The sun has just set on another full day, and I’m standing in front of the stove, waiting for the minced garlic and grated ginger to perfume the kitchen.
My husband walks in with a giddy grin on his face. “Wanna plant the next round of seedlings after dinner?” Just a few days ago, we put the finishing touches on the backyard garden he’d been coordinating for months. “Sure!” I say, remembering the tomatoes, basil, sage and cilantro we picked out from the nursery yesterday.
The rest of tonight’s stir fry comes together quickly after that, and soon we’re in the dining room eating and laughing. Then, it’s time for the after-dinner clean up to begin. My shoulders ache from nursing. My feet are sore from carrying me to and fro. I soldier on, determined to straighten up the kitchen before I turn in for the night.
A few minutes into my evening cleaning, my husband walks in. “Wanna plant the seedlings in a few minutes?” My chest tightens as my eyes survey the dinner debris. In an instant, many thoughts emerge: