Thursday, May 20, 2010

All Thumbs and Not a Single Green One Amongst Them

For Mother's Day, Son presented me with a lovely plant. It's not one I'm familiar with. Being the awesome botanist that I am, I tend to call it "The pretty orange plant." Yes, I know. My knowledge is dazzling.

Anyway. Since it was a gift from my son, I feel some obligation to make an effort to keep this particular plant alive. No easy task, my friends. You see, I have a certain...effect on living things. Plants in particular. No matter what I do, they just don't seem to thrive. Usually they see me coming and commit suicide rather than allow me to handle them. I'm not making this up. I once had a beautiful orchid that msyteriously fell from the table onto the floor, smashing its pot. I suppose it could be ghosts doing this, but the suicide theory is equally probable in my opinion.

The execption to this law where I can't keep anyhing alive for long, would be Son. No one is certain why he's made it this long under my care. He keeps hearing he grows like a weed. That makes a little more sense. I am AWESOME at growing weeds.

On Mother's Day, I was asked by my brother-in-law if I had gone to church and dutifully collected my geranium. (To honor mothers here, traditionally some token of appreication, generally a small potted plant, is given to each mother in the congregation.) I had, for various reasons, elected not to attend services that day. And so no. No I did not get a geranium. And seriously? I committed an act of agricultural humanity that day. I saved A LIFE, people. I'm a hero, really.

Nevertheless, I feel a strong desire to care for and love Son's gift to me. Rather than the ubiquitous cut roses or orchids, he chose something so unique, unusual and beautiful. It's one I've never seen before, or anything quite like it.

And so I turned to the internet, as I am wont to do in cases like this.

"Oh no," I muttered as I read. Hubs wandered through and asked, "Problem?"

"Well...apparently I'm supposed to take a sharp knife (already a red flag. Sharp knives and I have never had the most harmonious of relationships.) and then cut the mother plant away from the others. (Is it just me or does this sound like an odd thing to do on Mother's Day? Separating the babies from the mothers seems...cold somehow. But what do I know? Maybe they're like guppies and eat their young if not separated quickly.)

"Ok, so after I violently separate this little family, I'm supposed to repot each plant individually."

"So?"

"No, in SPECIAL dirt. Like... Plant... Diva dirt."

"They make dirt for plant divas?"

"Yes. Yes they do. And I'm going to need some."

"Ok, so then what, that's it?"

"Oh you'd like to think so, my little friend, but no. Next we have to plant them over beds of gravel."

"Sounds comfy," he replied. I glared at him for a moment because CLEARLY he has NO sense of urgency. Or botanical rescue missions.

"No, beds of gravel, so the roots don't have to sit in water."

"Sounds complicated," he observed. I could only nod my head in bleak despair.

"So...what you're trying to say here is it's going to die, isn't it?" He asked.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Hubs. It's not looking good. Not good at all."

So really my predicament comes to this:

Do I:

A. Stock up on these plants so when one dies I can replace it quickly and pray he doesn't notice. It didn't work so well with the goldfish but you never know.

B. Try my best to make it work and then tell him the plant went to live on a farm where there are lots of puppies and bunnies to chase...though that worked better with the dog, come to think of it.

C. Buy silk flowers and plant them outside. And then repent for laughing about our neighbor who planted silk flowers in her yard for years. True story.)

D. Realize that this is for my boy. And when it comes to that boy, I will learn whatever I have to learn. For him, I will even touch dirt. (But just diva dirt.)

Keep your fingers crossed for me. Who knows? Maybe soon I'll have a whole garden full of Orange Star plants in their diva soil, and I'll tend them and baby them and love them...right up until I back over them with the car.

And yes. Oh yes. It'll happen.

6 comments:

Harmony said...

D, and then B. Love ya, Stac!

Our ward has given up on geraniums, thank goodness. We got truffles! You can't go wrong with me and chocolate.

Leavitt Family said...

Stacey, I know you will do the right thing because you are a giver, give give, give. Just make sure you take some time for yourself after you touch the diva dirt.
Carrie

Nadine said...

But truffles are much harder to grow than geraniums! Oh, Stacey, I'm so sorry! LOL

stacey said...

Truffles of the chocolate and sugar and cream variety...I'm willing to sacrifice whatever I have to in order to see them live.

Truffles of the...found in the dirt in places like France then brought here and used for cooking so outrageous prices can be charged...no thanks. I don't have room for a truffle hunting pig in my life right now.

joven said...

hi, you have nice blog.. u can view also mine..http://akoniwares.blogspot.com

joven said...

beautiful blog..pls visit mine and be a follower.. thanks and God bless..

http://forlots.blogspot.com/