There is nothing like the words ‘our garden’ that send me into a high speed downward spiral of despair. The best way I can describe it is an intense feeling of frustration, and like a threenager, I feel a mummy tantrum coming on at the hint of it. I am not talking about a bit of sulky pants… but rather the urge to throw myself into the first muddy puddle I see and thrash about screeching like a fat little hippo, because, no matter how I look at ‘our garden’ to me it’s way too small and quite frankly utterly sh*t. I like to call any
argument discussion about this subject ‘the Garden Wars’, because our small garden debate never gets resolved.
It’s a very touchy subject.
When we first bought our house way before Little Button came along, I just wasn’t sure I could deal with a concrete patch the size of a postage stamp for a garden. Throw in the idea of a little one and I just couldn’t see how it would work at all. Mr Button was quite sure that we wouldn’t stay for more than a few years at the most… so I gave in. Except it’s been 5 years and yes, we are still here. ‘But its London’, Mr Button reasons calmly whilst digging his heels in against any talk about moving. But there is no reasoning for me. Yes, our house might be wonderful, but I feel years of wasted lush green garden time slipping away and nothing can console me.
For me… yes it is. My childhood was full of garden parties, den building, mud pies, swings and balmy evenings lounging on the soft grass star gazing. It was a place to exhale, to breathe and just to be. Is it possible to recreate the magic on a slab of concrete? It breaks my heart to tell Little Button that we can’t get a swing set or gorgeous playhouse with all the trimmings because it just won’t fit in our garden, no matter how much I want it to. I even subconsciously go as far as dreaming that we have bought up our neighbour’s gardens and joined them together to create a bit of green. It really is that darn important to me.
So instead, I make sure that we whisk Little Button out and about as much as possible. Making the most of any clear sky we go searching for playgrounds and outdoorsy things to do every weekend. She thinks our garden is boring, and would much prefer to visit Nanny and Grandad’s to enjoy their beautiful outdoor space. Our pokey dot of concrete has become a spare part. There, but not enjoyed by anyone.
Then I saw this and felt ashamed of myself.
I now realise that I have been hiding away from our garden and pretending it wasn’t ours. A quick flick through our photos confirm that it barely gets a look in. Browsing Right Move for a new garden… I mean house… isn’t going to make the most of today, it’s just going to make it slip away faster and leave me feeling all knotted up about something I can’t immediately change.
Right there are then I decided that I had to make friends with it, because without taking ownership, I will never truly be able to see what its potential could be. Now I am not saying it’s going to be easy, I don’t think we will ever be best buds or anything… but I am going to try.
Are you a proud owner of a lush grassy garden or a pokey dot of concrete like me? If you happen to be an owner of said postage stamp, did you find a way to really make the most of the space?
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