Allotment widow

9 Feb

It’s all coming back to me now, why we never managed to get this baby up and running last year. Two words: the kids. My life is the usual haze of a busy family. Having a three and a four year old is often a barrel of laughs. It’s also gruelling, thankless, hard work. My brief respite has always come from escaping to work two days a week and from the weekends. My precious weekends where I have a co-parent on board to keep me company and sane. I sometimes escape to London and meet up with a friend,  visit a gallery or go for drinks. Escaping has offered some respite from the drag/drudge/nag that is walking to and from the kids’ school six times a day rain or shine, good mood or foul. To give up an escape from that drudgery is no small sacrifice.

I get a bit over zealous, about things, people and projects – always have burnt hot and cold and my current zeal for all things allotment based may well be short lived especially after a day like today. Saturdays are Ken’s day to take up the fork and dig, supposedly a nice escape for him from the cloying winter landscape that is two small kids cooped up for too long.

Such a great idea, cheaper than the gym! Fresh air a plenty, meet your local community, do your bit for the environment,  maybe even get some vegetables out of it too. The list of pros for having an allotment seem endless and yet there was always that one obvious big reason not to: where the hell do you find the time? How do you balance wanting to be with your partner and wanting to escape and knowing sometimes there are jobs that only he can do.

Like taking the oldest to her first (and probably last) ballet class this morning. I was left with the youngest, cooking, sticking the washing on, hanging it up, the usual crap chores that can drive you mental. We regroup for lunch and then I magnanimously say off you go then, go dig and bring back some fruit trees from Aldi. How hard can it be? How long can it take?

Within thirty minutes I was close to pleading with him to return. The youngest is playing up like only he can, the oldest is sulking because the youngest and his loud screams get all the attention. My great parenting solution is stick them in front of the telly, the weather is so bitter as to make even a trip to the park impossible. The trip to Aldi takes two hours and Ken digs for Scotland on the plot. The first bed is nearly finished and I tell myself it’s worth it, it will all be worth it in the end.

We now have a pear tree and a cherry tree – hurrah we have trees. It only took two hours and several moments of getting lost on anonymous roundabouts to find the nearest Aldi. One small fly in the ointment is they need to be planted soon, they are too big to carry, I don’t drive so it’s looking like I may well be an allotment widow again tomorrow.

Kens dig allotment


2 Responses to “Allotment widow”

  1. Gill February 11, 2013 at 12:30 pm #

    Great news – I await developments with interest! xx

  2. Gill February 11, 2013 at 12:33 pm #

    I’m sure it will all be worth it in the end! Although I don’t garden I know it’s hard graft in more ways than one! xx

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