It is well known in my family that I have a serious black thumb. I have grand intentions and hopes every year of spending a Saturday planting and arranging flower pots, digging my hands deep into the dirt, and admiring my work over dinner eaten on the back porch. I pull up to the house each day and smile at my flower pots, those bright and cheery additions that welcome us home from our outings and adventures. And inevitably, after a few weeks, my pots start looking leggy, ragged, and likely over-watered. The bright and cheery pots lose a bit of luster, and start looking more grey than pink. It is a yearly tradition. I can’t seem to help it, despite my renewed promises and energy each spring.
My husband has a black thumb too. Mostly because he thinks plants are waste of time and money, although he always encourages me to give it a go each year. But this weekend I discovered that we might have a gardener in the family after all. We’re down in Atlanta this week visiting with family. The sun is out and the temperatures are perfect and warm. Cullen has been spending hours and hours doing his new favorite activity – watering plants. He has his little mini watering can, and he traipses back and forth from the faucet to the pots, over and over again, excited to dump it out and start anew.
I can’t wait til summer arrives and he can help me take care of this year’s garden. We will inevitably over-water it and kill it all together, but we’ll have a good time doing it. Check him out in action!
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