Category Archives: Being a Mom and Grandma

Surfing and Cartwheeling

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Do you remember your firsts?

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 pride RULES!

Your Little Boy

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“Do you know what YOUR LITTLE BOY did?”

“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 LITTLE BOY had his own sense of style…

The original Angel Boy with Stella Rondo

Hearts and Sons

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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.

An Empty Nest

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I learned something new today. I read that freshly hatched doves are silent; unlike most birds that chirp or coo incessantly for food, baby doves make virtually no sound.

I didn’t hear anything for a couple of days, so I climbed up on a stepladder to see inside the nest and there was this gorgeous little one gazing at me with his gentle round eyes. I thought there were two eggs, but there’s only one, and he seems quite content.

Baby mourning doves are ready to fly and leave the nest when they’re about two weeks old, but they stay close to their parents and continue to be fed by them for another week or two.

The nest is now empty but they’re still here in the garden, and even came to visit me on the deck. I feel lucky to be chosen as a safe haven for these placid, peaceful creatures.

Eleven Ways to Speak Kindly to Children | Positive Parenting

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I think we all need a gentle reminder to speak kindly to our beautiful little ones. These positive and nurturing messages should be repeated over and over again.

A great idea is to print this graphic and post it on the refrigerator. Turn it into a conversation where other encouraging messages can be added to the list to foster self-compassion and self-love.

My Wish For You

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I hope everybody survived the powerful energies of the 8/8/8 Lion’s Gate Portal! It was intense, wasn’t it? And still is…

I always return to the simple things to realign myself on life’s journey; a little course correction of some vitamin sea at the beach with sand and seashells.


Art by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite
Quote by Nicollete Sowder
Text over art by Enchanted Seashells

The Magical Legacy of Leon Russell: Part Three

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I needed a brain cleanse from all the pictures and chatter about J.D. Vance* enjoying an intimate moment with his SOFA, so I had to share this cute little anecdote…

My son is/was a fairly good piano player. He started taking lessons when he was five years old because my mom thought he had talent along with some interest, so we brought home a pretty cool piano.

He was OK but not a prodigy. Even though family legend has been that we might be slightly related to a world renowned pianist, it didn’t seem to be his joy and after a few years, he quit playing except to entertain friends.

Now that there are Angel Kids, they seem to gravitate toward the piano when they visit. This last time, eight year old Angel Boy was pounding on it, driving me crazy.

I’d say, “Gentle, gentle, Use a gentle touch, PLEASE!” but he didn’t really understand what I meant.

Dad was off surfing (of course) so I couldn’t ask him to play something, as he could have demonstrated what I meant. Since I absolutely can’t play a note, I’m useless.

I had a brainstorm. Thinking that maybe he needed to SEE how the piano ought to be touched, we watched some of Leon Russell’s videos where AB could see the light, gentle touch used on the keys, and the beautiful sounds it would make.

We listened to a lot of Leon Russell’s magical music, I mean A LOT. Like I said, I’m obsessed, haha!

Since kids nowadays know more about the internet than we did at that age, he saw the sign of the red line under each video, to indicate that I had watched a LOT of Leon’s live performances.

“Grandma, did you really watch all of this?”

“I DID, I told you he is a musical genius, and I love to watch him sing and play piano.”

The next morning as I was making his fave buckwheat pancakes, I heard Angel Boy open the piano and start playing.

I could tell that he was trying to emulate the way he observed Leon’s hands glide across the keys-not pounding out sounds, but allowing each key to speak and tell a story and that’s when I knew my little buddy was hooked.

His performance was extemporaneously lyrical. Was I in heaven, or what?

When their visit was over and I was driving everyone to the airport, I paired my phone with the car and started to play (what else) Leon Russell.

From his car seat directly behind me, Angel Boy pleaded with me, “NO MORE LEON RUSSELL, GRANDMA! NO MORE!” He said he’d rather hear my favorite Swan Lake than hear ANOTHER song that he had been “forced” to listen to for DAYS. (However, he really liked “Tight Rope”, so I know he was actually listening.)

