After several jabs from my sister, husband, and others — “for a gardening blog you sure don’t post about plants very much” — I have officially resigned myself to the fact that this is not, any longer, a gardening blog.
I know, I know, news to no one but me.
Still, it’s humbling to have to admit that you have failed even at the act of blogging about failure. But this doesn’t mean I am giving up. It doesn’t even mean I am getting rid of the name “Thumbstumbler.” (Frankly, I am too chatty for the former, and too lazy for the latter). But it does mean that I have re-written my “about” page to reflect the more, um, variegated undertaking that is this blog.
Or to reflect, as Mike puts it, “how short an attention span can truly be.” Thanks for the pep talk, honey!
But he’s not wrong. It turns out I can’t focus just on plants. I said early on that I hate gardening, and while this is not strictly true anymore, the fact remains that it is not enough of a passion to sustain an entire blog. (Especially when certain green things I could mention keep refusing to live.) So I am surrendering to the fact that this blog must be about anything that happens within the boundaries of this property. Appliances, mouth-pulling, aphids, diaper ingestion, wall collapse, chicken-phobia, dancing daughters, mocking husbands…it’s all fair game.
And, hey — it’s still a gardening blog of sorts. It’s just that the “patch” I’m tending is a little bigger and more varied than I at first realized.
I’d say more, but it’s time to go harvest the child, water the laundry, and hang some fetters out to dry.