Growing.

We're growing over here. Not just the kids, who seem to be growing taller by the hour, or my belly, now easily the size of a large melon, but also our garden and flowers.

I've almost always rented. In the past, I've sweet talked my landlords into giving me a break on rent so I can go buy flowers and till up the long-neglected beds. My friends often wondered why I'd put so much work into land that wasn't even mine -- and the simple answer is that I love gardening.

Even now, I try to drive past my old houses to sneak a peek at the perennials I've planted. And it makes me sad to see them over gown with weeds or crispy and dry from neglect.

Mark's the same way. He loves to work out in the yard, and helps out at his parents' place often. He's their go-to guy for heavy lifting and back-breaking yard work, which he does willingly and with a smile. (It's one of the things I admire most about him.) He, too, rented much of his adult life and he, too, longed for land of his own.

There's just something bittersweet about working someone else's soil. You feel good doing it. You're proud of what you've accomplished, but at the end of the day, it's not yours to enjoy.

Now that we've been in our new house for a year, we've made the yard a priority. We planted a garden and carved out a big flowerbed in the front. This was no small feat as it required digging out two ginormous scraggly evergreen bushes, a sad, sorry staple in most Midwestern lawns.

We worked hard and sweated together, side by side, to transform our yard from pitiful to pretty -- and have spent many evenings together, side by side, in our lawn chairs admiring our work.

This is the life.

In the flowerbed...violas.

Mini-rose bush

Delicate and sweet

I call this one Frosty - because I can't remember its real name.

A lily from my friend, Meg.

The garden

Carrots

Cherry tomatoes

Pepper plant

Beans, beans the magical fruit.

Broccoli