Tomato Extravaganza finale

While I was preparing my lunch today, it occured to me that I had never resolved for all to see the results of Tomato Extravaganza 2009. Probably no one else cares about Tomato Extravaganza 2009, but it was such a resounding success that I simply can't leave it completely
un-blogged.

From this: To this:
To this:

To this:(Betcha you didn't know my storage room was seafoam green, huh?)

To my lunch today, Tomato Soup with Rice.

So that you can truly appreciate what these tomatoes mean to me, a story:

One lovely morning in July, I decided that my precious tomato plants needed watering. I pranced lightly out to turn on the hose sporting only my underwear and an oversized t-shirt to cover my unborn child. Lupe greeted me with her usual vigor, and the plants were successfully on their way to soaking when a horrible thought came to me.

The back door just shut. And IT'S LOCKED.

I ran (tummy a-bouncin') to the back door, and discovered to my horror that I was correct. But wait! Surely Husband has not yet left for work! My pregnant belly and I ran in our underwear to the side gate, and got there just as Schmoopsie climbed into his Honda and shut the door. This is the part where I began yelling like a banshee and jumping up and down in my bare (pregnant) feet, hoping he might see snippets of my head poking up over the 6 foot fence.

Nevertheless, it was not to be. He drove away, and I may never forgive him for that error.

So there I am, stuck in my back yard with my underwear, my fetus, and my yellow lab. The basement windows have bars on them to ensure we die someday in a fire. The baby's room window is not only 6 feet off the ground, but also covered with a metal canopy (stylish, no?) that prevents the original mid-century crank window from opening wide enough to accomodate my growing girth. The fences are, conveniently, all 6 feet high, and oh yeah. I'm pregnant. AND IN MY PANTIES. Which, due to certain circumstances, could not be covered with my oversized t-shirt no matter how hard I tug.

I checked the garage, hoping against hope that I might find some fishing waders or a towel to cover myself so I could walk the several blocks to my mother's house. Because, you see, I wanted to spend my morning as a barefoot pregnant lady in a giant t-shirt and rubber fishing waders waddling down the block. Unfortunately, the only fishing gear to be found was a couple of tangled poles and a tackle box. Hardly helpful. Doubt the neighbors want to see me scuttling about with a tackle box covering my unmentionables.

Speaking of neighbors, mine are old. Which means that even if I scream until they hear me, what are they going to do? Use a ladder to heft themselves over the fence? Where I am, of course, IN MY UNDERWEAR? And then what? We just chat?

I can't even call my boss to explain why I'm not at work, though I'm betting this qualifies as an excused absence. Within seconds, I have envisioned the rest of the day spent in the back yard with my underwear and my yellow lab, drinking hose water and eating green tomatoes. For an instant, I wish it was fall when at least my tomatoes would be ripe, until I remember that in the fall, I will also be ripe and then what if I went into labor in my backyard with my dog and no fishing waders? I count my blessings.

Anyway, the story is already too long, but just know that I did not have to spend the day out in the elements. I opened the garage door (in my underwear) and lumbered to the front door (in my underwear) and miraculously, for the first and only time in our marriage, Paddy had not locked the front door as he left. Whew. Crisis averted.

And that's what my Tomato Soup with Rice meant to me today.