So, I overheard my daughter explaining to her friend why we only have fake plants in our house. It went something like this:

“You’re mom has such pretty flowers on the table,” friend says.

“Fake flowers are the best kind to have in your house when your mom’s thumbs don’t work,” daughter says.

“Your mom’s thumbs don’t work?” friend asks.

“No, she kills real plants. She buys them and then they die. Right away. Sometimes my Daddy brings home flowers for my mom, but she kills those, too,” daughter says. “So now she just buys fake ones so she doesn’t have to worry about taking care of them. You know, feeding them and stuff.”

Following my eavesdropping of this conversation I had to say I didn’t have much of a defense. I was guilty as charged. I have killed every plant in our house and I’ve converted to the fakes. In fact, my motto is: If you don’t bark or cry, you won’t get fed in my house. Who has time to remember to water the plants when there are so many other things to do?

But as the self-proclaimed “Killer of Plants,” I get an itch on my green thumb every once in a while. Spring is in the air – and officially kicks off tomorrow – so I figured there’s no better time to try to grow something, right? I’ve got Mother Nature on my side if nothing else.

I’ve had many friends over the years convince me to give it a whirl. I follow their instructions. I water when they say to water. I add fertilizer when they say to add fertilizer. I try more sun or less sun. I’ve done it all and it always ends up the same: in death. The problem is, my mourning period is far too long before burial (i.e. dead plants sit on my porch for weeks before I can bear to toss them) and everyone sees the evidence of the mass murders that I’ve committed. It’s my determination that keeps me hoping that somehow life will spring forth out of the ground miraculously.

It’s a shameful act to take something that once lived and thrived happily in a garden center, and then slowly drowned it or starve it to death day by day, a little at a time. I’m not proud of myself and I felt a little guilty sinking these beauties, which are pictured above, into a pot of fresh soil knowing that they would likely have the same fate as others who’ve been sacrificed before.

I’ll give you updates on the progress of my lush container garden in the making. (Warning: It may only take a week or two before it all goes bad. I will try to limit posting any graphic images on my blog of my acts of violence against vegetables.) In my dreams I picture my family enjoying the fruits of my labor: an aromatic herb garden, juicy tomatoes and sweet strawberries all summer. Wish me luck!

Question: Any advice for someone with two left green thumbs?