Together we picked each flower out, planning where we would put each one, anticipating it’s growth, imagining the picture guests would see when they drove up our driveway, mesmerized by the flowers in full bloom.
So many plans made.
All these things I want to do.
Every summer my list is long, my promises are many, and my intentions are good. But then I remember I hate the outdoors.
Laying on the beach, feeling the sun soak into my skin and closing in on a burn , it sounds heavenly. I can see the waves rolling against the sand, I can feel the cool breeze against my legs, and if I close my eyes I can hear laughter from families enjoying the miles of freedom the banks offer.
Once there I feel the heat hit my hair, the sweat begins to roll down my back, and I get itchy. I start a mental count down of how much longer I have to endure the fiery burns of hell.
I imagine feeling the cool water tickling my legs as I enter, the ebb and flow that carries me further into the deep, eventually ducking under and allowing the waves to take me under.
The water is colder than imagined and my bathing suit is baggy on my behind. I forget every year that I don’t like my legs, my stomach, or my arms and am reminded when the suit is back on. The water suddenly seems to taunt me.
Every summer I make plans.
This summer it was a beautiful garden, complete with flowers, hanging baskets, moving bushes, turning dirt, and lighting.
Gardening is a lot of work. There are bugs, the sun is hot, and the baby eats the flowers. The bending over is not just painful but unflattering, and sweat mixed with dirt is not a combination I enjoy.
But, Brian does.
And our gardens look beautiful!
* editors note – yesterday I vlogged about my gardens (or lack there of) I do have gardens as you can read above, however, for the purpose of the vlog (and comedic genius) I thought it best that you see what would happen if I alone did the gardening.