I'll admit it. My thumb is not green. Around here, WM is in charge of the house plants and the lawn care. If he wasn't, we'd have a lovely home surrounded by a sea of brown, burnt grass and filled with pots of wilted, shriveled plant remains.
Despite all that, the pull of local greenhouses come spring is too much for me to ignore. When we go, we spend more time playing around than making our selections.
Channing tries out as many pots as I will let him climb into, searching for just the right place to grow over the summer months.
He'll sneak off and try to hide among the blooms.
If the music is just right, he'll have a dance party with imaginary flower fairies.
He takes great delight in finding tiny bugs in bright colored blossoms.
We're the annoying cart you're stuck behind when you're in a hurry. We stop frequently, smelling nearly every flower and declaring which are delicious and which are disgusting.
He's helpful too, being quick to offer to push the cart.
In the end, we walk away with one large planter filled with a smattering of spring and summer beauty, big grins on our faces and a mental promise to be the one to do the watering.