“Look!” Tommy shouted as he burst through the front door Friday afternoon. In his hand he carried a plant. “Look what we got from school!”
“It’s a very....nice plant,” I said. What else could I say other than, “Please don’t drip dirt on my clean floors.” I am not a plant person. I’ve tried, I really have, but plants hate me. They tend to shrink away when they see me approaching.
“You can’t touch it because you killed my other plant,” Tommy told me, hugging his plant to his chest.
Okay....yes, that’s true. Tommy had a plant. When my Mom, his Nonna was here they bought a plant that apparently is hard to kill.
“You’ll be fine with this one,” my Mom assured me. My Mom, it should be pointed out, is fabulous with plants. She has a bunch of them in her yard and actually enjoys “pruning” them. What kind of word is that anyhow? Pruning? Plants LOVE my Mom.
I sort of forgot to water Tommy’s plant. And so did Tommy, by the way. If it was HIS plant, he should have kept on top of it. So there. It started to wilt and Tommy was all, “My plant!” and watered it. But it was too late. The thing had croaked.
“Look what you did!” Tommy whined as I tossed it out.
“Hey, you could have watered it too,” I reminded him.
“I DID and it was already dead,” he said accusingly. “You are NOT good with plants, Mommy.”
So yeah, he definitely didn’t want me to touch his latest one.
But then he just set it down on the kitchen counter. The one that I had just cleaned.
“Er,” I said, lifting it up.
“Don’t touch, you’ll kill it!” Tommy stomped over.
“You can’t just set it here. I’m no expert but I do know you can’t just leave a plant in a bag,” I explained.
“Where should I put it then?”
Well, crap. We were having a storm outside complete with snow. The plant would not be safe out there.
Then I remembered the pot that I had found at Target for 75% off. When I had brought it home Tom had frowned and said, “What do you need that for? You kill plants.”
This family is so totally mean to me.
You kill one plant, you’re branded as a plant killer for life.
Oh fine, it’s been more like over ten plants that I’ve killed. But still. I TRY to keep them alive. I don’t viciously let them die. I just...well, they don’t have mouths. If they screamed, “I’m STARVING!” like my kids, I’d remember.
“We need to put your plant in a pot,” I said to Tommy.
Tommy still looked wary. “But you’ll kill it.”
“I won’t! At least I’ll try not to. Just....let’s put it in the pot, okay?”
Tommy reluctantly handed it over. “If you kill this plant, I’ll never trust you with another plant ever again.”
Woah. Thems fighting words, son.
Here is Tommy’s plant. It still seems to be thriving.
Heaven help me if I kill the thing.