Pouring

I'm going to continue with the watering metaphor.  When it rains, it pours.  Figuring out this new life, new job, practically new baby, it's hard stuff!

The other day, I was spread eagle sobbing on the floor while Diana chirped and climbed over me, yanking out strands of my hair.

How did our ancestors not just curl up in the fetal position and take a nap?  I can never envision a sweet Victorian lady, corset and all, rocking in the corner worrying about how to take care of her world.  Of course, this sweet Victorian lady also didn't have to worry her pretty head about the minutiae of life.  She had nannies and man-folk to do that.  She had tea and needle point.

The thing is that it's hard to just let it all go.  To just let God water and take over.  My real life garden does look pretty crappy, but I just let the rain take over.  I don't touch it.  And you know what?  Things still grow.  My basil is tilting, my mint is overgrown and wild, and the tomato plant is creeping out of the pot, but it's all growing and it's all ok.

Dear Lord, just take this all over.  Thanks.  You know what you're doing.

My view.  Not bad.  It's all ok.