Fancy Foot

Six weeks ago, I ordered a tree. A jane magnolia.  It was March and the trees were all dormant, but the ground was foolishly warm for the season.  The tree was scheduled to arrive one week later. It didn't arrive. The nursery owner asked me to call in a week. I did. No tree. The magnolias I drove by began to bloom. I called again the next week, and the next, and the next.  The blooms around me died and I knew we were beyond dormant.  The best time to plant a tree is before it wakes up from it's winter respite.  I called each week until finally, it came. By then, I didn't want the tree. Alas, the tree was delivered to my door with a complimentary bag of dirt. Gee. Thanks.  That might help this shorter than promised twig live.  Wednesday evening, we dug the hole.  The ground was rockier than anywhere else I've dug in this yard.  I silently wished the tree dead as I kicked stone after stone.  I dragged it over to the hole, still wishing it had never come.  I plunked it into the hole almost livid.  I begrudgingly buried the root ball with the complimentary bag of dirt.  Then, all my anger dropped away and I hoped the tree would live and bloom for us next year.   It has only been two days, but I still swing between hope and dread that it will live.  There is more underlying my tale; something about the volley of emotions and designs, hopes and phobias.  No leaves yet.

 Adam is wearing Daddy's shoes. I had to laugh--he has as much shoe behind him as in front of him.

 

 Here is Adam sweeping the floor.

  

Here is Adam scream no and running away from me when I point the camera at him.

 

 Here is Adam being secretly pleased with himself for teasing Mommy. I'm not kidding. It was the last thing he did after giving me that haha look.