Jack and the Frickin' Beanstalk

You may remember that my husband, Dan, and I are the worst groundskeepers in the neighborhood. But sometimes during the summer, I fancy myself a bit of a gardener, and I plant seeds around my yard. And by plant seeds, I mean I throw seeds, allowing them to land where they may. I don't pay attention to what it says on the packet, and I don't worry about seed spacing because I am not convinced that anything I plant (throw) will actually grow.

Last summer, I planted (threw) some hollyhock seeds in the rock bed along the back of the house. They began to grow, a little too easily, but the plant didn't look like much other than a patch of gigantic leaves, kind of like cabbage.

This year, the hollyhocks started to grow, and they blossomed into an assortment of rich purple flowers. I was so excited that I texted Dan.

"I did it! I grew something!"

Pretty soon, the hollyhocks grew so tall that I began to call them, "Jack and the Beanstalk." I'm sure the packet warned potential growers that hollyhocks can reach up to eight feet in height, but we've already established that I didn't read the packet.

Bugs also liked the leaves of this plant, and Dan and I experimented with a garden safe ("for organic gardening," the bottle said) brand of fungicide/insecticide. Usually, we do not spray more than vinegar and soap around our yard, but any bug that would dare attack Jack and the Beanstalk intimidated us a little.

After a gust of wind blew the spray back onto me, and I had to wash all clothes and body in hot water, I told Dan, "This was a big mistake. I don't ever want to use that stuff again, not unless I'm wearing a Hazmat suit."

Now the hollyhocks are falling over because I didn't plant them where they can be propped up, and I didn't space the seeds twelve to twenty-four inches apart as suggested by wikiHow. The stalks—stalks that a month ago I am fairly certain I could have scaled and landed in the fee-fi-fo-fum giant's house—now resemble tentacles straight out of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

Dan tied the stems together with wire, which just accentuated the giant killer squid motif.

Yeah, I kind of suck as a gardener.

I know a lot of you are dying to give me some terrific advice on how to remedy this issue, but the truth is, I probably won't listen to you.

Unless I can just throw the seeds around and let the finished product fend for itself, I won't do it.

I'm that lazy.

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