It was pretty funny, but I had done my job. Mission accomplished. Whether he knew it or not, my Angel Boy, representing a new generation, was already inspired by Leon Russell’s magical genius.

The legacy lives on. Now his parents need to get a piano and start lessons with a great teacher.

At the very least, he stopped pounding on the keys, so it was a win for me.

Leon’s mind blowing version of Over The Rainbow, always the master of space and time.

*J.D. Vance is the orange turd’s incredibly idiotic choice for vice president, not that it’ll matter ‘cos I predict that Kamala will WIN by a landslide.

Featured photo is Leon Russell as a child at the piano.

Sisters, ARISE… I Understand The Assignment

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Let’s do it this time; let’s get the job done and elect President Kamala Harris!

When Hillary Clinton ran for president, I was really excited. I posted signs, I made phone calls, I participated in governance.

I thought she won. We ALL thought she won. She SHOULD have, but…

There’s a lot to unpack and delve into about why and how she didn’t become president because she absolutely won the popular vote. I truly believe the vote was interfered with.

According to TIme magazine, When Russia set out to interfere with the 2016 election, it went all out.

“Over the course of the election, a wide-ranging group of Russians probed state voter databases for insecurities; hacked the Hillary Clinton campaign, the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee and the Democratic National Committee; spread propaganda on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and Instagram; staged rallies in Florida and Pennsylvania; set up meetings with members of the Trump campaign and its associates; and floated a business proposition for a skyscraper in Moscow to the Trump Organization. The goal, as determined by the U.S. intelligence community and backed up by evidence was to damage the Clinton campaign, boost Trump’s chances, and sow distrust in American democracy overall.”

I remember first being overjoyed, then confused, and finally, majorly depressed as, with class and dignity, Hillary conceded.

Since President Biden has chosen not to seek another term and has endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as the BEST and ONLY Democratic party nominee, we are BEYOND EXCITED!

From Kamala’s speech: “You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you. Part of the extension of the work you will do is, yes, focused on our young leaders and our young people, but understanding we also then have to be clear about the needs of their parents and their grandparents and their teachers and their communities, because none of us just live in a silo. Everything is in context.”

With future President Kamala Harris, we have another chance. I hope you understand the assignment, too.

It’s too important to NOT vote. We need to save democracy and save our reproductive rights and save this country from the horrors of Project 2025 or another four years of that insane orange turd and his disgusting MAGA cult, the cult of derangement.

The Games People Play

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Joy was my primary emotion when Angel Boy 2.0 brought out the Scrabble board and wanted to learn how to play.

As soon as he grasped the basic concept, he became a fierce competitor. When his Dad wanted to create teams — my two Angel Boys– son and grandson — against ME, I knew I was doomed to never again win.

This is deja vu, history repeating itself in real time. I have never EVER won a game of Scrabble with my brilliant child. At this point I don’t even try because it’s futile.

This was only the second game we played. AB 2.0 was proud of MAX with no help from Dad, and because it was a double word score, he caught on really fast to the excitement of strategic placement.

When I play games, I do so for the joy of being together; when THEY play, their goal is to win.

We are not the same.

It’s a similar situation with Monopoly. I’m no fun to play with. This is a game where their Mom excels. I want to buy hotels and apartments to provide a home for the unsheltered, while everyone else tries to acquire money and real estate to build an empire.

We are not the same.

Forest is Mother

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The ultimate mother...

Be my mother, I said to the trees, in the language of trees, which can’t be transcribed, and they shook their hair back, and they bent low with their many arms, and they looked into my eyes as only trees can look into the eyes of a person, they touched me with the rain on their fingers till I was all droplets, till I was a mist, and they said they would.       (Emily Berry, Canopy: Stranger, Baby)
Photo by vanesa ayala on Pexels.com

Happy Mother’s Day!