I am the caretaker and guardian of the Shamrock family, jobs I relish and have been doing for more years than a queen honey bee lives. Because the Shamrocks have outgrown their round, green plastic-sided home, I decided it was time for the family to move to a larger house, a brick-colored mansion. They were too close together in the cramped home, didn't get enough light, and were dominated by the older family members who hindered their growth.
I worried that the move might be too stressful for the Shamrocks because they are sensitive to wind, temperature, and light. Knowing I would cry and blame myself if the vulnerable babies or the grandparents got sick or died, I continued to pursue the moving plan with a mixture of determination and fear.
Because of the Shamrocks sensibility, I could not let them know my heart was palpitating and I felt shaky. So, in a calm, quiet voice, I said, "You're moving to your new home today. Because it's a mansion, you'll have five times more room than you do now."
"Why are we moving," Emerald Shamrock, a teenager, asked?
"We need more room," I replied. "You and your sister need your own space, so you won't be crammed together in a small area. "Cool," said Emerald. "Will Pinky be nearby?" "She'll be next to you," I answered. Her sister got that nickname because she hides her fuchsia coloring under green clothing. And your brothers, the toddlers, and babies need more room too.
"Are the flowers moving with us," asked Grandmother Shamrock? Some of her color had faded to a yellow, and she had brown spots from age. "They have been part of this family since my husband and I started it." "Of course, the white flowers will move," I said. "I wouldn't leave them anymore than I would leave you."
The mansion was waiting for all of them, with fresh potting mix smelling of pine. I tapped the old, torn green sides of their house on a piece of furniture, spilling the Shamrock family onto the floor. Picking it up, I placed the family, roots and old soil, into the brick-colored planter, Then with my hands, I scooped more of the soft chocolate-colored soil from a two-foot yellow plastic bag and patted it around the Shamrocks. My hands smelled like Pine Sol. The thirsty family quickly drank the water I poured into their mansion.
For the rest of the day, the family members closed their three green and fuschia leaves to adjust to their new home. I opened a bottle of burgundy and ordered a pizza. No cooking for me today.
I worried that the move might be too stressful for the Shamrocks because they are sensitive to wind, temperature, and light. Knowing I would cry and blame myself if the vulnerable babies or the grandparents got sick or died, I continued to pursue the moving plan with a mixture of determination and fear.
Because of the Shamrocks sensibility, I could not let them know my heart was palpitating and I felt shaky. So, in a calm, quiet voice, I said, "You're moving to your new home today. Because it's a mansion, you'll have five times more room than you do now."
"Why are we moving," Emerald Shamrock, a teenager, asked?
"We need more room," I replied. "You and your sister need your own space, so you won't be crammed together in a small area. "Cool," said Emerald. "Will Pinky be nearby?" "She'll be next to you," I answered. Her sister got that nickname because she hides her fuchsia coloring under green clothing. And your brothers, the toddlers, and babies need more room too.
"Are the flowers moving with us," asked Grandmother Shamrock? Some of her color had faded to a yellow, and she had brown spots from age. "They have been part of this family since my husband and I started it." "Of course, the white flowers will move," I said. "I wouldn't leave them anymore than I would leave you."
The mansion was waiting for all of them, with fresh potting mix smelling of pine. I tapped the old, torn green sides of their house on a piece of furniture, spilling the Shamrock family onto the floor. Picking it up, I placed the family, roots and old soil, into the brick-colored planter, Then with my hands, I scooped more of the soft chocolate-colored soil from a two-foot yellow plastic bag and patted it around the Shamrocks. My hands smelled like Pine Sol. The thirsty family quickly drank the water I poured into their mansion.
For the rest of the day, the family members closed their three green and fuschia leaves to adjust to their new home. I opened a bottle of burgundy and ordered a pizza. No cooking for me today.
