Plants

Something strange is happening to my plants. They have an unusual condition where they're growing taller and fuller - and even blooming. With a little research, I have figured out that they are "thriving," which is much different than the condition of "dying" that I had previously seen with almost all of my plants.
 The other day my mom called and asked if I wouldn't mind giving her back her African violet flower pot when she visits. I said, "Sure, but what am I going to do with the plant?"

She laughed and asked, "You mean it's still alive?!"

Even my own mother, who has cheered me on to do a number of near-impossible things in life, still can't believe that I could keep a simple house plant alive. Truthfully, neither can I.

I'm not sure what I did to overcome my plant-killer instincts, but I'm posting the pictures as proof before the plants change their mind.

For Sale - Soon

We’re getting ready to put the house on the market. In true military fashion, we don’t know exactly when or where we are moving, but we figure it’s better to try to sell early than late, especially given the economy. This weekend we met with a realtor, who impressed us. We will definitely be going with her when the time comes soon. She gave us some great tips, and we’ll be doing the finishing touches on the house in the meantime. Still, I think the reality of the daunting task of moving finally hit us this weekend. Husband, who is calm in virtually every situation I’ve seen, said passionately, “I HATE moving!” Ditto, my friend. We’ve been here for 3 years, which is just long enough to almost forget about everything that’s involved in the moving process. For me, after moving so many times, I really don’t mind the meeting new people and moving into a new place part. I just hate the home-selling process and packing up part. So this weekend, after a few loud sighs, we both sat on the couch. Husband said, “Want to eat that apple pie in the freezer?” The answer, of course, was yes. And that was another thing I had forgotten about moving. Eating large quantities of sugary foods does make the moving situation a little better.

Christmas Landscaping?

Is it me or does our landscaping sort of resemble Christmas holly?

I can’t tell if it really does, or if I just have Christmas on the brain after a weekend of seeing the Nutcracker, admiring Christmas lights in our neighborhood, and enjoying our Christmas tree.

Either way, I know our little plants have come a long way since they were eaten alive by deer after we first planted them. And the fact that I haven't killed them yet is a Christmas miracle!

Thanksgiving Show-and-Tell

It doesn’t take much for me to get excited about Thanksgiving. What’s better than a holiday spent with family where it’s practically mandatory to eat large amounts of delicious (I hope!) food?

We made our last-minute preparations today, so we’re ready and I’m even more excited.

The meals are all planned. I plan our normal, weekly meals by list, so it’s only fitting that the biggest meal of the year would be planned as well.

And we have plenty of food. The table is (somewhat) ready. I’ve really been on an apple kick this year. I like the look of these apples in my favorite bowl. And best of all, this centerpiece is edible! My sweet neighbor friend, when I lamented to her that stores no longer have any Thanksgiving decorations, let me borrow some of hers, since she is going to be out of town. She let me borrow those pretty placemats… …and these cute hand towels. (The green one says, "give thanks.")

I love having company because it’s a great excuse to splurge on fresh flowers.

Is it Thanksgiving yet??

Rest in Peace, Basil Plant

I had such high hopes for my basil plant. It was doing so well for a while. I’d snip a few leaves for an Italian dish, and it would continue to grow tall.

But lately, I noticed it was a little on the smaller side. And more recently, it’s barely been a nub of a plant that has slowly turned black.

“I think it’s going to make a comeback,” I told Husband.

“Face it,” he said, “that thing is dead.”

So I guess it’s time I call it. Time of death, 8:32 AM, 7/24/10.

Sadly, even though it lived just 3 short months, it still makes it into the longevity category of my previous plants.

4/19/10 – 7/24/10

Rest in Peace, Sweet Italian Herb. Our Italian dishes will not be the same without you.

A Danger to My Own Home

I sometimes joke you can’t take me anywhere because I'm such a klutz. But apparently, I’m not safe to be in my own home either. This weekend Husband noticed that the bulb in one of our recessed lights had burned out in our living room. The ceilings are high in that room, which makes a simple task of changing a light bulb into an Olympic-level feat of balance and precision. I managed to take the old bulb out, and I was attempting to put the new one in. I felt that the bulb was slipping and I starting yelling for Husband, “Oh, s##t! Help!!” The next sound was that of the light bulb crashing to the floor and bursting into a million tiny pieces. Husband came running in and asked, “What happened??” I apologized, feeling sad that I had broken the new bulb. Husband, however, thought it was fascinating. He studied the pattern of dispersed pieces that stretched several feet in every direction, and he marveled saying, “Wow, the filament is still intact!” We eventually got the light bulb changed. This time I wisely let Husband change it, as I’ve banned myself from light bulb duty.

