Every morning he waits for me on the deck by the patio doors. Sometimes I almost trip over him because he’s always underfoot, trailing me from the deck to the garden and back again.
When I first noticed this behavior, I thought he had somehow become stranded on the deck and was asking for help, so I put him him in a box and released him on the grass, but he came right back.
He turns his head back and forth as if he’s listening to me, “Good morning, little guy!” “Is it hot enough for you?” “Here’s a bowl of fresh water in case you’re thirsty.”
At night, he looks through the screen door, but that’s where I draw the line. He’s not coming in, not even if he shows off with a few sets of those lizard-y pushups. #boundaries
One occurrence would be nothing to think about, but this happens daily, so I guess I’m in a relationship now.
I brought him a green hornworm from my tomato plant and he gobbled it up. Since my love language involves feeding and caregiving, that made me happy (and a little grossed out).
Most of my research says that lizards symbolize resurrection and rebirth. In Egyptian hieroglyphics, the symbol of the lizard was representative of plentiful abundance. A lizard in one’s house is often seen to represent an old friend or acquaintance.
A phytophile is a person who loves plants, and for me, that includes dandelions! Phytophile comes from the Greek words phytòn (plant) and philìa (love or passion).
Last week I rescued a six-foot ficus and a sad little cordyline from the nursery clearance section. They were dried out and cruelly discarded. These once beautiful specimens simply needed a bit of my tender, loving care. They quickly perked up and are both now enjoyingthe good life here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
I do. I remember my first ballet class, my first pair of pointe shoes, my first ski trip along with my best ride down Stump Alley at Mammoth, and even my first bra, lolz
Not having grown up on the west coast, I didn’t have a connection to the ocean until high school.
I recall my first time on a surfboard…it did NOT go well, and I almost broke my nose. This was not the sport for me. Decades later, I gave it another try. Once again, it didn’t go well. I ended up rolling and rolling under some giant NOT BEGINNER waves, and the next day I was covered in the ugliest bruises. That was IT for me.
Angel Girl takes gymnastics and was obsessed with cartwheels. Tenacious girl that she is, she tried and practiced and kept at it until the mechanics of a cartwheel finally clicked and she perfected it. “Watch me, Grandma!” “See, I can do it now!”
What an amazing sense of accomplishment and mastery of a difficult skill. “Great job, girl!”
Even though we live so close to the ocean, the original Angel Boy didn’t really like to surf, mainly because without his glasses, he can’t see a thing, and it was a scary endeavor unless he had a buddy with him. He’d boogie board a lot, but never really got into surfing until he started wearing contacts.
Now he has a quiver of boards here and at his house, too.
To encourage AB 2.0, he’s been taken along for (gentle) rides on a surfboard since he was about a year old.
This past weekend, it finally clicked for him, too. He stood up and surfed his first legit wave!
This is a bad photo because I took it from the video, but I can feel T’s sense of pride. It didn’t matter that it was a small wave: HE DID IT, and OMG, he’s a carbon copy of his dad.
Predictably, you couldn’t get him out of the water after that. He’s completely hooked, and now Dad has a lifelong surfing buddy. As an aside, is there anything cuter than a little grom in a wetsuit?
I hope they never forget these significant firsts, and since we have video of all of it, I can imagine they’ll show their own children these amazing accomplishments.
“Grandma, I need to tell you about YOUR LITTLE BOY!”
It never fails to make me laugh when I hear both Angels refer to their dad that way.
It started a long time ago when I explained to them that not only was I their grandma, but that their dad was my little boy and he’ll ALWAYS be my little boy.
Ever since, and especially when they have some juicy gossip OR a complaint, he’s referred to as “your little boy”.
When he rode his skateboard sans helmet which is absolutely DUMB, Angel Boy 2.0 would call me and tattle on him. When he fell off his surfboard, I was told about it. When he ran through a red light, yup, I had a phone call.
“Grandma, you will not BELIEVE what your little boy did!”
They extract a great deal of enjoyment when I scold their dad about his small crimes and misdemeanors; I’m a constant source of entertainment: “DAD, GRANDMA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR!”
Mom isn’t exempt either, but MY little boy bears the brunt of the scandalous chat.
This time was a bit different. AB is now in third grade and his sister will start kindergarten at the same school. Usually Dad walked him as it’s only a couple blocks away and Mom stayed with the baby, now not a baby. (This is a cool deja vu moment for both Dad and me, because HIS elementary school was also in walking distance, and it was a great time to chat and walk there every day.)
I got the phone call….“Do you know what your little boy is going to do when school starts?“
I literally had no idea.
“Because I like to get to school early – Grandma, you know I don’t like to be late — and you know how Dad and I race there every day and sometimes I win –and C can’t EVER wake up, YOUR LITTLE BOY is going to run me to school first, come home, and then bring C. Isn’t that funny?”
“Well, T, why don’t you just wait until your sister is ready and Dad will only have to make one trip?”
“OMG Grandma, you KNOW that won’t work! We have to leave at exactly the right time.”
