Support

I’m going to use the tomato plant analogy again. So consider yourself warned.

My tomato plant broke. With the best intentions, I heaved my now fairly enormous plant (still boasting only one thriving tomato but many new budding flowers) out to the backyard during a soft rainfall. And during the transition, it swayed suddenly and broke itself.

I should have known. These plants need to cared for with cloth ties and trusses and all this extra stuff. They need support.

I should have known.

I know it’s only a tomato plant. I know I give a damn far too much. I know there far worse tragedies in the world. Still. The way it suddenly snapped in the wind, snapping because it was just too heavy for itself, kind of broke my heart. And certainly stood for where my mind has been recently.

Be warned readers of mine. If I don’t write for awhile it may be because I am busy with real life. Or. It may be because I’m having a tough go of it. Yes, again.

So there I was with the wind picking up and the rain pouring down and not enough support for this now precariously crooked and bent plant. I said many bad words. And my three year old heard it all. Wonderful.

I hauled it back under cover and leaned it up against the screen on the porch. Hands on my hips, I stared at it. Hands on his hips, my three year old stared at it too and asked what’s wrong.

“It’s just mommy’s silly plant. It’s no big deal. Mommy is being silly about getting so upset over a silly little plant.”

“….Silly mommy.” He affirmed. And went back to his broom riding. (Back to cackling and riding my 6 year old’s baseball bat around the porch. Maybe I had mumbled something like “Auntie Em” having seen the storm coming…)

Still, as soon as Morningside Dad arrived home, I took off like a shot to find this plant some much needed support. I found it at the local Walmart, jammed it into the back of my car, and returned home to my wounded plant. With some gentle nudging and stringing and positioning, the tomato plant has what it has needed all along. A little support. Which I should have KNOWN it would need. And I should have prepared for ahead of time. And maybe not dragged it out in the middle of a storm and assumed it was strong enough and would be just fine.

The top portion may not make it after all. And that’s ok. Watching one portion die and get snipped off hardly means the whole thing is done for. Really. If cared for correctly, all will be well and there is no need for the usual dramatics. Sure, it might change shape a bit, it might take longer to fruit, it might not flower for awhile. But it will come back with a little support and some careful nurturing.

You get what you ask for right? It certainly was asking. I just need to pay it some attention before it, you know, snaps.

Once again I am taking my cues from a tomato plant.

And once again this analogy is about as subtle as a jackhammer.

But who cares. Maybe subtle isn’t what I need. Maybe stating the obvious loudly enough will slap me upside the head and remind me to take better care of myself and ask for what I need.

I’m green at all this sometimes you know.

Yep, another tomato joke. Thought you’d appreciate that.