Newsflash: Plants Need Water

I hadn’t had my basil plant a full week when I started noticing that the leaves were wilting, and it looked like the plant was dying. (Sadly, I have plenty of experience with dying plants, so I know better than I’d like what that looks like.) I called my mom, who is practically a gardening expert and has a few blue ribbons from gardening contests to prove it. We both deliberated about what might be the problem. She thought maybe it was getting too much sun. I worried that it might have gotten too much water from all the rain. “Oh, I hope it’s not root rot,” she said. My concern turned to frustration, and I told my mom that I might bring the plant back to the store, explaining, “I’ve only had it for a week! There’s something clearly wrong with the plant!” Husband came home, and I told him about the plant, pointing in its direction. “Looks like it needs water,” he said. “Really?” I asked, genuinely curious, as if he had presented some sort of new, cosmic recipe for the plant’s care. I finally relented, trying to forget that I might be drowning the poor plant in water, and I gave it a good watering. The next morning it had perked up and looked like an entirely new, healthy plant. Who knew? Plants need water. Too bad I just figured out what every kid in 3rd grade science class already knew. P.S. My basil plant is doing so well now that the only “problem” I’m having is trying to find new recipes to use it all. Does anyone have any good recipes that call for basil??

Gardening Amnesia

It’s about this time of year that I develop gardening amnesia and buy a plant. I seem to forget the many occasions that that I’ve been the Grim Reaper of gardening, and all I can think about is how wonderful a new plant would be.

This year, I bought a little basil plant. I probably couldn’t have bought anything more practical, since I love cooking with basil. (And I refuse to pay the hefty sum they want in the grocery store for a small sprig of it.) I even love the smell of basil.

The way I look at it, even if I get nothing more from the plant than the leaves that are on it, I’ve already gotten more of a harvest from it than from last year’s tomato plant, which yielded exactly one penny-sized tomato.

I’m still no gardening expert, but hopefully the basil plant doesn’t know that. I’m hoping to have some garnish for many Italian dishes this year!

Signs of Spring

It’s that time of year again. I don’t need to feel the warm weather or see flowers blooming to know it’s spring. All I needed to do was answer my front door. “Ma’am, you need help with your lawn?” asked a man on my doorstep. I politely declined. (Oh, and this was a different guy than last time. Apparently our ragged lawn doesn’t discriminate in the potential employees it attracts. I’ll try to hang onto that comforting thought when I’m wading through the jungle of knee-high weeds.) So I guess it really is spring. Soon enough we’ll hear all the tell-tale signs – the sounds of birds chirping and lawn mowers mowing, or in our case, the sound of doorbells ringing.

Dorothy was right

There’s no place like home. After being gone off and on for the past few weeks, I’m done with all my work trips, and I’m home for a while. I figured I had been gone for too long when the hotel staff that saw me every morning at breakfast for two weeks gave me goodbye hugs on my last day there. And now I’ve grown to appreciate the little things about being back: being able to cook real meals, sleeping in my own bed, curling up on our comfy couch, etc. Of course, there’s one big thing I appreciate most about being home. (I’ll give you a hint: he’s 6 feet tall.)

The road to insanity...

...starts with a single beep. The smoke detector in our hallway decided to let us know at 5AM that its batteries were low. I closed our bedroom door to block out the noise, so we could get a little more sleep. Husband had to dash off to fly this morning. We briefly talked about the smoke detector, and he told me he’d fix it when he got home. That sounded like a great option, if I wanted to slowly go insane throughout the course of the day. I’m not sure what’s more annoying – the high-pitched beep, or knowing that the next high-pitched beep is only 21 seconds away. (Sadly, yes, I counted.) I bought some 9V batteries, got out our ladder, and replaced the battery. Hear that? It’s silence, also known as the sweet sound of success.

Getting Old

Husband is gone this weekend on a military trip (or “TDY,” if you speak military). I planned to stay up late last night watching chick flicks. But, as I told my mom in an e-mail this morning, I must be on an old person’s schedule because I was asleep on the couch by 9:30PM. My mom took it one step further and pointed out that I also mentioned in that same e-mail about my plans to “go to Home Depot today” and “change out light bulbs.” She said that I have “all the symptoms” of getting old. If my symptoms get worse – say I start talking about prune juice on the blog – I hope that someone will take pity on me and stage an intervention.

