I have three plants. They each have names: Pablo Bullet (pronounced Boo-LAY) a dark green leafed plant with all leaves extending from the center, Hansel Sohahtritenao Hansel, a medium green plant with randomly growing standard-shaped leaves, and the twins, Spirit Fingers and Blades—I believe they are ribbon plants. All are low-maintenance house plants purchased at King Soopers, most likely bought and sold primarily because they need only moderate sunlight, and moderate watering, and therefore even the biggest idiot in the world should not have too much trouble keeping them alive. I am glad to have kept them alive for so long, and therefore I must no longer be an idiot, a plant killer—as I have even managed to kill cactii in the past.

 

Baby Pictures

Shannon and I trade photos of our plants (her plant is Herbert Dinesh Habib, Jr.) because neither of us has or is anywhere remotely ready to have children but we need somewhere to channel our maternal instincts and trading photos of our plants like they are baby pictures and talking extensively about how our “children” are progressing and growing fulfills this instinct. Shannon tells me that Herbert came close to dying due to the trauma of her move from Boulder to Longmont, and about how she nursed him back to health and he is greener than ever and has grown four new leaves and 3 full inches in the past month. I comment that she must be so proud of him, and inform her that Pablo, my eldest, is also looking greener than ever, but that I worry that he is awfully short for his age compared to her nearly 6 foot tall, willowy Herbert. Shannon tells me to relax; genetics are genetics, and Pablo will be beautiful at whatever height he is and that his smallness is no indication of me being a bad mother. Six inches is a perfectly normal height to be for a plant of Pablo’s genetics.

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