Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant lady

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Break Them All)




    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Break Them All)


    Confessions of a Rebellious Plant Parent

    Alright, fellow plant lovers, let’s be honest. We’ve all been there. Staring blankly at a wilting leaf, questioning our entire existence as a self-proclaimed green thumb. Did I water it too much? Too little? Is it judging my questionable taste in pottery? The struggle is real, people.

    See, the thing about being a plant parent is, there’s this whole set of unspoken rules. These aren’t your official, scientifically-backed guidelines. No, these are the whispered pronouncements, the side-eye judgments from that one friend with the impossibly perfect fiddle-leaf fig.

    plant rules: thou shalt not overwater. And listen, I get it. Nobody wants soggy roots or, God forbid, fungus gnats (shudders). But here’s the thing: every plant is different!

    Take my peace lily, Phil. Phil is a dramatic queen who thrives on attention, and by attention, I mean a healthy dose of H2O every few days. Meanwhile, my ZZ plant, Zephyr, prefers to pretend it’s a cactus in the desert and would rather I just…well, leave it alone.

    So, my advice? Ditch the rigid watering schedule and learn to read your plants’ cues. Are the leaves drooping? They’re thirsty! Is the soil still damp after a week? Hold off on the watering can, friend.

    Sunlight Needs: Finding the Right Light for Your Plants

    Another gem from the unspoken rulebook: all plants need copious amounts of sunlight. Now, while it’s true that most plants appreciate a good dose of sunshine, let’s not forget about our shade-loving friends.

    Case in point: my majestic snake plant, Slinky. This bad boy lives in the corner of my bathroom, which receives approximately 12 seconds of indirect sunlight per day. And guess what? He’s thriving! Turns out, some plants are perfectly content basking in the glow of my bathroom vanity lights (who knew?).

    The lesson here? Don’t be afraid to experiment with placement. Your north-facing window might be the perfect haven for that peace lily you’ve had your eye on.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent






    Confessions of a Serial Plant Whisperer (or so I thought)

    I still remember the sheer panic I felt when my very first houseplant, a peace lily named Percy, dramatically drooped his leaves. Was he thirsty? Too much sun? Did I accidentally water him with orange juice after a particularly chaotic morning? (Don’t judge, we’ve all been there.) Turns out, Percy was just being a drama queen – a classic rookie mistake on my part. But that experience, my friends, was my initiation into the secret society of plant parents and their unspoken rules.

    Rule #1: Embrace the Dramatic Wilt

    Plants, like toddlers, are masters of nonverbal communication. They can’t yell “Hey, I’m parched!” or “Back away from the watering can, you maniac!” So they resort to more theatrical methods – the dramatic wilt.

    One minute your leafy friend is standing tall, the picture of verdant health. The next, it’s slumped over like it just lost its best friend. Don’t panic! More often than not, a good soak is all it takes to revive your dramatic diva. But just like that toddler who cries wolf, don’t let them fool you every time. Overwatering is a real thing, and it can lead to a whole other kind of plant drama (we’ll get to that later).

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  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging My Life Choices




    Does My Plant Judge My Life Choices? | A Hilarious Take


    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you’d never watch, and you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. No, it’s not a spider (thank goodness) – it’s your plant. And for a fleeting, irrational moment, you swear it’s judging you.

    The Side-Eye From My ZZ Plant

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many others during the pandemic, decided to become a Plant Parent™. I envisioned a home filled with lush greenery, a testament to my newfound nurturing abilities. I envisioned wrong. My thumb, it turns out, is less green and more… beige. But I digress. The point is, I brought home a perfectly lovely ZZ plant, named him Ferdinand, and placed him on my bookshelf.

    At first, things were great. Ferdinand, being a ZZ plant, required minimal care. I’d remember to water him every few weeks, give his leaves a cursory dust, and that was that. But then, slowly, I started noticing it. The side-eye. Every time I’d stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed and clutching my third cup of coffee, I’d swear Ferdinand was looking at me differently. Less “proud plant parent” and more “disappointed life coach.”

  • Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)




    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have seen better days. In fact, they used to be infamous for their uncanny ability to turn even the most resilient houseplants into wilted, brown messes. My past attempts at plant parenthood resembled a graveyard of good intentions, littered with empty terracotta pots and drooping leaves.

