I am a terrible plant person. I try to grow them and I can't. In a pot, in the ground, it's no matter I WILL kill it. I got a basket of tiny potted plants a while back and they are of great interest to Jon, we've never had plants in the house since he's been around.
Every couple of days I check the basket for casualties, and they've actually been doing pretty well considering that I'm the one caring for them. About once a week I stew about them: Do they need plant food? I thought they made their own food. Should I put them in different pots? People always talk about re-potting. Do they need more sun? Less sun?
It's clear I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
Jon's always pretty fired up on plant care day.
"Those guys need drinks, Mom."
"Your plants are beautiful today"
"You got seaweeds in that basket?"
I checked the basket today, and to my dismay it was filled with soggy oyster crackers. With no doubts in my mind about the responsible party I tracked Jon down and asked him in not so many words what the hell the crackers were doing in the plants.
"I gived those guys some plant food, Mom. They like crackers. Tomorrow I give them pineapple."
I patiently explained that plants don't eat people food and thanked him for his concern.
"I can pull those seaweeds if you want."
I patiently explained that there were no weeds of any kind in the basket and we didn't need to pull ANYTHING out of it.
"What kinds of plants those are then?"
I don't know the names of the plant-type plants but there is a teeny pot of flowers that I'm pretty sure are African violets.
When I told this to Jon his response was: "I LOVE your frickin' violet, Mom! It's beautiful!"
Not FRICKIN' violet, kiddo.