Maybe I reacted the way I did because the kids and I spent a stress-filled Saturday trying to negotiate Father’s Day with you-know-who.
Could be I reacted the way I did because work is busy, life is crazy and I’d reached my breaking point.
I might have reacted the way I did because my yard is my sanctuary. This place is our safe landing.
Whatever the reasons, I was justified!
When I get home from the office, I kick off my shoes, get treats for Pansy, check in to see what’s new with Jen, and figure out what we’re going to eat. This day was no different, or so I thought.
Jen mentioned that she thought she heard someone on the front step. I suggested that it may have been the mailman.
She said, “Nope. The mailman was just here. I heard the sound before.”
“Well maybe your brother stopped by for a cup of coffee, while you were in the shower.” Except, the coffee corner wasn’t covered in coffee grounds, so that meant he wasn’t here. I opened the front door to check the mail, and a flyer from a yard spraying company fell to the floor. I said, “Honey, they must be spraying in the neighborhood, and they’re trying to drum up more business.”
She said, “Oh, I thought I smelled it. I figured the neighbors were having their yard sprayed today.”
I said, “Let’s close the windows. I hate that stuff.”
The next thing I do, after getting back from the office, and perhaps more importantly for my roommates, is step out into the backyard. Barefooted. On purpose.
That’s how I get grounded and shift gears to what is required next.
I might only be out there for 5 minutes, but that’s all it takes.
Today I smelled the spray the minute I exited the door. The basil looked almost dead. The grass (okay, maybe it’s mostly clover) felt crunchy. I tried to figure out how things could look so dry, as I’d just watered the night before. I set up a sprinkler and noticed the leaves on the strawberries were curling. What the hell?
I walked to the side yard and noticed that my feet felt sticky. The gate on the west side was wide open. We keep it secured with a latch hook. How did Will get that open from the outside? I called him and he said he hadn’t been over. I went inside and asked Jen if she’d forgotten to close the gate. She hadn’t been out there.
Now I’m worried that someone had gone into our backyard. (It wouldn’t have been the first time, hence the latch hooks.) I better check to make sure the lawn mower and weed whacker are still in the shed.
I’m starting to feel slightly frantic.
Jen said, “Mom, do you still have the flyer from the spraying company?” I dug it out of the trash. It said, “We applied your 2nd treatment today!” The flyer showed checked boxes that indicated what had been sprayed on our yard.
This Mama Bear was livid.
I have lived here 13 years. I’ve been raising kids and cats without chemicals. Our yard is visited regularly by birds and squirrels, earthworms and bunnies, dandelions and way too many ants, and the occasional gopher. I have been known to sprinkle diatomaceous earth around the ant holes. I’ve even resorted to putting a spider bomb in the crawl space. Once. (The kids, cat and I camped at the park for the day, to keep our distance from the fumes.)
I HATE ANY KIND OF SPRAY THAT KILLS WEEDS OR BUGS but, of course, spiders are a whole different story.
Now my strawberries, raspberries, basil, chives, tomatoes and everything else have been sprayed with Goddess-knows-what!
On top of that, Jen and I started a bee garden this year.
I called the company, which is saying a lot for an INFJ, who hates making phone calls and avoids confrontation. Their response was, “Oops. Wrong yard.”
I guess I should be thankful they didn’t charge me?
I looked at Jen and said, “Let’s walk up to grandma’s. I feel the need to vent.” I was seen stomping the six blocks to grandma’s house. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I use my hands when I talk. (I’m a quarter Italian, what can I say?) Poor Jen had to walk next to me as I flailed my arms, stopped my feet and loudly ranted the entire six blocks.
Jen calmly said, “You know how we were talking about you being a Leo rising, and how they get emotional about things? You said, ‘Well, that’s not me.'” I said, I mean, yelled, “Did I say that?!” She said, “Yes.” I said, “Well, dammit! Maybe it’s the full moon, or my Leo rising, or the fact that I feel violated by having someone access my sanctuary and spray poison all over the green and growing things. Maybe it’s the stressors with your dad over the weekend. Or it could be that I’m a Mama Bear and it’s my job to protect you and your brother and Pansy and our yard! Whatever it is, it is What it is!” Jen said, “You’re right. It’s okay to get emotional about it. But, my Aquarius rising makes it hard for me to know what to say to help.” I said, “You don’t have to say anything, just keep a safe distance when I’m ranting and my arms are flailing about!”
We laughed.
I said, “I’m entitled to feel this way.”
She said, “You are.”
The morning after the “spraying incident”, I emailed the owner of the company. I wasn’t snarky or rude, but I expressed the desire to keep my kids, and the bees and critters safe. I thought he should know.
He called this afternoon.
He apologized profusely. He assured me the bees would be fine. He apologized again, and said his employee had relied on GPS. He said, “I told him to look at street signs, but what else can I do?” I told him that I knew he couldn’t fix anything, but that I thought he should know.
The conversation was pleasant. I got what I needed – a sincere apology.
Now, of course, I’m worried about where we are headed if we are raising a generation that doesn’t look up.