Mom and dad roadtrip to the cities this weekend to take my boyfriend and I out to lunch.

When they arrive, mom heads straight for my collection of dying plants.

She pauses briefly to assess the damage before reaching her hand up to stroke a leaf, “Not the bamboo Angela! You promised!” she cries.

“I should never have let you have it,” she says shaking her head.

Suddenly, her gaze turns towards my armoire where she spots the shriveled spider plant she gave me, its yellow leaves hanging limply down the side of the dresser. “Angela! This is the easiest plant to take care of! Go get me some water; all they need is water!”

It isn’t my intention to starve the plants, it just sort of happens. I watch them slowly turn yellow and make a mental note to water them more often, but it never seems to happen. By this time, dad has decided to start cleaning house. He’s running around emptying garbage pails and consolidating recycling.

He’s making quite a ruckus in the kitchen when I hear him shout, “Do you need this coupon?”

“What is he doing?” I ask mom in annoyance. “Oh just leave him be,” mom says, “he likes this. It gives him something to do.”

“Now,” she says pacing back and forth, “I need some scissors.” I find her a pair and she immediately begins snipping away at my plants, handing me handfuls of crispy, yellow leaves and asking me to dispose of them. “It’s like abusing an animal,” mom says sadly. “No, it’s not,” I protest. “Yes it is Angela. Plants are living things,” she says. When she’s finished my room seems to have sprung back to life.

Mom steps back to admire her handiwork. “Jim, why don’t you take this plant outside somewhere and dump it,” mom says gesturing towards the giant palm tree I’ve managed to completely destroy. ” Dad saunters back into my room and looks at the plant, “Well no wonder it’s dead,” he says, “you have it by the radiator!” It seems even dad knows more about keeping plants alive than I do.