Some Days You Have To Cry

Well would you look here. The magic has begun. 
Actually, the magic of this plant began when I put the seeds in the ground. This is the Seminole pumpkin whose vines are so beautiful and so full of big, sturdy green life that I would plant them for their beauty alone. 
Mama does like a good vine. 
I even cut one of the vines back today because it was literally swallowing my peppers and eggplant which would not do. There is plenty of vine left. Trust me. 

You see it smothering the peppers? It's overtaken some of the white acre peas too but I'm just letting that happen. As far as I'm concerned, we have enough field peas. I fear we are leaving at the exact wrong time in regards to those peas. They need picking, shelling, blanching, bagging and freezing and it's a time-consuming situation. However, I believe they will be okay on their vines and even if they dry, that's fine. They won't be quite as sweet and tender if that happens but they'll still be plenty edible. Before we leave I have a few more I want to shell and then quite a few already shelled that I want to blanch, bag, and freeze. 
And of course I have not packed so much as one item. 
I swear on my mother's grave I am not going to take very much in the way of clothes. 
Oh wait. My mother's ashes are still in a bag or box as far as I know. My brother has them. Well, still. I swear. 
I'm going to hell. 

I've had an up and down day today. Mostly down until just a little while ago. Yesterday when Maggie told me that she was going into the fifth grade I didn't think much of it except that yes, she is going into the fifth grade and that will be her last year of elementary school before she goes into middle school. 
But somehow, between her announcement and my acknowledgement of it and this morning, it occurred to me that Maggie is still very much a child. Oh, sure, she's a forty-year old in a child's body but really only in her own mind. She likes to discuss make-up, for instance and she has already decided that she does not want children and she wants to live alone. I have a fairly strong feeling this is not how it's going to be but I'm not going to argue with her. The point is, although Maggie appears to be very sophisticated in some ways, she really is still a child. August is the same age and yes, he, too, is still a child. Maggie is a little girl, August is a little boy.
As far as we know at this point, anyway. In this family we do not assume things like this. But you know what I mean. 
And this led me to thinking about how when I was Maggie's age, I was a damn adult with what felt like the weight of the world on my back. In so many ways, I was. The summer between fourth and fifth grade for me was when my mother married the asshole abuser and that was when the abuse began. Immediately after the honeymoon. It was like now he had some sort of ownership over me and perhaps that is the way he thought. 

Oh y'all. There is so much more. So many, many ways I had to step into an adult's shoes, trying to caretake a mother who suffered deeply from depression, trying to protect my little brother from what was going on in that house. Trying to maintain the illusion that we were a happy, happy family, and mostly just trying to make my way through such bizarre insanity that even a nine-year old, almost ten-year old knew was simply not right. 

I've written about three different posts for this topic tonight and each one was too much. Too very, very much. So I deleted them. 

I've written about all these things before but today they arose again as I am sure they will for the rest of my life, and mostly, I am simply so very grateful that my grandchildren have not had to take on the role of a parent to a parent or lived in fear of a footstep in the hallway. 
And bless that darling, amazing, precious Magnolia June who can say with confidence that fifth grade is going to be great. 

Enough. 

Ms. Moon