scary angry

This year one of my obsessions is our yard.  I've worked really hard planting a garden (and all that involves from start to finish), planting flowers in the flower beds (ditto) and planting some grass (ditto again).  When we moved in, we figured our yard was once a pretty place.  There were remnants of flowers, trellises, flower beds and the like.  However, the last tenants here were blind crackheads (literally) so it's safe to assume they didn't put a huge priority on yard work.

Anyway, this morning I was admiring the Nasturtiums that were just starting to sprout (an edible flower).  I planted them from seeds and I cannot begin to describe the amount of satisfaction I receive when seeds actually sprout (success!!)  This afternoon, Izzy wanted to play out on the deck while I was doing kitchen-duty.  No problem.  But later, as I walked around the deck doing my routine satisfaction walk, I noticed that every.single.one of my Nasturtiums had been pulled out of the dirt.  Every single one.  I was absolutely furious.  Izzy had already picked all of my baby tomatoes last week and this was enough to throw me over the edge.  I seriously had to talk a walk around the yard to prevent from beating her.

This is harsh and I know it.  But already this child takes too much from me.  My sleep.  My cleanliness.  My need for organization.  I love her.  God knows more than anything else in this world.  But as any grown adult knows, we often want to hurt the ones we love.  And today, while staring shocked at my aborted Nasturtiums, I wanted to hurt her.  I've replanted them and gained my perspective.  They are only plants.  She is only 2.  It's not that big of a deal.  But bless my poor angry soul, I am looking more forward to getting out of town this weekend than a happy mother should be...