Please don’t tell my oldest about this.  M is so proud of her plant.  It’s a bean plant from school apparently (that’s what I was told even though it looks like a sad garnish).  I am pretty certain at this point that I’ve done it in.  Send no help.

I thought watering it meant pouring way too much water into its pathetic dixie cup and waiting for it to absorb over the week.  Two inches of dirt cannot absorb 16 ounces of water.  Lesson learned.  M asks about her plant every day.  She watched it grow from a tiny seed in a bag to this long-suffering noble stalk on our window sill.  She shows it to everyone who enters this apartment: delivery men, her brother’s physical therapist, the plumber. Clearly, this poor green bean leaf is at its end of days.  “What fresh hell is this?” it may be asking each morning it sees me enter the kitchen and approach its perch on the window sill.

I would like to state for the record that I bore this plant no ill will.  I did not mean to harm, hurt or otherwise impair this bean plant (a.k.a. garnish).  This was an accident.  And very poor gardening skills.  This is going to be a larger issue for 3.5-year-old M–what happened to her prized plant?  Why is it floating in water and mud?

So as I consider the impending demise of the bean garnish, and my daughter who is filled with pride from this plant, I ask myself: When a plant falls in the kitchen, do I have to tell anyone about it?