    But something changed recently. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was an early midlife crisis, but I decided to give plants another shot. And let me tell you, it’s been a wild, surprisingly therapeutic, and surprisingly hilarious ride.

    Leaf Fig Taught Me Patience

    Enter Fiona, my notoriously dramatic fiddle leaf fig. Fiona, with her giant, elegant leaves, was supposed to be the crown jewel of my plant collection. Instead, she became my biggest challenge. Every brown spot, every dropped leaf felt like a personal failure. Why couldn’t I keep this finicky plant alive when everyone else on Instagram seemed to have mastered the art of fiddle leaf fig care?

    But slowly, through trial and error (and a lot of Googling), I started to understand Fiona’s needs. I learned that direct sunlight is her kryptonite, that overwatering is a cardinal sin, and that a gentle misting on a hot day is like a spa treatment for her delicate leaves.

    And guess what? Fiona thrived! Seeing her new growth, those vibrant green leaves unfurling, filled me with an absurd amount of pride. It was a lesson in patience, observation, and the incredible resilience of nature.

    More Than Just Pretty Decor: The Unexpected Perks of Plant Parenthood

    Here’s the thing about plants: they’re not just pretty decorations (although they do elevate my apartment’s aesthetic, let’s be real). They bring a sense of calm, a touch of nature, and a surprising amount of laughter into your life.

    Here are a few unexpected joys I’ve discovered:

    • Plants are the ultimate listeners. Have a bad day? Tell it to your Monstera. Need to vent about your boss? Your ZZ plant won’t judge.
    • They’re a source of endless entertainment. I swear, my prayer plant does a little dance every time I water it. And watching my string of pearls slowly but surely take over my bookshelf brings me an unreasonable amount of joy.
    • They connect you to a community. The plant-loving community is vast, welcoming, and full of people who understand the struggle of reviving a droopy peace lily.
  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me


    The Side-Eye is Real

    It all started with a feeling. You know that feeling when you’re pretty sure someone’s watching you, but you turn around and no one’s there? Yeah, that’s what it’s like living with Herbert, my supposedly “carefree” spider plant.

    I swear, I caught him — yes, “him,” he has definite “dude on the couch judging my life choices” energy — giving me the side-eye over breakfast the other day. One minute I’m innocently enjoying my avocado toast, the next I feel this…presence. I look over, and there he is, perched on the windowsill, leaves strategically angled like he’s about to launch into a dramatic monologue about the state of my recycling habits.

    Houseplant‘s Wilting Accusations

    Now, I’m not new to this whole plant parenting game. I’ve managed to keep a cactus alive for three years (a personal best!), so I’m not exactly failing at this. But Herbert? He’s different. He’s got this way of dramatically wilting the second I think about being late with his watering schedule.

    I’m talking full-on, theatrical droop. It’s like he’s saying, “Oh, you think you can just ignore my basic needs for hydration? Watch this…” And then, *poof*, instant plant-world drama queen. The worst part? He perks right back up the second he gets a splash of water, leaving me to question my sanity (and my ability to read a simple moisture meter).

    The Silent Judgement of New Growth

    Here’s where things get really weird. A few weeks ago, after what I thought was a particularly successful yoga session (read: I didn’t face-plant on the mat), I walked back into my living room to find Herbert…different. He’d sprouted a new leaf, a big one, and it was unfurling right before my eyes.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Aw, that’s sweet! He’s thriving under your care!” But here’s the thing, this wasn’t a happy, “look at me, I’m growing!” kind of unfurling. This was a slow, deliberate, “I see what you did there” kind of unfurling.

    He’s been holding that leaf like a silent, green judge ever since. It’s gotten to the point where I catch myself adjusting my posture when I walk by, as if a single houseplant could actually revoke my houseplant-owning privileges.

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From Becoming a Crazy Cat Lady)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From Becoming a Crazy Cat Lady)





    From Feline Fantasy to Frond Fanatic

    I used to be that girl. You know the one—obsessed with cat videos, dreaming of fluffy felines curled up on my lap. I envisioned a life filled with purrs, cuddles, and maybe a little playful chaos. But then, life, as it often does, took an unexpected turn. My shoebox apartment (seriously, it was tiny!) wouldn’t accommodate my feline fantasies. Dejected, I almost resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood, surrounded by cats I didn’t even have.

