Ahh, dirt.

Isabel wrote a thought-provoking entry about our identities as mothers, wives, and selves. In my comment, I mentioned that by marrying and having my first baby relatively later in life, I felt like I had pretty much solidified my "self" before I took on the roles of wife and mother. I had spent several years living alone, and I had been at the same job for 11 years when the Mr. and I got married. I pretty much knew "who I was" when I got married and had Al. However, I now had less time and energy to devote to the things that once helped to define "who I was." Running, gardening, cooking, reading--those were all activities that were a part of me. All of those things have diminished somewhat as I've devoted more time to the Mr. and Al, but I've managed to keep them in my life to some extent.

Except for gardening.

My gardening opportunities had always been limited to containers, as most apartments/townhouses had little soil to play with, but then the yard work became limitless when we bought our home. When Alex was born, I delegated all of the outdoor chores to the Mr., and I contributed very little--trimming hedges and occasionally weeding the flower beds, but nothing substantial. There just wasn't time, especially when Al's naps were short, and his awake hours tended to require some sort of entertainment.

On Friday, I put Al down for his nap, and then I ran to the garage to gather the tools I would need to complete a couple of yard projects that I've neglected. I cleaned and weeded all of the flower beds, cut down an overgrown weed-shrub, and set out some elephant ears that have been busting out of their bulb bag for about a month. When Al woke up, I brought him to the backyard with me, and he dug in the dirt contentedly while I cleaned the gutters, washed the windows and turned soil for a (maybe! fingers crossed!) veggie garden. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was astounded at his ability to entertain himself while I worked. When he grew tired of digging, he would roll his cars around or kick a ball or play with his tee-ball set or (his favorite) stomp in the puddles created by the window-washing runoff. Someone had turned into a bona fide big boy over the winter while I wasn't looking.

At the end of the day, I felt that familiar fatigue that only hours of weed-pulling and shovel-wielding can produce. My hands were gritty and I smelled like earth. Spending an entire day playing in the dirt brought me back to a part of myself that has been dormant for a while.

Only now, I have someone to play in the dirt with.

Happy Easter.
May your day be filled with love.