Running. Not super fast, but check.
Losing weight. Albeit, slowly? Check.
Building a Breakfast Nook? Check.
Crafting random objects? Check. Check.
However, there is at least one thing that this girl can't do.
And this isn't just a case of "can't do well".
This is a case of "can't do AT ALL".
I, of course, am referring to gardening.
Let's just say there is more than one reason why my neighbors call us the Klopek's behind our backs.
It may or may not have something to do with my inane ability to make shrubbery quake in its topsoil.
Have I ever mentioned the fact that when we first moved in to our house we had a beautiful weeping willow in the back yard?
As seen here:
(It may or may not have been Techy's primary reason for buying this house.)
And have I ever mentioned the fact that within our first month of being in said house, the tree uprooted itself and tried to walk away?
We should pretty much hang this sign on our front lawn.
Which is pretty much the case, unless of course, you are a good PLASTIC Ikea plant.
And then you may survive.
But anything else?
Forget about it.
In my brief existence as an attempted gardener, I have killed everything, even my favorite of all - Pansies - which I am told are remarkably hardy and difficult to do away with.
But I, the black-thumbed plant killer, have brought many a plant to its demise.
With relatively little effort.
What can I say? It's a gift.
I longingly look at homes with lovely flower beds and thriving gardens.
I dream of an alternate universe, where my alter ego spends all of her time playing in the dirt and appreciating the fruits of her endeavors. (Pun intended)
And as I watch spring time unfold it only gets worse.
I was looking at my pitiful flower beds last night, longing for something...
And I had a memory....
Something from a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
Also known as our former home. Barely 10 miles away.
When we were there I had a plant - a LIVE plant - that actually lived.
That's right, folks.
There is at least one plant that has survived even the irrevocable death sentence that is "living with Leah".
Unfortunately, though, I had to leave it behind on moving day.
Apparently, digging it up plants while someone else is trying to move in to their new home is not ok.
But that doesn't mean I didn't want to.
It was a magical species of red geranium.
A beautiful, lovely geranium.
The name on the tag was a "survivor" geranium.
So apparently, someone in some green house far, far away has engineered a "survivor" plant that is equipped to survive even my black thumb....
Therefore, I really take no real credit for its survival, despite my best efforts of over watering, under watering, never watering....
After all, it was a "survivor".
Man, I loved that plant.
So bloom-y and pretty.
And it made my flower beds look like someone knew what they were doing.
Nothing like my current flower beds.
Which sit somewhere on the opposite end of the spectrum.
And I blame it on the most disgusting and unkillable plant known to mankind - the Hosta.
Just saying the word - or in this case, typing it - makes me cringe.
I have plucked and pulled and cut and hacked and beat and cursed and attempted in every way possible to get rid of these plants that seem to cover every square inch of my current flower beds.
All to no avail.
I realize many of you are probably wondering why on earth I would ever try to kill any type of plant with my reputation, and truthfully, if hosta's remained the way they look in the above picture, it would be perfectly fine.
But that is not the case.
Those pretty flowers die after about 2 weeks and then...
You have ugly, naked sticks everywhere!
Now imagine that you have 40 hosta plants in your back yard.
And every hosta has 4 of those stems, errrrr, sticks.
That's 160 nasty, naked sticks....
And I don't do sticks.
Remember that tree?
I picked up my share of sticks that year.
I realize that I should really come down of my high horse and at the very least admire the survivability of such an incredibly unkillable plant.
Heck, at this point, even dandelions should be a thing of beauty to me!
But alas. That is not the case.
I happen to like my high horse.
And I happen to want flower beds filled with unkillable geranium's. Not stinky, stick-y hosta's!
Is that too much to ask?
I think not!