Lately my bougainvilleas have really been struggling. Even after I moved them into the proper light, they still didn’t have that “wow” factor.
Nearly all their flowers dropped, and I was *this close* to trashing both plants so I could use the pots for something else.
But as long as I was watering the herbs nearby, I kept on watering and feeding the bougainvilleas.
Then, within the last few weeks, well…
The first time I tasted chard, I was in grad school. I was studying Spanish education, and my supervising teacher, Carmel, invited me to her house for dinner.
A pack of energetic corgis greeted me at the door, and then Carmel, her husband and I sat down to a dinner of… something.
Actually, I can’t remember the entree.
But I sure remember the vegetable: rainbow chard. I’d never seen it before, and I silently panicked because my desire to be polite was butting up against my abhorrence for all things green.
Politeness won out, and I lifted a tiny forkful of chard into my mouth. To my surprise, I actually liked it.
Self-care is not selfish.
I need to tattoo this to my forehead.
As I dropped off Norah at preschool Monday morning, I was my typical harried self: car keys in my hand, diaper bag on my shoulders and 2-year-old in my arms. (I can’t resist Norah’s adorable yet grammatically misguided request to “hold you.”) I was also clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers that I’d brought in for the first day of Teacher Appreciation Week.
I’m homeroom mom for my daughter’s preschool class, and at a meeting this morning, I got a preview of Teacher Appreciation Week.
All next week, I’ll be running around buying her teachers’ favorite candies, restocking the classroom with Kleenex and Clorex Wipes, loaning out my precious glassware for a faculty tea party and collecting money for gift cards so the teachers can get some well-deserved retail therapy. It’s gonna be crazy.
But Monday? I’ve got that on lock.
My friend Adrian and his wife have a saying: “Life is short. Use the fancy soap.”
In other words, carpe diem. YOLO. However you want to put it.
I meant well.
Hubby was traveling for work, and there were a few hours until Norah’s bedtime. So in an effort to engage my daughter in my new gardening habit — and let’s face it: kill time — I let her paint an old terra cotta pot.
Normally, Norah hates getting her hands dirty. If there’s there’s the tiniest spec of yogurt on her fingers, she begs me for a napkin. When I wanted to make a handprint craft for my husband’s birthday, my friend Diana had to help me sedate Norah.
Well, I guess her neat freak phase is over, because when I gave her the paints, she went to town — first with a brush, then with her hands.
I’ve reached that critical point: I need to start marking my plants while I still remember what’s what.
I could just label Popsicle sticks, but what fun would that be? Of course, there are plenty of cute products on Etsy, but I don’t want to have to re-order every time I decide to grow something new.
This calls for Pinterest!