This is How My Green Onions Grew

I was wandering about on Pinterest several months ago and fell upon the “green onions picture”. I was fascinated at the idea that these green onions had been lopped off at the top and still insisted on regrowing. Surely this had to be a tale. A ruse. A parlor trick. And so I endeavored to try it myself. Green onions only cost 50 cents a bunch  and many a bunch has gone droopy in my “crisper” drawer.

I lopped the tops off, plopped them in a glass Flintstones mug, and stuck them up on the window ledge. And, as you can guess, they grew. I repeated this operation with the same bunch. Again with the growing. Follow me as I extract my trademark positivity from this.

How many times have I been cut down and grown back? A lot. The need to grow and endure and reach for the above lives in all of us, plant and beast. Not to just survive, although sometimes that’s all we can do for a little while. But to accept the loss and move forward because, in the end, there’s no other choice.

And there will be a point when we look back and say, hey look where I used to be. And now I’ve grown above the rim of the glass I once thought was too far away to ever reach. One day after another after another, I reach out of myself to connect with the world and better myself  in the process.  I admire this bunch of onions in and out of their Flintstones cup. There is no other choice but to just grow.

The Name Game

We had difficulty naming the first baby and we seem to be having more with the second. And the husband not wanting to know the gender of the baby has put more than just a small twist in this game.

I may have told you this but you can’t stop me anyway from telling you again.We were at our first OB visit with the good Dr. O’Bryan who’s explaining the timeline of fun stuff to come. And when he says, ”That’s when you’ll be able to find out the gender of the baby,” Mark says “We don’t want to know” at the same time I say “I figured we’d find out this time since we chose not to know with the first one”.

On the way to pick up the little boy at day camp, we debated the pro’s and cons of knowing and, not for lack of my trying, he won. Although I did warn him he’d have to show up to every sonogram appointment to make sure I didn’t cheat. And then I wouldn’t be able to keep the secret.

As I said, picking our first child’s name was a bit of a struggle. Mark liked Aiden until he found out there were dozens of them in our county born in the last few years. Aiden was out. He then conceded to my choice of Eamon. We have a leftover girl’s name we’re recycling. But we’re faced with picking another boys name. The odds are 50/50 we’ll have one of those.

As I possess one, I’m partial to Gaelic names. And after a camping trip in July, I wrote Mark an e-mail. And the name game began. In the first e-mail to my baby’s Daddy on July 30^th, I said,

“I had an epiphany in front of that fire at Tuckahoe Park. And it was this name darnit. From a 1923 book entitled Irish Names and Surnames,
COLM, genitive — id. (the same), Colm, Colum, Columba; also written Colum; an old Irish name, signifying ‘dove’; made famous by St. Columcille, Apostle of Scotland, whose name signifies ‘dove of the church.’ Latin — Columba.    I am really really fond of it.
Mom said she couldn’t believe we were thinking of naming a girl after an ogre. It’s all about perspective. From mine, I feel sick and I’ve had to concede to not knowing the gender after all. Love, Shalagh”

He counters,

“Would gender identification in lieu of Colm interest you? Mark “

I counter with ,

” I don’t know. What are your terms?”

And he says,

” You get to know gender. I get to choose first name. You get middle  name? “

And so the games began. And no, I didn’t accept his offer.

There was a stream of text messages after this. He liked Emmett. And I said that sounded kinda namby pamby. He stuck with names starting with E (so that I can be totally tied in knots when trying to call my children’s names) and offered Evan. Except, he’d forgotten, his cousin already named her kid that.

The one rule is that we can’t have any noun soundalikes as the child will already have the last name of Peach. I was still holding onto a fondness for Colm. But found out that, when pronounced correctly, it sounds like Column.

I had made it known my second favorite was Ewan. But when I read on my lovely Irish friend’s blog, she had visited her friend Niam’s house. And I suggested this name immediately. This name made us both happy. Until we find out it’s a Girl’s Name!

Moving on, I write an email to my husband in mid December which says,

“And so at 5:30 this morning, I’m looking at baby boy names. These are all Celtic. I was intrigued and amused by Ferris.” Then I listed the following names. Feilim, Fintan, Ferris, Emrys, Ambrose, Ewan, Ewen, Eoin, Neese, Culann, Niallan, and Callan.

Mark writes back,

” Well, I guess if I had to pick one of the names listed below it would be Ewan. On the one hand its not what I had hoped for. But on the other it does start with an E. On the one hand it doesn’t have a really cool meaning, which is what I was hoping for, like Eamon which is guardian. But on the other hand it does mean “born of yew” which is a bush type tree. So it would be a constant reminder of the plants out front that you love so much. So… Ewan can stay on the table. But I get to pick the middle name. “

I liked Niallan. Pronounced like Nealan. But again, sounds like the noun Kneelin’. Add Peach and not good. And then, as only an impetuous pregnant woman could, I suddenly liked Nolan. And when proposed, Nolan didn’t meet much resistance. Of course it has to be in the top 100 most popular names but I’m worn out from caring what it ranks or what it means.

Although he’s not a huge baseball fan, husband then tried adding more baseball hall of famers’ names (Brooks) for the middle name. I’d rather go with Eamon’s suggestion for the middle name. Zen. Or Avocado. Then his initials would be nap. Which is exactly what I feel like I want now.

Negotiations are still being held. And we have had a lot of fun teasing each other with this. Because in the end, we really just hope the baby is healthy and whole. Less than 7 weeks to go to know who the mystery baby is.

My 2012 Gratitudinal Post

As of a year and a half ago, I still couldn’t see why I should join Facebook or communicate with people I hadn’t seen in a long while. I was living in a lonely dull shell that I was used to.   I thought, “What could I say that they’d want to hear?  So long and far away from our pasts, what did I have to offer them that they would want? And why would I want to make friends with people I couldn’t see? Worse, maybe they’ll all scorn my advances.”

This would be the deafening roar of low self-esteem. As I started to turn the volume down and began to reach out to people everywhere, I connected with old friends and made new ones too. And suddenly, where I was used to being a little cold and lonely, I’m now hanging out in a warm shiny happy room with a mutual appreciation club full of people. Community is there in that room that you create in your hearts. You furnish it with well wishes and compassion and care. And it nurtures the creative.

I am so extraordinarily grateful for this growing group of people in my life and I thought my New Year’s Eve shout out would be to everyone I’ve reconnected and befriended this year. To Sarah, Nalisa, Melissa, Sian, Gwen, and Dig, you all have been in my heart for a long long time. And to my new blogging and online friends and acquaintances Kathy, Amy, Amanda, Tania, Amy, Jane, Maria, Sandra, Jennifer, Wendy, Sheryl, and the kind people on Twitter who address me like I’ve got something to say worth acknowledging ( and anyone who I’m forgetting, you’ll pardon my brain), I am truly grateful for all your well wishes and wonderful support. I never knew what I was missing and you have crafted my definition of gratitude.

And thank you to the powers that be for gifting me with a belly baby to share with my family, friends, and the world. Hope is a mighty powerful thing.

Love and Happiness for the new Year,

Shalagh