They're back

We thought there was a truce, but apparently not. Last night we saw our first scorpion since the infamous scorpion incident. I saw him moseying through our foyer, and I immediately alerted Husband. (Is it bad to say that one of my favorite parts of marriage is having someone to kill bugs?) Seconds later, the scorpion met his demise: death by flight boot. Let’s hope that’s a lesson to his little friends.

Home Sweet Home

I find that no matter how fun a vacation was, it’s still always nice to be home. This time was no exception, especially since Husband was nice enough to greet me at the airport with flowers! Oh, and the house was immaculate! The freshly-vacuumed carpet was enough to make me swoon – and think that maybe I should go away more often. I’m glad to be back in time for Halloween. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a holiday that’s entirely devoted to eating lots of candy. (As an additional bonus, I went to the dentist yesterday, which means I can devour lots of candy guilt-free without having to explain anything in the dentist’s chair.) Happy Halloween!

More from our zoo home

I think it’s time we call our house what it actually is: a zoo. To recap, we’ve had deer, ants, and spiders. And that’s not to mention the infamous scorpion. Our latest exhibit featured a small, but uninvited lizard, right before we made our trip to see our family. I walked into the laundry room, and I saw it sitting there on the floor near the dryer. We stared at each other, and neither one of us moved. I then left the laundry room, knowing that Husband would be home soon to escort the visitor off the premises. I told my mom about it when she called. “Why don’t you put a bowl over it so it won’t go anywhere?” “Nah, it’s ok,” I told her. I explained that the lizard and I had an understanding that it would not move, so Husband could safely move him. Plus, I could see the lizard from the kitchen, and I was keeping an eye on him. A few minutes later, Husband got home. “Where was that lizard you were talking about?” It was gone. We looked all over the laundry room, but we couldn’t find it anywhere. I was horrified. We were going to be on vacation for over a week, and this stupid lizard now had complete freedom to roam around our home! (And I felt silly for thinking that I had an “understanding” with a lizard. Really, did I think my life was a Disney animated feature?) Husband didn’t seem that upset. “Look at the bright side, it might actually eat some of the bugs. In a way, it’s doing us a favor.” We had no choice but to leave on our trip. (In addition to not finding the lizard, we also could not find the suit. But that story has already been covered.) I told our family about the “lizard on the loose” in our home. My clever cousin remarked, “Hmm…scorpions and lizards? I’m not so sure I want to come stay in your house.” Anyway, a week and a half later, we’re back in the house, and I’ve forgotten all about the lizard. Until Husband calls me into our bathroom. “Is this the lizard that you saw?” He was trapped in our bathtub. Husband sprinkled some water on it, but it didn’t move. The lizard spent his last moments of life in our bathtub. I almost felt sorry for it, until I realized that the lizard has spent more time in our bathtub than I have. Husband gave him a proper burial a few feet away, toilet-style. There have been no other lizards in the house since then. And, in defense of the lizard, it did not try to bite me in the middle of the night, which is more than I can say of the scorpion. I’m not even going to ask, what’s next? Because I fear the answer might come crawling on our doorstep.

A miracle in our own home office

Husband worked his magic and turned the furniture pieces into a real functioning desk.




Here it is in all its glory.

What’s even more amazing is that he was able to finish the assembly in about 15 minutes.

I didn’t know whether to be envious that he could complete the assembly in such a short time (it would have easily translated into 2 hours of Tootie time) or just be content that the project is done.

I picked neither of those options and decided instead to be completely overjoyed that we have a real, live desk in our office. Our computer and printer finally have a home instead of being nomads shuttled from place to place.

There’s only one slight problem. The chair is a little too short for the desk. In Husband’s very diplomatic way, he told me that when I sat at it I looked “like a kindergartener at an oversized desk.”

I would gladly keep the kindergartener look, if I knew it would guarantee me snack time, followed immediately by nap time.

But, since it won’t, we’ll be shopping for a new chair soon.

Thankfully, I’ve learned a lesson from the frustration known as desk assembly, and I’m happy to put Husband in charge of any assembly (and/or humiliation) that will be required for the chair.

Some assembly (and humiliation) required

There comes a time in almost every person’s life when they sadly realize that they are not smarter than the assembly instructions on their newly purchased piece of furniture.

That time, my friends, came for me yesterday.

Husband and I purchased a much-needed desk last week, and yesterday it arrived. Up until then, our poor substitute of a coffee table had been the home for our laptop and my mound of books.

The desk came in a large box, with pieces requiring assembly.

