There’s something therapeutic about working with my hands and now that Spring has somewhat arrived in Chicago, I have started making fragile promises of developing my green thumb by planting flowers and other greenery.

I call the promises “fragile” because I’ve made them before, only to watch them break as little sprouts wilt away.

It’s really sad because my 5 year old loves plants and watching things grow. He was going through a

phase where he snuck any seed he could find into our potted plants. Eat a grapefruit? He’d plant a seed. Same with an apple or orange. After faithfully watering the seeds, he’d check on them every morning and then squeal with delight when little bits of green poked through the dirt.

So I had a brilliant idea to give him his own pot and seeds to plant. Logan was stoked and dutifully cared for the plants.

As they grew, he would talk to the plants each night before going to bed and first thing in the morning. The plants flourished amid his tender love and  care, but when they grew so big it was time to transplant them to a new, more appropriate plot, that’s when they’d run into trouble.

That trouble was me. I’d always intend to transfer them, but would forget. And forget and forget.  The plants would get long, long, longer, so long they’d topple over their own weight or suffer a similar fate due to my neglect.

Logan has stopped sneaking seeds in the plants or asking for more seeds to plant, I think he’s tired of seeing his buddies die. So though my promises are fragile, I am really, really going to try to make a concerted effort to plant some plants. This time I’ll focus on hearty ones that can live outside and not require repotting.

Here’s a memorial to the plants.