Thursday, May 19, 2011


I am re-potting some sunflowers. There are about eighteen of them, roughly ten inches high and they currently reside in just two pots, originally planted as seeds by my son and daughter respectively.

They’re getting a bit crowded.

I select the tallest from each pot and re-plant them, placing the two small sticks each of my children have written their names on into the compost of the plant they belong to.

Chatting under my breath to myself, I refer to each of the plants with the christian names of both my son and daughter as I have done throughout the growing process. If I did not live alone, someone would probably tell me that not only is talking to plants a bit odd, but talking to them as if they were actually your absent offspring is even odder.

And I would tell them to fuck off.

So they don’t feel left out, I also re-pot the remaining, less successful sunflowers, and put them and their larger siblings in the sun on the patio. They’re getting big now, and I think they’re ready to leave the house and amuse themselves outside on their own.

It’s a task I’ve been putting-off for over a week now - despite acquiring the compost, pots, bamboo cane and twine - without really knowing why. But of course the reason is obvious, as any Oliver James-reading armchair psychologist would point out:

I just don’t want them to grow up.

Silently nodding my head at my own insightfulness, I head back into my living room and gaze at my unkempt lawn. I wonder why I haven’t got round to mowing it, despite the still-boxed new lawnmower residing in the shed.

Again, the reason is obvious:

I just can’t be fucking arsed.


Blogger churchaholic said...

I suffer from both problems myself and actually snorted laughter at the punchline - a sign of my increasing age.

8:32 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Church: Hello and welcome. I'm hoping such problems are not a sign of age but thankyou.

9:16 pm  
Blogger Alison Cross said...

For God's sakes look after all of them, last summer Sonshine accidentally decapitated Wilfred, his sunflower, and I had to sellotape it, yes SELLOTAPE it back together amidst much tears and snotter from my son.

On the upside, it led nicely into our first proper conversation about death.


11:39 pm  
Blogger Cristina said...

I had an Scottish boyfriend who beheaded his favourite cuddly toy in a fit of anger, with my scissors, i fixed it with some stiches

1:10 am  
Blogger Cristina said...


1:11 am  
Anonymous Two sandwiches said...

Favourite Son Flower
Favourite Daughter Flower
Keep on the sunny side!

(the self-analysis is coming along nicely ..... life unexamined not worth living etc etc .... who needs Oliver James, the smug git?)

1:35 pm  
Blogger Sewmouse said...

As I remember, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was in grade school, we grew bean plants.

Sunflowers give me the creeps. I don't exactly know why.

6:45 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Ali: Ah yes, the Wilfred Incident of 2010. I remember. And I've already had the 'death' conversation with son and failed miserably.

Cristina: I do not know why you are telling me this.

Two S: I'm with you on the Oliver james thing, if nothing else.

Sew: They still do the bean plant thing at schools here. Don't know what to say re: sunflowers. They haven't flowered as yet so can't comment.

8:48 pm  
Blogger Ellie said...

Nothing like discovering the reason behind things.

9:17 am  
Blogger TwistedScottishBastard said...

Talking to plants and giving them names.
You do realise you're becoming like Prince Charles?
You poor bastard. If Vaguely Familiar Woman looks anything like Camilla then I'd be seriously worried.

8:44 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

E: I suppose.

TSB: I've no idea how to respond to that.

10:15 pm  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home

Go to newer posts