But don't ask me about plants!
Over the past two weeks, MJ has taught me everything from vocation to the proper use of lines like "you can't fool me, I know that you are under the covers!" that hopefully I can use on my own kids one day.
I was having my usual, "But dude... I don't want to do this, please don't make me" mornings (which I think I have every morning). We had pulled up to the doors of the Cross - I was crying and MJ was trying to reassure me that I would survive and that she would be back to pick me up or come as soon as I called the magic cell phone.
I finally started laughing and got enough courage to open the door when she reminded me to think about my chocolate-adoring friend and the show she put on for us the night before while boxing on the Wii.
So now, with thanks to MJ, my tactic for when I really want to kick the nurse - is to think of something funny.
This morning, I thought about a particular experience that I had house-sitting...
When the Holy-Purple One and Priestly-Motherly type went on the Camino in Spain for 6 weeks, the Holy-Purple One had asked me to look after the house while she was away. The instructions were simple and very clearly laid out. I was to cut the grass twice, get the mail twice a week, and water the plants. There were written instructions for each plant on how much water it would take and how much to increase the water by if it got really hot.
Two weeks into the 6, one of the plants on her table began to wilt and I, trying to remain calm, began to panic. As the days went on, the green of the plant and the pink of the flowers began to decrease greatly. I started to take desperate measures... I moved the plant onto the ledge filled with other plants - in case it grew better with friends. No luck.
I moved the plant as far away as I could from other plants incase it was possessive of its space... no luck.
I tried watering it excessively, hoping it was just famished... no such luck.
I tried leaving it go without water for a few days, but again... no luck.
I moved the plant to on top of the microwave because that was where my grandma always grew her houseplants, thinking it may have something to do with radioactive waves or something. Guess what? No luck.
I tried putting it in the sun, the shade, the bathroom, the living room... I tried talking to it - and (although slightly ashamed to admit this...) I even prayed with the plant. The Holy-Purple one is a very prayerful person... perhaps her plants grew so wonderfully because she prayed with them.
Nope.
Finally, a few days before her arrival back, I resolved to the thought that the plant was toast. I began to search the internet to find out what the plant was called so that I could replace it. I would still have to explain that I allowed it to die, but hopefully with a new one - she wouldn't really mind. No such luck though.
Scared beyond all reason, before she returned, I left a note apologizing profusely for not showing enough TLC to the plant and consequently, seeing it to its death. I assured her, in writing, that I would replace the plant for her as soon as possible and hoped that she wouldn't hold this against me or anything.
Two days later she arrived home and the day after that, came into work. While sitting with my back to her office - I missed her coming out. With a tap on the shoulder, I turn around to see none other than Holy-Purple one standing with her arms crossed. Oh no. This is it... I am going to be fired on the spot!! Why did I agree to care for her plants? Dude, not cool.
"Angela, please do not feel too badly about the plant because I can always replace them."
"Them? I killed more than one plant?"
"No... but the plant that you thought you killed was really just a pot of fresh cut flowers. And they were looking ill when I left... no wonder they didn't last!"
Fresh cut flowers! Fresh cut flowers!! Apparently I could have saved sleepless nights of worry if I would have just paid more attention in Biology class!!
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