Confessions of a Serial (Almost) Plant Killer
I stood in the plant store, overwhelmed by the sheer greenery of it all. Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, illuminating rows upon rows of leafy wonders. I felt a familiar tug on my heartstrings, a yearning for a little bit of that botanical bliss in my own home. But then, the self-doubt crept in, whispering insidious doubts in my ear: “Remember the fern? And that poor, neglected succulent?”
Yes, my history with plants was… checkered, at best. I was the queen of overwatering, the champion of unintentional neglect. But this time, I vowed, it would be different! Armed with a brand-new watering can and the best intentions, I brought home a majestic peace lily. Little did I know, I was about to embark on a hilarious journey of defying every unspoken rule of plant parenthood.
The first rule I gleefully tossed out the window? The one about not naming your plants. Look, I get it. It’s easy to get emotionally attached, to start having full-blown conversations with a being that can only respond in photosynthesis. But I’m a firm believer that a little anthropomorphizing never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s just plain fun! My peace lily, Priscilla, may not be able to answer back, but I swear she judges my taste in music.
The Great Rotation Rebellion: Sunlight, Who Needs It?
Every plant parent knows the sacred ritual: rotating your plants for even sun exposure. It’s practically enshrined in the Plant Parent Handbook (which I may or may not have hallucinated in a moment of sleep deprivation). But here’s the thing – rotating my plants consistently? That requires remembering which way they were facing last week, and frankly, my brain is already at capacity. So, I embrace the chaos. My plants have developed their own unique personalities, growing in all sorts of wonky directions. And you know what? They seem perfectly happy about it!