The hail storm in July broke my tomato plant down to the ground. Just one branch, beaten and bruised, survived. That one branch has recovered, though, and I got my first cherry tomatoes this week. I’ve brought in one a day so last night there were four on the counter.
This morning there were two.
I found the first missing tomato on the floor. I looked for the other one. And looked. And looked. And looked. Not having any coffee in my system, I assumed that I was wrong about my tomato count and gave up.
The Boy reported the other missing tomato had made it to the bottom of the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, we had a little bit of water damage at the beginning of the summer. Since we don’t want to replace the whole wall until we make sure we have the problem fixed, I am patching the wall and painting it for now.
Obi is a lot of help.
He is, surprisingly, more help than The Boy who started peeling at the wall while we were talking. I explained my plan and that he needed to stop peeling. His attempts to stop peeling resulted in a dinner plate sized hole in the wall. And the patch does not want to stick to the fuzzy part of that hole.
So Obi will be helping me with the rest of the project.
The Boy did save me with the shelving project in the garage. My “easy to assemble; no tools required!” shelves were, um, not. I struggled with them for an hour and didn’t get the first shelf assembled.
Finally, I swallowed my pride and approached The Boy. “When you are between things, could you come look and these shelves and see if they are in fact crap or if it is just me being a girl, please?”
The Boy struggled with the shelves for about 40 minutes. He put them together wrong – according to the directions. He used a lot of muscle and his full body weight. He got them together.
So a little because I’m a girl. A lot because those shelves are crap.
Oliver and Obi are both horribly neglected. I’ve only snuggled them within inches of their lives this weekend. But that hasn’t been for an hour or so. Time for another round.
You left out the most important part: By what deductive method was the runaway tomato discovered? Around hear, we use the “Gross, what IS that?” method in the middle of the night!
I think he just saw it. At least, it has returned to the counter.
A car is replaceable, but the loss of your tomato plants is a tragedy. I never realized; I’m so sorry.
By the way, how can you pull a vine-ripe, first-of-the-season tomato off the plant and not pop it directly into your mouth? This does not compute.
At least the tomato recovered. My pea plant, which we’d just started to sneak pods from, was annihilated. In desperation I planted an entire seed packet and we are also just days away from peas. Could probably eat them now…
You can’t eat just one cherry tomato. The craving for a second would do me in.