Mama Ain’t Got No Green Thumb (Or So I Thought)

I have never been known for having a green thumb.

If anything, I have historically been the opposite, the kind of person who buys plants with hope and optimism, only to slowly watch them fade despite my best intentions. Too much water. Not enough water. Too much sun. Not enough sun. Plants and I just never seemed to agree.

But this time felt different.
Or maybe I did.

Succulents, they said, were hardy. Forgiving. Practically impossible to kill. And honestly? That felt like an invitation.

This little set of images was taken in our first apartment in Colorado Springs, a small, quiet space that held so many beginnings. My son Ellis sat on the floor, carefully planting a tiny succulent, hands full of dirt and focus. There was no rush. No expectation. Just curiosity and care.

Watching him, something shifted.

It wasn’t really about the plant.
It was about slowing down.
About tending to something small.
About letting growth be gentle.

At the time, I had no idea this moment would mark the beginning of a much larger love. Today, our home is filled with plants, not just succulents, but all kinds. Some thriving. Some… learning. And somehow, so am I.

This post exists as a reminder that growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it arrives quietly, in small hands and soft light, asking only to be noticed.