A few weeks back I was driving down the main street of my town, and I saw it. I see it every year around this time, and it causes me the same panic as when my kids come out the double doors of the school building on the last day of school before summer break, and I realize they’re ALL MINE NOW.
I saw the grocery store guys setting up the big metal flower tent in the parking lot.
For normal people, the setting up of the flower tent is all fluffy feelings, and “spring is sprung” comments, and digging super fun gardening gloves out of a bin in the garage.
For me, the flower tent represents death. Multiple casualties.
Here’s what the tent would say to me if it could talk:
“Hahahahahahaha! HA! Hahahahaha!”
And it would be pointing at me. Because it knows. And it can smell fear.
It all started when I was in college and I went to the grocery store one Saturday to get food for the week. Ten minutes later I was walking out with 4 bags of chips and a 12-pack of Red bull when I saw a bunch of beautiful hanging baskets in a small tent off to the side. And suddenly I had this thought that I would be like an actual adult if I had plants. So I bought a hanging basket that had a big green plant with leaves that flowed out over the rims, and I took it to my apartment. I named my plant Maria, because I wisely knew that living things deserve names, and since I didn’t have a spot to hang her, I just put her on the side table in my shaded living room, and immediately poured ungodly amounts of water into the dirt. She leaked everywhere, and I decided that I was done with the whole watering thing.
3 weeks later Maria was dead.
And I was like, “Whaaaaattt?!!!”
And then I was like, “Whatever.”
Fast forward to 2004 when I became a wife, and was tasked with my first official home. Remember when you had your first home, and you were trying to do ALL THINGS?? It’s that time of your life when you buy a vacuum. And you fully decorate for every holiday. And the Betty Crocker cookbook is your bible. Spring came that year, and I went to the flower tent and chose not one, but TWO flower pots that I placed on the second-story railings of my back deck. I called my mom and told her she was a grandma to flower babies. And because I didn’t want to drown them like I’d done before, I watered them with little, teeny, tiny amounts of water. Faithfully. Every day. In the Midwest’s 100-degree heat. Weeks later they were clearly sick, and diseased….and looked generally pissed off at me whenever I came out to give them their 5 drops of water. Then one morning, after a windy night, I discovered that they had chosen to end their own life. They had both thrown themselves off the deck, and were laying smashed on the cement below. There was dirt, and broken plastic everywhere. It was a horrible scene.
It’s 14 years later, and I’ve never brought home flowers that have actually lived through the entire summer, you guys. I cannot keep those little assholes alive. Our house is Martha Stewart in May, and The Addams Family by mid-June. Every time I hit the checkout stand in the flower tent, I’m overcome by guilt and anger. Guilt, because I know I’m bringing these flowers home to die. Anger, because I’m paying well over a hundred bucks to host their funeral, and we’re not even friends. Last year my oldest kid and I stood over another round of devastated greenery, and he said “Mom, how do you keep your kids alive when you can’t even keep some dumb flowers alive?” And I said “You know what? Get in the house and go to time-out.”
Truth is, flowers are way harder than kids…which is basically impossible, but somehow, it’s true. When my kids are hot, they get really whiny and say, “I’m hoooooooot Mooooooommmmm!” And I put them in the shade. When they’re thirsty, they pull on my arm until it almost comes off and I go get them water. And when they’re sick, they puke on my carpet and we go to the doctor.
Flowers are like, “You know what would be fun? Let’s be really really quiet and see if she can remember to feed us!” (Then the flowers all laugh wickedly) “Ohh, oh, oh….and lets be the kind of flowers that need only partial sun…because she’ll never actually understand what that means, and she won’t know where to put us! And then? Let’s start to wither away slowly, despite sunlight and water, because why not? She’s cute when she’s confused and panicking. And then we’ll die, so that she can continue the tradition of questioning her nurturing abilities and feeling like a murderer.” (surrounding flowers cheer in unison).
So anyway, that’s why the flower tent laughs and points at me when it’s being assembled every year.
Last year my husband said “Quit freaking out about it and just DON’T plant any flowers!”
Clearly he hasn’t envisioned our future adult children sitting in a therapist’s office one day saying, “Yeah…it all started when my mom gave up on planting summer flowers. That’s when I realized that if she can give up on flowers, maybe she’ll give up on me too.”….and the therapist nods knowingly.
So yesterday, I pulled to the back of the grocery store parking lot, and parked next to the flower tent. I sat in the car for 10 minutes, cussing under my breath, staring at the flowers, and planning my mode of attack. I opened up my console to look for a pen…because I figured making a list would get me in and out of there faster.
And then, you guys….in a supernatural moment, a miracle happened. At the bottom of my console were 2 Hobby Lobby gift cards that I had forgotten about. And it was as if my eyes were suddenly opened and the clouds parted in my soul. I threw my car in reverse, and sped over to the craft store. Less than 30 minutes later I was walking out with 2 big bags, and tears in my eyes.
I drove home. Then I got the scissors and frantically cut all the stickers off my purchase.
AND THEN….I took the plastic stems of my fake flowers and pushed them down into last years dirt…feeling the most genius I’ve felt in years.
Because do your flowers need water? Mine don’t.
Fresh soil? Partial sunlight? That’s too bad.
Ohhhh….your flowers smell good? So do mine. I sprayed them with some wild orchid body mist I got from Big Lots for $2.
Here’s a pic……
So they look a little fake. So? I live with 5 boys and I promise you none of them know the difference between fake and real…..in many areas of life. And the only woman who consistently comes to my house is the UPS lady…and she has a mustache, so we all know she’s not judging.
The nightmare is over. It’s done. The tent has no power over me now.
And if you’re a flower killer too, I want you to know there’s hope. Recovery exists, in Hobby Lobby. Get there soon. You’ll be glad you did.
I love you,
Laurie