I Have TWO Black Thumbs!!!

by Gina Valley

I don’t know how it happens, but it happens every spring.

I head out to buy some innocuous household item, socks or light bulbs or bread; and I find myself in the garden department of whatever store I landed at, be it Home Depot, Costco, or Forever 21.

I stand there in a stupor, my eyes glazed over (my nose is usually running, too. I have wicked hay fever). My mind fogs, and I enter some sort of spring-plant-induced-zombie-coma.

Last year’s plant holocaust fades from my mind.

I forget I have 2 black thumbs.

I don’t remember my pack’s tendency to trample to death anything that even sort of survives my pathetic horticulture attempts.

I find myself galloping up and down the aisles, patting pansies, hoisting hostas, grabbing gladiolas. Soon, I have a cart filled to overflowing with roses and herbs and alyssum.

I hear someone reciting “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” and realize it’s me.

This year was no different.

We stopped by the Giant Home Improvement Store to buy a valve for our drippy bathroom faucet.

As I followed The Professor toward the plumbing aisle, I was swept away by a mysterious tide. I found myself in the middle of the garden department. Echoes of The Professor repeating, “We’re just here for a valve. We’re just here for a valve!” faded from my consciousness as I took in the beautiful displays of blooms all around me.

Before I knew what was happening, I was carefully wedging my new flora friends into our van. I heard The Professor mumble something about Teleflora throwing up in there.

I think he was just grumpy because I filled his seat with daisies, so he had to either hold them or ride home on the roof rack.

Reality hit, as it always does, as we reached our house.

I heard a little shriek from the plants I just purchased as our barren yard came into view. I looked at our anything-but-lush garden, and remembered that I do not have a green thumb on either hand.

Nonetheless, I charged ahead with my spring garden frenzy by pulling up and throwing out all evidence of last year’s spring garden frenzy. I covered the new plants’ eyes so they wouldn’t see the dehydrated, mangled remains of herbs and foxgloves and petunias.

The Professor suggested that I could save myself a lot of work by simply throwing all of the new plants directly into the trash bin now, thereby avoiding all the stress of watching them die an inevitable, painful death.

I told him that if he really wanted to help, he could bring in the 50 pound bag of dirt I bought. He asked me if this was the same dirt I bought to kill last year’s plants with, and mumbled something about us being surrounded by free dirt and living in a plant graveyard. I chose to ignore him. The non-plant-o-phile’s just don’t understand.

For the last 3 days I’ve spent every free moment planting and trimming and mulching. I think it’ll take me at least another 3 days to finish, a week if my kids help me.

I haven’t had time for the minutiae of life, like cooking and laundry, while I work to conquer all things blooming.  That’s okay, though, because I’m pretty sure I’ve got my kids convinced that cold cereal is the new “hot” meal, and that Febreze’d is as good as washed.

Soon we’ll have a beautiful, springtime back drop to enjoy right here at our own home.

It will be wonderful.

Right up until it’s time to weed and feed and trim. And, a heat wave hits. And, the dog chews through the stems. And, the kids pull off all the blossoms.

Then, I’ll wake up from my spring-plant-induced-zombie-coma, and realize I don’t know how it happened.

Laugh Out Loud!

-gina

Do you have spring-flower-fever? How about hay fever? Do you plant flowers or veggies or rocks? Shoot me comment. I’d love to hear what you think.