[Note: The box says “quick and easy assembling” as the #1 reason to buy the product; the #4 reason is “clear instructions.” These words will be important later in the story.]


Husband dragged the box to the office, and he left for work. Though I can’t remember our exact conversation before he left, I think it went something like this.

Delusional Desk Assembler (me): Hey, maybe I can put this together while you’re at work.
Too-Hopeful Husband: Sure. I bet you could put it together with no problems.
Delusional Desk Assembler: Ok, I’ll go for it.

I started without any trouble. I breezed through the first few steps, which gave me a false surge in desk-assembling confidence.

In fact, I talked to my parents in the early stages of assembly, and I scoffed when they suggested that maybe Husband could help me later. Why would I need his help? If I can handle marathon training and Master’s classes, I can certainly handle the assembly of a cheap, simple desk.

But, then it started getting ugly. The pieces weren’t labeled correctly, and the poor excuse for a drawing did not help. The instructions taunted me, “It’s easy! Just use screw #111.” Except that none of the screws nor their packages are labeled, so all their numbers (“S2!” or “111!”) are completely meaningless.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, mostly involving: sweating, cursing and yelling at the desk, picking up the instructions and then promptly throwing them on the floor in a fit of frustration.

After three painful hours, the electric drill finally stopped, and I couldn’t find the charger for it. (I won’t even go into how any project that requires the use of an electric drill might not be the project for me.) I decided to end my masquerade as a furniture assembler right then and there.

So, I’ll just say it: I am not smarter than the assembly instructions. It’s humiliating, but it’s true.

The “quick and easy assembling” proved neither quick nor easy for me. Just as the “clear instructions” were anything but clear to me. (I imagine the instruction-writers sitting around their already-assembled desks roaring with loud and evil laughter when they wrote those parts.)


The good news is that I put the overworked electric drill and the partially-assembled desk in Husband's capable hands. And I can safely cross “Rosie the Riveter” off my list of potential jobs.

Maybe we just weren't meant to have landscaping

Our landscaping was just starting to make a recovery after the deer feast, when another set of plants found themselves under attack.

The perpetrators were much smaller than deer, but they were much greater in number.

Tiny little ants formed a long, black line on our sidewalk, each carrying away a piece of our plant. Had it not been our own plant, we might have found it comical. Actually, we did find it comical, but we still weren’t happy about it.

[Side note: Later we happened to catch a show on the Discovery Channel about this type of ants. Apparently they don’t eat the plant, but they use the pieces to grow some sort of...mold. To eat. Another reason to be glad you’re not an ant.]

Husband, because he’s nice, gave the ants a variety of special “drinks” to go with their plant pieces. We haven’t seen any ants since then.

The plant is still not looking too good. Perhaps the humiliation of being hauled away, bit by bit, was too much for it to take.

By the way, this is my third post about ants! Maybe this is more humiliation than I can take, too.

I'm such a rebel

Quick quiz question. What does this picture represent?

a) an unmade bed
b) sweet and long-awaited liberation for an obsessive bed-maker
c) the sight that caused Husband to cheer
d) all of the above

You’re right, it’s d.

I finally have taken the first act of freedom, by loosening my firm grip on my obsessive cleaning habits.

I’ve always been a consistent bed-maker. My mom, the queen of clean herself, trained me that way. I’ll admit that it’s a good habit, and it keeps everything looking neat and orderly.

Last fall when we were selling our condo, I took my bed-making duties even more seriously. I made it as soon as I got up, even going as far as fluffing the pillows and smoothing the comforter. The bed looked like it had popped out of the pages of a home magazine.

But now, as I take my final grad school classes and I train for a marathon, bed-making has slipped on the priority list.

And, in an act defiant of all cleaning rules, I decided not to make the bed last week.

Husband came home from work, saw the unmade bed, and audibly rejoiced. He knew what a big deal it was for me.

I’m really probably saving only 60 seconds from not making the bed. But somehow I’m contributing to my sanity. An unmade bed never felt so good.

Oh deer

I knew our new landscaping looked nice. But, I guess it was a little too attractive for the neighborhood deer.

We woke up this morning and noticed that ALL of the leaves were missing on our plants. Apparently, the deer think that our landscaping is an all-you-can-eat buffet. And, though usually I’m flattered if anyone finds something I serve tasty enough to eat, that doesn’t apply to the offerings on the front lawn.

I think I’ve found a solution, though. We’ll be adding moth balls to the landscaping menu. Hopefully that will make the deer move on to find a better-smelling buffet.

Exhibit A: The remains of the deer's midnight snack