mud pies

Later on today I am going to teach a class on potted plants - what you need and how to put it all together and do your best to keep the plants alive.  
The funny thing about this idea of me teaching a class on this particular topic is that I used to KILL all plants in my house.  My mom would hook me up with a few plants, give me instructions on making sure to water them, and then I would proceed to slowly kill each of them in turn over a few months time. Then I would go to her house, get some more, and start the cycle again. I just knew I could do better if I just kept on trying.  My mom had houseplants everywhere in her dining room and kitchen and if I was her daughter I could grow a plant or two.
Well, my plant killing days stopped within a year of me turning into a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM).  I attribute this to the simple fact that I can either work at a job or work at keeping plants alive.  Silly, but true. 
The plant class thing also reminded me of my early days of dirt, water, and sunshine. I used to adore making mud pies out in the way back of our backyard (my parents had almost an acre and the way backyard was the part that had all kinds of junk and dirt and rocks). I remember my mom would let me have some of her old pots and pans and I would make all kinds of cookies, cakes, and stews with rocks, dirt, weeds, and water. My little brothers would stop their rough boy play every so often and want to have some "cookies" or help put stuff in my soup.  I used to play alone a lot, having only brothers and not many friends who lived very close, but I also remember my dear brothers being with me sometimes too. Playing girly pretend games. Being my friends. 
If any of my brothers read this, know that I love you. so much.

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