The day was one month ago when we had the intervention for my mom. This one was about how she kills all the plants in our garden and do not get me wrong even the plants that do not require water every day die, so we needed her to stop buying them. They may not be able to talk, but I am sure their families miss them when they are gone. My dad, my sister and I have been trying to get this intervention done for a long time, but every time we seem to get close to it and bring up the point my mom says, "In Pittsburgh, I kept a colorful and cheery garden where all the bees buzzed".

Let me tell you, it was not actually that pretty, sure I will give her the bees buzzing part because they always stung me, I was not the wisest child. However, other than that it was pretty much muddy and murky all the time.

This time for the intervention we all were prepared: my dad and me with the facts and numbers of her victim and my younger sister with the puppy dog eyes because you can say no to those. Once we reached her we found her outside in her so-called "garden" and we brought her inside sat her down and started to talk when she said her line thinking she could stop us. We three were unstoppable this time.

My dad starting with, "You are killing too many plants, please stop", and my sister ending the whole things with, "please mommy" and of course the puppy dog eyes of the century. In the end, my understanding and beloved mother stopped and figured that she should stop buying the plants… or so we thought.

The next day when my sister and I got home from school and my dad got from work, all we could see when we entered the house were plants everywhere. There were roses, lilacs, these flowers where the petals were red and white, all over the dining table with bags of soil stacked in the garage.

When I saw the soil in the garage I rushed inside, and little did I realize my mom was giving gardening attempt number three thousand four hundred fifty, and this time it was as obvious as ever that her goal was to prove me, my dad and my sister wrong about her gardening ways.

Though my mother was as determined as ever to prove us wrong, she ensured that somehow through hit and trial and through the killing of at least ten more plants she would win and ensure that she is not to be called the plant killer in our house anymore. Unfortunately for her and the plants, she ended up killing even more, but she never got her green thumb that she had in Pittsburgh back, and it took plenty of plant lives to prove that.

Note: This is a work of fiction. Yes, my mom is bad at gardening, but many parts were over-exaggerated in order to make it a lighthearted story.