I am not a gardener. I don’t enjoy gardening and I don’t understand people who enjoy gardening. Sometimes I pretend to enjoy it because it seems like such a wholesome activity–like what kind of jerk wouldn’t like gardening? I really have nothing against it– I just don’t relate to the enjoyment of dirt and bugs and gross nature things you might find when you’re gardening. And as I like to say, “I like nature. I just don’t want it on me.”
Despite my self-proclaimed lack of a “green thumb”, every year we still spend a good chunk of change on flowers and plants for around the pool and yard. And every year, after they’re all potted and planted and looking brand new and alive, my husband looks at me and says, “Now you know these need water, right?” And as always, I look at him as if to say, “Duuuuhhhhh. Yes. I know they need water.” But we both walk away knowing the truth. I will water them. When I remember to. Just not every day. Or quite as often as they probably need it. I’m more of a life guard for plants–just when they’re all shriveled up and about to die of thirst, I suddenly remember to save them. And truthfully, when I see them in such poor shape, it’s not the beauty and life of the flowers, or the money invested that I’m thinking of–it’s my hubs. I see the dried out blooms and wilted and leaves and have a sudden jolt of “Noooooo! If he sees you like this he’ll think I wasn’t watering you and taking care of you! And then he’ll be right!” Sometimes this happens around 4:30 in the afternoon–meaning I have about one hour until he gets home to save these plants. This is a lot of pressure and not a lot of time for resuscitation. I spend part of the time watering and part of the time begging for forgiveness. (Because supposedly they like to be talked to. What I’d really like to tell them is to perk up quickly if they know what’s good for them. I’m their meal ticket. Sort of. )
It’s not that I don’t care. It’s not that I don’t WANT nice looking flowers and plants. Of course I do. I just forget. I mean, we have 3 kids–and they’re all thriving and healthy, so it’s not like I’m not a nurturing person. On my mental list of things to do, watering the plants just seems to fall to the bottom. But this year- this year is different. My annual private pact to take better care of the flowers seems to be finally making a difference somehow. I even have a
tiny little vegetable garden. So far, so good. Everything is green. Everything is growing. Flowers are blooming . I suspect my husband thinks it has something to do with all the rain we’ve been getting, but the plants and I know the truth. And they’ve been threatened to keep quiet.