E has inherited his mama’s memory. Months ago, I mentioned in passing that I’d love to grow our own lemons. That sweet thing remembered and for my birthday, there was no other present: Mommy had to have lemons. It’s cold outside, so I have a tiny citrus grow operation in my dining room, where our homeschool box used to sit, which is fitting. This year, my 32, took and it gave.
To quote my hilarious friend Andrea, I’ve buried my very last uh….cares, we’ll go with cares. And now little lemon flowers are blooming, teensy limes are growing. Sour little things they are, and we are going to use them for all kinds of good things. 32 made me pretty good at that.
They’ll be in margaritas with my girlfriends. They’ll be in lemonade while I dance with my babies in the kitchen. They’ll be in cheesecakes that I take to my aunt’s house, and in treats I share with my grandparents. They’ll be pretty and fragrant while Branden and I play Uno at the table.
I’m thankful for my trees. I’m thankful for the walls I share with them and that husband and these babies of mine. I’m thankful to breathe in their air- both the trees and the people. I’m thankful to be learning not just how to handle the sour, but how to cultivate it.
Cheers, 33, can’t wait to see what we decide to bury and to grow this year.