    Then, one fateful day, I wandered into a plant shop. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and something green and alive. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, casting intricate shadows on the floor. And there, nestled among the ferns and succulents, I found my calling. Or rather, my calling found me.

    Plant Parent Mishaps)

    My journey into plant parenthood wasn’t without its bumps. In the beginning, I was a notorious over-waterer. My poor peace lily, bless its heart, looked perpetually drowned. Then there was the time I nearly scorched my spider plant to a crisp by placing it too close to the window. (Turns out, direct sunlight isn’t always a plant’s best friend.)

    But slowly, through trial and error (mostly error, let’s be honest), I began to understand the subtle language of my leafy companions. I learned to decipher the droop of a thirsty leaf from the yellowing of one that had had a bit too much to drink. I discovered the joy of watching a new leaf unfurl, a tiny testament to my nurturing (or at least, my ability to keep it alive).

    My Indoor Jungle: Why Plants Are Better Than Pets

    Now, my apartment is a jungle—in the best way possible. I’ve got trailing pothos cascading from shelves, a majestic monstera claiming its territory in the corner, and a collection of succulents that could rival a desert landscape (though hopefully less prickly).

    And you know what? I wouldn’t trade my plant family for all the catnip in the world. They may not greet me with purrs at the door, but they fill my home with life and a sense of calm that no cat video could ever replicate. Plus, they’re far less likely to cough up hairballs on my favorite rug.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent



    Plant Parent

    Plant Killer (Almost)

    My journey into plant parenthood began like a rom-com montage – sun-drenched trips to the nursery, whispered promises of “thriving, not just surviving,” and visions of my apartment transformed into a verdant paradise. Fast forward to reality, and let’s just say my thumbs were less than green. I’m talking crispy edges, wilting stems, and a graveyard of terracotta pots that haunted my dreams (okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you get the picture).

    But amidst the botanical carnage, something strange happened. I learned. I adapted. I even (dare I say it?) succeeded! Turns out, there’s a whole set of unspoken rules to this plant parenting gig, and once you master them, you unlock a world of leafy joy (and maybe a slight obsession with fertilizer, but that’s a story for another day).

    Plants, my friends, are masters of passive aggression. They won’t yell at you for forgetting to water them, but they will subtly droop, brown, or even shed a leaf or two just to keep you on your toes. Consider it their way of adding a little drama to your life.

    Rule #2: One Person’s Trash is Another Plant’s Treasure (Literally)

    Remember that banana peel you were about to toss? Or those eggshells you thought were destined for the compost bin? Hold up! You’ve got plant food gold in your hands, my friend. From coffee grounds to used tea bags, everyday kitchen scraps can be transformed into nutrient-rich treats for your leafy companions.

    Not only will you be reducing waste and channeling your inner eco-warrior, but your plants will reward you with lush growth and maybe even a grateful nod (okay, maybe not the nod, but a girl can dream!).

    The Green Thumb Awaits

    So there you have it – the unspoken rules of plant parenthood, revealed! It’s a journey filled with ups and downs, triumphs and tribulations, but most importantly, a whole lot of leafy love. Now, tell me, what are some of the hilarious or heartwarming moments you’ve experienced as a plant parent? Share your stories in the comments below!


  • The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices

    The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices



    The Day My Plant Judged My Life Choices: A Hilarious Tale of Green Guilt

    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch in your oldest sweatpants, a half-eaten bag of chips dangerously close to becoming your dinner, binge-watching reality TV for the third hour straight. It’s fine, you tell yourself, everyone needs a night off. But then, you catch it. A flash of green in the corner of your eye. You turn your head slowly, and there it is: your plant, leaves perfectly perched, silently judging your every move.

    The Shameful Stare of a Fiddle Leaf Fig

    My personal journey into the secretly judgmental world of plants began with Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand isn’t just any plant. He’s a drama queen, a diva, a green-leafed emperor who demands constant attention and the perfect amount of indirect sunlight. I, on the other hand, am… well, let’s just say my life doesn’t always scream “responsible plant parent.”

