I killed my strawberries.
Not on purpose. I didn’t actively wish death on the strawberry plant. But also, I admit I didn’t try very hard to keep them alive.
I would remember that I hadn’t watered the strawberry plant that day and think, Oh, well. Surely one day without water won’t kill them. Then the next day would come along and I’d remember again but I’d be in the middle of changing my daughter’s diaper or making a grocery list or sitting on the couch watching last night’s episode of “The Bachelorette.” So I’d think, Oh, well. Surely two days without water won’t kill them.
Then it would be the next day and, you guessed it, my mind would come up with another excuse for why I couldn’t possibly step outside and turn on the hose, or even take the easier but less nourishing route of filling up a pitcher and dumping it on the strawberry plant. Maybe I’ll do it after I finish working for the day. Maybe I’ll teach my two-and-a-half-year-old son to water the plants, and that’ll not only feed them but he’ll learn about responsibility!
But then I would finish working for the day and go straight to my car to pick the kids up from daycare, not bothering to take a detour to the backyard. I’d bring them home and instead of teaching my son to fill up his little toy pitcher and carefully dump water on the plant, we’d go to the park. And before I knew it, I’d be lying in bed, remembering the sad, withering strawberry plant sitting outside, neglected and hungry.
I planted the strawberries in June because 1) we got cute new planters in our backyard, 2) going to the garden store makes a fun outing for a toddler, and 3) we love eating strawberries in this house, so I figured I could save myself from the exorbitant cost of grocery-store strawberries (although raspberries are where they really get you). Never did it occur to me that keeping them alive would be such a challenge. All I had to do was water them once a day!
In the two months that have passed since my husband planted the strawberries–I couldn’t quite motivate myself to do that part, either–I’ve watered them maybe six times. In my defense, it has rained about six additional days during that time. So they have been watered about 12 times out of an aspirational 60.
So yeah, the strawberries are dead.
So … why am I telling you this?
Why am I telling you about my poor strawberries (or lack thereof)? How does this relate to my thoughts and feelings about having kids?
Because I may not be able to keep a strawberry plant alive, but who cares? I’m keeping my children alive, and that is enough. I can only do so many things well at any given time. I can only hold so many things in my head. And the thing I do well is taking care of my kids. The things I hold in my head are my kids’ schedules, their food intake, their sleep, their doctors’ appointments, my job. I don’t water plants well. Oh well. And by the way, I’m saving the environment by not watering my plants.
I had been feeling vaguely guilty about my plant-parent failings when a coworker brought up her own deficiencies at watering flowers during a Zoom meeting. I told her that I was the same way, and that I’d killed my strawberry plant after it had yielded just two berries in its short life. We had a good laugh and I found myself saying, “You know what? It’s OK that you killed your flowers. You have more important things on my mind.”
Another coworker chimed in and said, “You do, too.” I replied, “You’re totally right. I can only hold so many things in my head at once, and if my brain chooses to feed my kids over feeding my plants, I choose my kids every time.” She replied, “Yeah, that’s the right choice.”
I didn’t know that throwaway interaction would be such an inspiration for me as a mom, but it has. Like most mothers of young children, I often find myself feeling overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of motherhood. The mental load is huge and stressful, and sometimes it feels like we can’t spend another minute holding a baby in our arms or holding everything in our head.
And we don’t have to! As I learned from killing my strawberry plants, it’s OK to let some things go. Don’t want to cook dinner tonight? You don’t have to! Feed them carrot sticks and hummus with a side of almonds and a muffin, like I did last night! Don’t want to wash your car, even though there are dead bugs all over the windshield and Cheerios in the backseat? You don’t have to! Go to the gas station, use the squeegee thing for a minute, toss the Cheerios into the garbage can–or don’t!–and call it good. Don’t want to dry your hair and/or put on makeup today? Don’t! It doesn’t matter; you look great.
I think it’s called prioritizing?
I’m learning to reserve my mental and physical load for things that matter. I have to–and want to–take care of my kids. I need to do my paying job. I care about being a good friend. And the things that I don’t care about, like gardening, can and should take a backseat. In other words, I’m learning to prioritize.
A friend who was struggling with career-motherhood balance once said to me, “I’ve realized that my number-one most important job is being a mom, and my paying job sometimes has to take a backseat.” It’s a great point and something most parents realize at one time or another. Being a mom is important and maybe your job or your marriage or your friendships–or whatever is important to you–comes next. But you know what you shouldn’t lose sleep over? Watering the plants. Unless that is your job. Or you really care about your plants. In which case–that’s your priority, not mine!
Also, let other people do some things!
By the way, I’m sitting out on my deck writing this. My husband is drinking coffee next to me. He just looked over at our little baby tree and said, “Hey, that tree looks brown. Have you watered it?”
“Nope,” I said, without looking up.
“Does it need to be watered?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied before turning back to my computer to finish this out. He stood up, turned on the hose, and watered the tree. He probably would have watered the strawberries, too, if there was any hope left for them. So there’s another benefit of accepting that you can’t do everything: Maybe someone else will take it on!