Peonies

I just love peonies. Growing up, we had lots of beautiful flowers in our yard. This is because Papa Joe, my dad, is a master gardner and loves beautiful flowers. We had rose bushes by the dozen, iris, gladiolas, lilies — you name it. If it was pretty and amenable to the climate of North Alabama — we had it. We also had peonies. But, amidst all the other abundance of flowers, I just never really appreciated them. I do appreciate them now, thanks in part to the previous owner of this house who planted some gorgeous pink peonies years ago.

Why is it that people never talk about how wonderful peonies smell? Unlike the smell of lilies which seems to be the licorice of the flower world in that you either adore the smell of them or loathe it — I think that the odor of peonies would be one of those (almost) universally pleasing odors. I wish that I smelled like a peony.

I have to make an admission here. Over the last year, I read some books about vampires. (I won’t name the titles but I bet that you can guess. Anyway.) In the books, the vampires talked about how different people smell. Actually, they dwelled on odor a lot in those books. The heroine, for instance, smelled like freesia. Reading this always made me laugh. Why?

My natural odor — and I’m talking just out of the shower — is nothing like a flower….but it is like something else that would grow in your garden.

I should lay the blame where it belongs….firmly with this little buster.

Yet another way my life will never be the same because of him.

What did he do to me? All I know is that after he made his entrance into this world he somehow wreaked havoc on whatever body system controls what I smell like.

How did I find this out? Well, I was sitting on the couch one day, feeding my precious little ravenous bundle of joy when Jon came home from class.

Jon: (sniffing….) Hmmmmm, whoa, something smells good. What are we having for dinner?

Me: Um, I haven’t cooked anything today.

A few days later I was in the shower when all of a sudden I started smelling….onions. I wondered where on earth the smell was coming from when it all clicked.

Just call me Vidalia.

I guess that the bonus here is that I’m totally safe from vampires.

And, also, I guess that it is a good thing that Jon really likes onions because, over 12 years later, it is not changing.

Thus ends my crazy blog post beginning with peonies, progressing to vampires, ending with onions. Oh, and me doling out the blame on a precious little baby. I’m sorry, but I think that the blaming is my right as a mother. Some moms blame their children for their pot bellies or stretch marks….me, I’m blaming for smelling like an onion now.

It’s my right, y’all.