Stepping Up: A Hallmark Market

Considering the plight of the nuclear family, the rate of divorce and the number of co-parenting families that exist, one might think Hallmark could come up with a slightly less glamorous and tidy greeting card season to celebrate the step moms and dads of the world.

I must first establish a few facts. The first being, that children are a delight. And even at their most challenging moments there is something that adults, parents and guardians can always learn from them. Children make us sit up straighter at the dinner table and watch our language. Children get us out skiing on the freezing cold day we'd normally chose to stay home. They get us to drink hot chocolate, eat ice cream and stop to pet other people’s animals when we might have passed by in an unseeing, uncaring rush. Children get us to try harder, get outside when we may have stayed inside, to play games, giggle and act generally silly when we might have gone through a day or a meal or an afternoon in an daze, hardly present of the moments. They get us to dig deeper, try harder, smile when we'd rather get angry and make our own beds so that they will make theirs without complaining.

I know these things because I am a step mom. And there are other things that I know as a step mom. I know what kind of toothpaste to buy, how he likes his scrambled eggs, his favourite shade of green, how much bikes cost and what goes in an 11 year olds backpack for a sleep over. I know that he doesn't like pears, that he does like ice cream, that summer camp will cost $500 for one week, that Star Wars Lego rocks and scratch lottery tickets rule. I know chocolate cake; bowling and Yahtzee all excite him profusely. I know that he thinks his Dad is the funniest guy on the planet and when he starts pinching at his eyelids he's ready for bed.

I know these things and so many more because I am there for him. I buy his groceries and his hockey skates; I wash his bedding and his underwear. I do all the things a mom does, but I receive a fraction of the accolades, love and appreciation. And that's ok. He's an 11-year-old boy with a great relationship with his mom and his dad and that's where the bulk of his attention is channeled. We hug and tell each other we love each other all the time. It’s just different. So on mother’s day and father’s day when parents all over the land are basking in the glory of the fruit of their loins, I’m sending a shout out to the stepparents. You’re loved and appreciated and have more of an influence than you realize. And while you are fortunate to have these precious beings as part of your life, they are equally fortunate to have you.

Someone should really call Hallmark and let them know about this untapped market.

Testing Evolution: A Junior Gardeners Inquiry

I'm no green thumb. But the last 15 years I have learned a few tips and tricks from veteran gardeners. That said, the extent of my horticultural expertise ranges little farther than mixing in a little organic compost and fertilizer. Following that my job is done, save for keeping the weeds at bay. When I commit a plant into the ground I do so with blind faith that the plant possesses the will to survive. There's comfort in the fact that everything I've planted endured the first time I got my hands on them, so why not the second?

After five summers of thoughtfully tending and nurturing my gardens, they have finally come into their own. Gone are the bare patches that every season I cover with more plants. For the very first time, all things green and leafy are green and leafy. Flowers bloom and look like they did on the package in which I bought them. Sipping coffee, standing barefoot in the dewy grass I fondly recall the day I ripped up the first bit of sod to create my little piece of paradise. All this as I strategically set out to disassemble my work, perennial by perennial.

We're moving and as much as I hate to disturb the sacred space I've created with my own hands and the cooperation of some sun and rain, I can't bare to leave my plants behind. It feels wrong after all the time we've spent together and the attention I've given them, reciprocated by the joy they've given me through surviving and even blooming.

As I dig, a scene of devastation ensues. I rake and hoe dirt back and forth to fill the gaping holes left behind as I exhume rudbeckia and roses, lavender and lilies. The garden massacre has begun. They wilt in their new pots, stressed by the sun. I pace back and forth giving them water and wondering what else I can do after unceremoniously ripping them from the comfort of the only home they've ever known. I find solace that they've endured this long, passing round one of Darwin's survival of the fittest. I reflect on this time held theory and conclude that this experiment in excavation will be my own scientific inquiry into proving or disproving evolution. Survival of the species, at least in my garden, is between Darwin and Mother Nature.