered from across the globe. They headed off to the specialty gardening store and I huddled in my room with the shades drawn.
When I emerged hours later, I was genuinely surprised. The patio and front of the house looked amazing. Colorful flowers and plants ringed the exterior. They had pared back some overgrown shrubs and added two chairs and a table to the new yard. Everything looked fresh, vibrant and lively. Spring had sprung. It was our own Garden of Eden and I didn’t have to lift my green thumb one bit.
This initial joy of parenting was tempered by the morning watering sessions, the worry (what if those flowers die when I’m at work?) and the responsibility of general upkeep. But we gradually got used to our new role and even reveled in the commitment.
Today, I’m happy to announce another addition to our family. This fellow has a special place in my heart. He’s gleaming black and not alive in the animal/plant sense of the word. But if you push a button on his side, he comes roaring to awareness and sizzles meats and vegetables just so. I’m talking about our new grill of course, the one that we keep on the back patio. Which is nice, in case I want to get away from all this flowering life once in awhile.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on May 24, 2007. Read the original PDF.