The backstory is that Angel Boy 2.0 has always been an early riser like Dad (and me), but his sister could sleep all night and most of the day. Sometimes, we still check on her to make sure she’s breathing, but boyohboy can that girl SLEEP.
Her pre-school started at 9:15 and it was often a struggle to get her there on time. Kindergarten starts at 7:55 a.m. so she’s going to have to go to bed extra early to train for a new sleep schedule. There will no longer be an option to let her skip a day or two or come in a couple hours late.
The best part of this story is how much Angel Boy loves school. He can’t wait to get there and always wants to stay after to play with friends.
His dad loved to learn, too, and still does.
It’s markedly different than my experience, that’s for sure. I didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to get home. The only happy part of it for me was the night before when I chose whatever pretty dress I would wear the next day. There were always matching socks and ribbons for my hair.
Being a fashionista is a life long pursuit and I can’t wait to see what the kids wear for their first day.
My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.
It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”
Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.
I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.
This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!
We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.
Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”
Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.
As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.
It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.
The days seem to be slipping through my fingers, dripping one by one like a faucet that can’t be turned off.
I can’t fix it, can’t stop it, can’t slow it down. MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFriday, it’s all the same, it’s going nowhere, it’s going everywhere. I turn and turn the handle but there’s nothing I can do to slow the incessant leak.
(Maybe this was the real message about all those plumbing problems I had a couple months ago.)
First it was January; then I blinked and it’s almost the end of August.
Where has the time gone?
I can’t put all the hours back on the clock, I can’t halt the inexorable passage of time, I can’t stop the sand in the hourglass from running through my fingers.
I don’t know what happened to time. It’s out of my control.
Everyone has heard the version that of Who Knows Where The Time Goes by Judy Collins, but I just learned the original artist and songwriter was Britain’s Sandy Denny. She had the voice of an angel.
My day began with French roast coffee and a walk around the garden to check on newly sprouted lettuce seedlings.
I’m glad I did, otherwise I’m not sure I would have seen mommy dove stuck in a pile of fruit tree netting that had fallen to the ground. Oh no! She was really struggling to free herself while her baby was close by, silently watching, but unable to help.
After I untangled her and made sure she was ok, I told her I was very sorry she became trapped in the netting. Both of them stayed close so I sat down on the ground to hang out with them for a few minutes.
After that brief rescue, I thought I’d go for an early walk while it was still a bit overcast and the sun wasn’t yet blazing all of its damaging cancer rays directly at me.
Before I crossed the street that leads to the lagoon, I looked down on the sidewalk and spied this adorable sort of a heart-shaped rock. About a foot away, I noticed a dime and a penny, so I absolutely had to grab it all.
I mean, how could I not, right?
10+1 = 11, so I had a significant “11” message from the universe, along with a little heart love.
The number 11 is supposed to be a good sign, as it can represent a new beginning, spiritual growth, and guidance. In numerology, the number 11 is considered a master number with a high-frequency creative energy.
It all sounds incredibly encouraging as we are about to feel August’s full moon energies.
Since it’s also a dynamically charged blue moon, remember to take a moment to look up and connect with the power she transmits. It’s a rare and magical time to dream big, set intentions, and manifest joy.
In the last few days, I broke three coffee mugs. Tragically, one of them was my all time favorite wolf mug that I’ve had since the 1970s..and that really upset me. It was a perfectly shaped mug, not too heavy, with a comfortable handle and the ideal curved sipping edge, not too thick or thin. It had survived several moves and was one I used practically every day.
It’s not like I don’t break things from time to time, (including bones), but three in a row got my spidey senses tingling. Does it mean anything special? Is it a message from the universe? Have I been careless?
I had to investigate…but exactly how do we interpret our broken things? I could see an easy connection with a broken mirror, but three coffee mugs? It’s not clear to me, but I know there’s meaning in there somewhere.
Frequently dropping and breaking fragile items can be a sign that the universe is reaching out to you with an important message that you need to hear.
Breaking glass is considered a symbol of transformation and change.
The shattering of a dish, cup, or other fragile item is a moment we can’t control. We are powerless as soon as it leaves our hands; how it falls, the type of material it’s made of, and what it fell on — there is nothing we can do to change the outcome.
Frequent dropping of things can be an indication that we need to learn how to let go of control.
Sometimes, things break as signs or symbols sent by the universe or our spiritual guides. These broken objects can represent the need for change or transformation in our lives. It could be an indication that something in our current path is no longer serving us and needs to be released or replaced.
Release it, set it free, so now there’s room for something else.
I’m not sure if that’s accurate OR is the answer that I’ve simply been especially careless and absentminded.
The next time something breaks, or if you’re holding onto broken things around your home right now, ask: what message do you have for me? Trust your knowing and what comes up.
Thank the broken item for all its support and express gratitude for the joy it brought.
Sometimes I repair broken things to recycle as a planter, but these are too damaged. A little glue won’t be able to fix what’s wrong, and that makes me sad, because I have always felt that most things can be mended if you try.
Here’s a pic of two of the three mugs broken in succession. The third one was completely shattered so I immediately tossed it because there were sharp little shards everywhere and none of the pieces fit back together.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 