Several years ago, well, now it's probably many years ago, I had plants. This was before my sweet little urchins ripped them to shreds, dug in their dirt, and tried, sometimes successfully, to eat them. The number of plants has decreased proportially to the number of kids I have. I am now down to ONE. I sometimes remember to water it, usually when it is drooping and close to death. James and I had a discussion one afternoon about how and what plants eat. I thought it went well, and enjoyed how his little mind was working.
Several days later I walked into the kitchen. There was a terrible smell. So, I took the trash out. Still stinky. Sprayed with Lysol. Still stinky. Cleaned the garbage disposal, checked the frig, and the pantry. Still stinky. Hmmm, running out of options. So, I started going slowly through the kitchen sniffing as I went.
My nose, which is not nearly as powerful as my mom's :) lead me to the plant. Now, the only plant I own is smelling REALLY bad. Not rotten, just bad. I'm not sure what to do, but I have to get it out of the house. So I put it out on the deck, not sure what I was thinking, maybe that whatever it was, I was going to bake it out! A bit later, James walks by the spot where the plant once stood, and comments on its absense. I thought that was a bit odd... why would he care. I have since learned to be quite fearful of those instinctive mommy feelings.
I asked him about the plant, if he knew why it was smelling bad. Nope. Told him I was going to water it, A LOT, in the hopes of flushing out whatever was wrong with it. Either that or drownding the sucker. And, I was leaving it on the porch, indefinetly. He said in his sweet little boy voice, that I didn't need to water it. Why not? I asked him. Because, mama, I did it! Now, I'm highly concerned, as he isn't tall enough to reach the faucet...
So, honey, what did you water the plant with? My MILK he said. Oh, yeah, that would be the stench eminating from the foliage. SPOILED MILK. Well, I guess that's better than pee...
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