Blame It On The Aunt

Today, I am posing a question: Why do my little boys like dirt so much?

My sister* has recently moved to another city (which feels more like another continent instead of a 3 hour drive), and in an attempt to ignore the void caused by her absence**, I have tackled our formerly shared planter pots. ***

* The other half of me *

** I was not consulted about being separated, and I find this fact to be unacceptable. **

*** This may have been easier had she still been next door. Sister, I’m looking at you! ***

Despite her notable lack of physical presence, I believe the plants are doing quite well. In my haste to keep the last vestiges of living plant material alive, however, I did not think of the impact two small boys would have on this operation.

NOTE: I am not particularly adept at keeping botanicals alive.

I ask again, why do my boys like dirt so much?

I have several herbs that have come up again from last year, and somehow they’ve been left alone (probably because they were almost dead). My seeded pots, on the other hand, have not. The next day*, I believe what had been my oregano was suddenly occupying the back of a dump truck. I can’t say for sure because being newly planted, the seeds were invisible in my potting soil. Also, since my absent sister was not on hand to remind me about labeling, they quickly became mystery pots. Furthermore, after a week and a half of shoo-ing my sons out of the containers, I have, rather belatedly, moved them next to the door where I can see them. While this has not entirely solved the question of dirt attraction in young males, this does mean I no longer have to babysit the window next to my poor plants. Also, I may have found a use for the decidedly growth-less planters. With no delicate seeds to worry about, Biggest and Littlest can both “water” to their hearts’ content, without fear of drowning my plantlings. This would have been so much easier to come upon though, had my scienc-y sister come up with some excellently technical response for their attempts to dig in my pots. Because of course, both my boys have undying adoration for their Aunt (maybe because she lets them play with worms), and would have somehow connected with her inevitable leaf-vein-connects-to-this-root-and-this-earthen-molecule-must-stay-attached-to-see-victorious-and-delicious-growth-of-said-seed speech. She really has a way with the little ones. Not that I don’t, mind you, since I seem to have birthed two, it’s just that I have that certain lack of patience that seems to come from trying to wrestle with surprisingly stubborn miniatures of myself.

*VERY NEXT DAY, morning even!*

And that brings me to my conclusion. The reason my children love dirt so much? I blame it on the Aunt. **

The Handler. ***

**And not at all on the curiosity of small children, particularly of the male species**

***Somewhat disgruntled at the lack of Aunt***

PS: Aunt – You may correct this grave injustice by Skyping my children and telling them to leave my containers the Fennel alone!

PSS: It’s been a long week. Sorry for the Fennel.

PSSS: Sis, I haven’t burnt the pepper yet! (Our overwintered bell pepper is lacking in chlorophyll and I was expressly forbidden to put it in direct sunlight until it had adjusted appropriately.)(Again, this would have been simpler had she been next door to keep her knowledgeable, well-trained eye on it.)

PSSSS: Can you tell that I am mildly bereft at the loss of my twin in the immediate vicinity?


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