Elf Mommy
Well-Known Member
I went over to a friendâs house the other day. I was dropping off my daughter to spend the night with her daughter.
The friend insisted on showing me around her garden. She wanted me to see all of her flowers she had planted. Not many of them were blooming, yet. I likened it in my mind to showing someone with no interest in baking, many beautiful cakes. You can appreciate how lovely they are and the work that went into putting them together. You can enjoy the smell, and in a cakeâs caseâ¦the taste. However, if you have no interest and no experience in baking, you just canât get into the conversation in the same way as someone who does.
This is how I felt. I just donât have any interest in growing things. I feel guilty about that sometimes. My grandmothers and mother are very green-thumbed people. My sister and her husband glow about their landscaping every time I visit.
But me? I just donât have it. Iâm as black-thumbed as they come. I forget them. I donât care enough about them to keep them alive. I donât find joy in working the earth.
Oddly enough, it made me think of my daughter. A few years ago, when I taught a group of adults better ways to teach readers and writers workshop, they gave me a plant at the end of the course with a thank you note for being such a wonderful teacher. It made me cry. When I took it home, my daughter adopted the plant. She kept it watered, faithfully. We kept a bottle of water next to the plant so that it could be watered whenever the soil was dry. We kept that plant alive for 4 years.
The other week, the plant keeled over. I showed my daughter, and told her she should probably water it.
Her answer?
She shrugged her shoulders and told me, âItâs lived long enough.â
And soâ¦Iâm sure sheâs mine.
The friend insisted on showing me around her garden. She wanted me to see all of her flowers she had planted. Not many of them were blooming, yet. I likened it in my mind to showing someone with no interest in baking, many beautiful cakes. You can appreciate how lovely they are and the work that went into putting them together. You can enjoy the smell, and in a cakeâs caseâ¦the taste. However, if you have no interest and no experience in baking, you just canât get into the conversation in the same way as someone who does.
This is how I felt. I just donât have any interest in growing things. I feel guilty about that sometimes. My grandmothers and mother are very green-thumbed people. My sister and her husband glow about their landscaping every time I visit.
But me? I just donât have it. Iâm as black-thumbed as they come. I forget them. I donât care enough about them to keep them alive. I donât find joy in working the earth.
Oddly enough, it made me think of my daughter. A few years ago, when I taught a group of adults better ways to teach readers and writers workshop, they gave me a plant at the end of the course with a thank you note for being such a wonderful teacher. It made me cry. When I took it home, my daughter adopted the plant. She kept it watered, faithfully. We kept a bottle of water next to the plant so that it could be watered whenever the soil was dry. We kept that plant alive for 4 years.
The other week, the plant keeled over. I showed my daughter, and told her she should probably water it.
Her answer?
She shrugged her shoulders and told me, âItâs lived long enough.â
And soâ¦Iâm sure sheâs mine.
h34r2