    It was a Tuesday, I think. Or maybe a Wednesday? Honestly, the days all blur together when you’re existing solely on caffeine and the promise of ordering takeout later. I was in my usual state of post-work slump, scrolling through social media with the attention span of a goldfish. Ferdinand was basking in his usual spot by the window, looking effortlessly elegant as always.

    Suddenly, I felt a shift in the atmosphere. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I looked up, and that’s when I saw it. Ferdinand’s leaves seemed to be… drooping? Was he wilting? Panicking, I scrambled for my watering can, only to realize I’d forgotten to refill it (again). As I sheepishly filled the can, I could have sworn Ferdinand let out a dramatic sigh. Okay, maybe not a sigh, but there was definitely some serious side-eye happening.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant


    We’ve all been there. Scrolling through Instagram, you stumble upon a photo of a verdant paradise masquerading as someone’s living room. Lush ferns cascade over bookshelves, succulents bask in sunbeams, and a monstera plant bigger than any human has the right to own stretches its leaves towards the ceiling. “I need that in my life,” you think, and before you know it, you’re elbow-deep in potting soil at your local nursery.

    My Brush with Plant Parenthood and a Fiddle Leaf Fig

    That’s how I, self-proclaimed plant killer extraordinaire, ended up adopting Ferdinand the Fiddle Leaf Fig. He was a sight to behold, with his glossy, violin-shaped leaves and an air of quiet dignity. I envisioned us sipping tea together (me, literally; him, metaphorically), basking in the glow of our shared love for photosynthesis.

    Needless to say, reality had other plans.

    plant parenthood could best be described as “helicopter parent meets anxious overwatering.” I hovered, I misted, I checked the soil moisture with the fervor of a prospector panning for gold. Ferdinand, in response, started to wilt. His leaves, once proud and perky, drooped like a teenager forced to endure a family vacation.

    It took a firm talking-to from my plant-guru friend (yes, those exist) to realize I was smothering the poor guy. Sometimes, she explained, less is more. Let the soil dry out between waterings. Give him some space to breathe. In essence, tough love, plant-style.

    To my surprise, it worked. Ferdinand perked up, seemingly grateful for the breathing room (or maybe just happy to be alive). It was a valuable lesson, not just in plant care, but in life: sometimes, stepping back and giving space, even when it feels counterintuitive, is the best thing you can do.

    Lesson #2: Patience and the Beauty of Gradual Growth

    Now, you’d think I would have learned my lesson about over-enthusiasm. Alas, after successfully not killing Ferdinand for a few months, I fell into the trap of expectation. I envisioned him growing into a majestic tree, its leaves brushing against my ceiling, casting cool, verdant shadows across the room.

    But Ferdinand, it seemed, had other plans. He stubbornly refused to grow more than a centimeter or two, despite my best efforts (and occasional pep talks). I fertilized, I rotated, I even played him Mozart, convinced it would spur some sort of botanical symphony of growth. Nothing.

    And then, one day, I woke up to find a new leaf unfurling. It happened overnight, this tiny sprout of green reaching towards the sun, a testament to the silent, steady growth that had been happening all along, hidden from my impatient eyes.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant


    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my plant-parenting skills are more comparable to a desert sandstorm than a nurturing rainforest. So, when my well-intentioned friend gifted me a leafy Calathea Orbifolia (a notoriously dramatic diva of the plant world), I knew I was in for a wild ride.

    From Black Thumb to…Slightly Less Black Thumb

    My journey with Orbie (yes, I named her) started out predictably rocky. I managed to overwater her within the first week, resulting in droopy leaves that seemed to judge my every move.

    life, I suppose): even when we mess up royally, there’s always a chance for redemption. I finally learned to pay attention to Orbie’s subtle cues. Her drooping leaves taught me the importance of listening, of observing the needs of those around me (and not just assuming I know what’s best). Who knew a plant could be such a demanding yet insightful teacher?

    Learning Patience From a Calathea

    We live in a world obsessed with instant gratification. Want to watch a movie? Stream it now. Need groceries? Order online. But Orbie, with her slow and steady growth, taught me the beauty of patience. I learned to appreciate the small victories: a new leaf unfurling, a subtle shift towards the sunlight.