Sunday night I was folding laundry and realized I had forgotten to check on the work garden over the weekend. We were expecting a lot of things to be ready to pick and I didn’t want to let it go all weekend. And then I did. So I said to the girls “throw your shoes on, we’re gonna go somewhere.” Maddy spent 10 minutes fussing at me because she was wearing a pink bra and a white shirt and you could SEE it. I assured her that we would see no actual people and that I didn’t care if I could see her bra. I was wearing shorts and a tshirt that resembled cute and put together only if you were a drunk clown from New Jersey. JT was wearing a pull-up and a pajama shirt. Abbey however was the most pulled together wearing an actual top and bottom pajama set. I prayed that we would see no actual people.
So we dash off to the garden outside of my office. It is 8:30 and there isn’t much daylight. So the 4 of us are groping around the garden picking tomatoes and beans and cherry tomatoes and cucumbers. JT is lugging around the basket, gleeful to be in the garden, peeved that he isn’t allowed to free graze on the beans. The girls after initially being annoyed at what the trip was, actually began to enjoy themselves. So we spent 30 minutes or so picking and talking and working.
We ended up with a full basket of stuffs including 10 more cucumbers. Now, I’m sure that lots of you are thinking “Wow, what a great garden. I wish I had some cucumbers.” That’s what you think. There are 16 people in my office. 5 or 6 of us garden at home. 4 more do not like cucumbers. That leaves, in theory, 6 people to consume the cucumbers coming out of the garden. Our work garden has been producing upwards of 20 cucumbers a week. No one likes cucumbers in that volume. So we’ve had an abundance of unwanted cucumbers. We’ve tried begging people to take them, we hosted an adopt-a-thon which led to 2 finding homes and 10 very sad faced cucumbers peering out of their box longingly. It broke my heart and I took them home. We’ve made pickles. We’ve made relish and still they keep coming.
So upon harvesting 10 more from the garden on a Sunday night, knowing that I had 12 on my counter and no one in the office was willing to take any. I decide to unload some cucumbers. First stop is my best friend’s house. Her wife is a huge fan of some pickle onion salad. In her despair at having left cucumbers at my house and facing a cucumber-less evening, she threw herself off the side of the porch, breaking her foot. So in my silver minivan, with the windows rolled down, relishing the night air, the 3 kids and I coast into their driveway. I dim the lights, throw it in park, grab cucumbers. Like a stealth ninja I sprint up the stairs to their door. I place the cucumbers gingerly in front of their door and ring the doorbell. Which does not chime. So I gently ease open the screen door, bang on the door and dash back to the van and we back out of the driveway, cackling as we fly down the road.
Next stop. The very kind friend who reminded me that cucumbers are delicious with hummus. She definitely needs some cucumbers at 9:15 on a Sunday night. So we roll up to her house and I park on the street, right under the no parking sign. At this point it’s go big or go home. I again run up to the door, gently place the cucumber where they’ll be seen and not squashed. I place my finger against the doorbell and press. Nothing. Does no one have a functional doorknob? So I knock and run back down her mile long driveway. I get to the car and realize that Daniel Craig is playing with his dog on the boulevard in front of her house. I casually lean against my minivan full of children and look like that dash didn’t just suck all the air out of my lungs. Like I’m fit and carefree and SHIT the porch light came on. I jump in the car, shrug my shoulders at Daniel and vow to come back to Michelle’s house to check on her more often. With my binoculars. Wearing matching clothes.
The girls are laughing their heads off and we drive into the night listening to Iggy Azalea, we get ice cream. JT has his own cone and it’s 10pm which is 2 hours past his bedtime, and I have to work tomorrow. And no one did laundry or dishes. And the house is a disaster. And this night is going in the vault so that when I’m feeling sad and horrible I can pull it out and remind myself that I’m insanely lucky.
So we dash off to the garden outside of my office. It is 8:30 and there isn’t much daylight. So the 4 of us are groping around the garden picking tomatoes and beans and cherry tomatoes and cucumbers. JT is lugging around the basket, gleeful to be in the garden, peeved that he isn’t allowed to free graze on the beans. The girls after initially being annoyed at what the trip was, actually began to enjoy themselves. So we spent 30 minutes or so picking and talking and working.
We ended up with a full basket of stuffs including 10 more cucumbers. Now, I’m sure that lots of you are thinking “Wow, what a great garden. I wish I had some cucumbers.” That’s what you think. There are 16 people in my office. 5 or 6 of us garden at home. 4 more do not like cucumbers. That leaves, in theory, 6 people to consume the cucumbers coming out of the garden. Our work garden has been producing upwards of 20 cucumbers a week. No one likes cucumbers in that volume. So we’ve had an abundance of unwanted cucumbers. We’ve tried begging people to take them, we hosted an adopt-a-thon which led to 2 finding homes and 10 very sad faced cucumbers peering out of their box longingly. It broke my heart and I took them home. We’ve made pickles. We’ve made relish and still they keep coming.
So upon harvesting 10 more from the garden on a Sunday night, knowing that I had 12 on my counter and no one in the office was willing to take any. I decide to unload some cucumbers. First stop is my best friend’s house. Her wife is a huge fan of some pickle onion salad. In her despair at having left cucumbers at my house and facing a cucumber-less evening, she threw herself off the side of the porch, breaking her foot. So in my silver minivan, with the windows rolled down, relishing the night air, the 3 kids and I coast into their driveway. I dim the lights, throw it in park, grab cucumbers. Like a stealth ninja I sprint up the stairs to their door. I place the cucumbers gingerly in front of their door and ring the doorbell. Which does not chime. So I gently ease open the screen door, bang on the door and dash back to the van and we back out of the driveway, cackling as we fly down the road.
Next stop. The very kind friend who reminded me that cucumbers are delicious with hummus. She definitely needs some cucumbers at 9:15 on a Sunday night. So we roll up to her house and I park on the street, right under the no parking sign. At this point it’s go big or go home. I again run up to the door, gently place the cucumber where they’ll be seen and not squashed. I place my finger against the doorbell and press. Nothing. Does no one have a functional doorknob? So I knock and run back down her mile long driveway. I get to the car and realize that Daniel Craig is playing with his dog on the boulevard in front of her house. I casually lean against my minivan full of children and look like that dash didn’t just suck all the air out of my lungs. Like I’m fit and carefree and SHIT the porch light came on. I jump in the car, shrug my shoulders at Daniel and vow to come back to Michelle’s house to check on her more often. With my binoculars. Wearing matching clothes.
The girls are laughing their heads off and we drive into the night listening to Iggy Azalea, we get ice cream. JT has his own cone and it’s 10pm which is 2 hours past his bedtime, and I have to work tomorrow. And no one did laundry or dishes. And the house is a disaster. And this night is going in the vault so that when I’m feeling sad and horrible I can pull it out and remind myself that I’m insanely lucky.
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