Blooming

I’ve never been interested in planting flowers or gardening or weeding or anything like that. I always hated the maintenance, I couldn’t keep anything alive; I never got anything out of it. I didn’t understand why other people took so much pleasure from plants. I think I do now.

Last year was the first year I had any desire to dress up our patio. When I asked my mom to help me buy and plant flowers and greens, I’m pretty sure she cried a little. And then we filled over twenty pots and hanging baskets with color. I loved every second of it, the daily watering and nightly pruning. I loved coming downstairs in the morning and seeing the beautiful color outside my patio doors. I love that I was able to keep almost everything alive; a couple of them even survived the winter.

When the weather finally got warm enough this spring to bring out the planters and bring color back to our dead patio, I really needed it. I didn’t know that I would, but I did. My mom took me to the garden market to pick out this year’s pretties, and then we came straight back home to clean out last year’s pots and plant them. I asked Mark if he wanted to play in the dirt with us, and surprisingly, he did. I loved that. The three of us spent a couple hours out back listening to music and making a beautiful mess.

We filled most of our pots and planters, hung the lantana from the shepherd’s hook, and arranged the hibiscus and lavender, succulents and petunias, magilla perilla, moses in the bullrush and other lovelies around the patio. It was perfect.

As I turned on the hose to water our urban garden and wash away the potting soil that afternoon, the nozzle shattered and flew off of the sprayer. Just like that. It may have had something to do with the hose being left out in the cold all winter, but whatever. That’s not important. I was left holding an uncontrollable spray gun spitting water like an explosive bottle of champagne. And I was feeling saucy, which resulted in the following exchange:

Sarah: “Well, that’s great. Now we have to go buy a new hose and sprayer today. Awesome.”

Mark: “Why?”

Sarah: “What the crap am I supposed to do with this?”

Mark: “We have a watering can. Just put it in the can!”

I may have been looking for a fight, because, my oh-so-mature response? “YOU PUT IT IN THE CAN!”

And this is where he turns to my mom and says, “I guarantee, that’s the last time she says that me.”

.:.:.:.:.:.

Speaking of cans, here’s my husband’s. He’s cleaning the shower. This is why he can get away with almost anything; he knows the way to my heart.