Apparently, I could resist no longer. The primal pull of these Birkenstocks were too great; I succumbed to the ugly cuteness of these shoes.
What sealed the deal for me was their Hello Kitty pinkness. The style might be hideous but that color draws me in every single time.
I get it now. They are essential; maybe not as adorable as a pair of stilettos, but in their own way, they’re fashionable and even princess-y, don’t you agree?
Even better, they were on the clearance aisle at Nordstrom Rack, so I scored in my own strange, thrifty manner.
If you see me walking around with my Birks and socks, just nod and carry on.
But wait! It gets worse!! Much worse…both Angel Kids have Crocs with charms to embellish their weird looking shoes, so I became obsessed with them, too.
I found some kid-sized offbrand “crocs” for about three dollars (yay for thrifty me!) and subsequently discovered these adorable charms, so now I am officially chic/unchic. I’ve been wearing them for gardening so they haven’t been out in public yet, haha. “Mom, Grandma, Boy Mom“, how could I NOT represent my tribe???
Crocs and Birks, what the heck has happened to me? What’s next? Will I stop shaving my legs and run around naked like the hippies who lived at Taylor Camp, the 1970s commune on the island of Kauai?
Not. A. Chance. Nope. Not bloody likely. Not gonna happen. But I’ll wear the shoes…
Picture me as I lay in bed nearly asleep, when a medium-sized bison lumbered into the room and as gently and quietly as he could, placed his two front legs on the bed, and jumped up. He turned around a couple of times to get comfortable and laid down heavily with a grunt — his hairy body almost completely on top of me as he took up most of the bed, which isn’t surprising due to his size. I scratched his head between his curved horns, and we both fell asleep.
That was a dream, not real life lol. What the heck was that all about? I have a vague recollection of other animals in bed with us, but the bison is the one that garnered most of my conscious/unconscious attention.
Bison are known for their strength. Bison are very fast, hard workers, dominant, trustworthy, and protective. Dreaming of a bison could represent one’s inner power.. Dreaming of a big, strong buffalo could symbolize having a protective heart for your loved ones.
AI says that the bison itself often symbolizes abundance, manifestation, and strength, while the bed suggests rest and safety and peace of mind. In this context, the dream might be hinting at the need to embrace abundance, appreciate your resources, and find comfort and security in your life.
Crazy, right? What’s even crazier is that I wasn’t at all surprised to see a bison in the house. Sleeping with me seemed normal, although I’d bet in real life, a two thousand pound bison would probably have broken the bed. But thanks to a magical dream state, the bed was fine.
I guess that’s where my subconscious brain goes when it’s a palindrome day — 5-20-2025 — and according to Alex Myles, this palindrome date holds powerful mirrored energy—a sign of balance, alignment, and divine timing. It is a reminder that everything is coming full circle, and what you have been waiting for is finally starting to fall into place.
This is a day to believe in miracles and trust that the Universe is working behind the scenes to bring you what you need, in ways you never saw coming.
This is a powerful time for balance and reciprocation. What you give out is returning to you. If you’ve been giving love, kindness, time, and support, you’re going to see it come back—maybe through people, opportunities, or quiet moments of joy. This is your reminder to allow yourself to receive. You do not always have to be the strong one, the giver, the fixer. You deserve love and support, too.
This energy also brings a strong sense of harmony. Everything is starting to align: your heart, your path, your goals, and your healing.
I’m not sure how all those vibes brought a bison into my bed, but I’m open to the message — whatever it is!
All I ever wanted to be was a boymom and I got my wish with the original Angel Boy.
Happy Mother’s Day!
BEST BOYMOM QUOTE EVER: “If all the little boys in the world were lined up and I had to just pick only one, I’d choose you… every time.” (Barbra Streisand to Seth Rogan in the film Guilt Trip.)
This is a funny story and all you’ll ever need to know about my AB:
Since his life threatening medical issue and subsequent (emergency) major abdominal surgery for a ruptured Meckel’s Diverticulum a few years ago, he needs to be careful about his diet for the rest of his life, mainly never popcorn, but other foods can irritate the anastomosis repair, too, which he learned by trial and error.
He recovered better than expected from the surgery except for THAT little issue.
Recently, I suggested (not nagged) that he might benefit from regularly taking probiotics to normalize his intestinal flora and fauna, and I made sure he took them every day while we were together.
How do I do that? I chose the right time, like when he was involved in editing his new book or grading papers. That’s when I know he’s REALLY the absentminded professor and won’t pay any attention to me. I then hand him the probiotic capsules with a freshly made smoothie and he downs them without argument or question. However, it’s only a delayed reaction because fifteen minutes later, he’ll ask me what it was that I gave him but then it’s too late to refuse. HAHAHAHA. #momhack
I sent him a photo of the supplements he WILLINGLY swallowed so he could take them all the time and heard nothing about it or a couple weeks…until yesterday when he texted me and I admit it took me a second or two to figure out he was being his usual snarky, facetious self:
Apparently when it becomes HIS idea, it’s worth doing. Hmmm. Whatever works, right? After all these years, I finally figured out that he likes to think about things for a while before he makes a decision, so I sent him a photo of the type of magnesium and D3 gummies I take along with this text:
That’s my Angel Boy. Stubborn child, but no matter what, he’ll forever be my heart.
Nowadays I’m even luckier to be grandma of those two vibrant Angel Kids who started calling me “Gramps” for absolutely no reason at all, but it makes me chuckle.
When I asked them, “Why do you call me Gramps?”, they laughed hysterically, so I guess that’s who I am now.
There will never be a greater joy than being loved by those guys, that’s for sure. That’s what life is all about.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandmas from Gramps!
Confession: I’m a hoarder, not crazy enough to be featured on an episode of that TV show, but I really, really hate to throw things away and I love to acquire STUFF.
For example, I have a lovely collection of empty boxes because YOU NEVER KNOW when you’re going to need one, right?
I don’t know if this is true where you live, but here, there’s a local group that gives all kinds of things away FOR FREE, which is total crack for a hoarder. Did I mention that it’s FREE?
They give away everything from furniture to clothing to toys to appliances. In many cases, the gifted items are valuable, like the cashmere scarf I received, also a set of Russian lacquerware.
Since I joined the group, my ratio of receiving to gifting is about 90 to 10. It’s REALLY difficult for me to relinquish anything because, exactly like those boxes, what if I want or need it again some day in the future? But I do and have posted items, especially things the kids no longer need; highchairs, baby clothes, stuff like that.
It’s equally difficult for me to not bring home everything that’s offered because I like to think I’m rescuing whatever it is from being discarded. I often initiate a conversation with myself (not out loud, IN MY HEAD) about whether I reallyreallyreally NEED what’s offered, or if can I live without it. Most of the time, I’m rational haha, but not always. (The very act of talking to myself sounds kinda crazy if I think about it.)
I’ve brought home lots of plants, planter pots, and other garden items, little boxes similar to what I already collect, a giant dollhouse for the Angel Kids; also toys and even bicycles for them.
Recently, we re-gifted the dollhouse. The Angel Kids and I had a discussion about the future of it. They both said they had enjoyed playing with the house but it was time to give to a new home and other children, so I did, with their blessing.
This time, someone was giving away milkweed seedlings SHE had rescued from our local community garden. Another gardener was going to toss them out, but she saved them and transplanted into little cups.
Photo by EnchantedSeashells
This kind woman posted on the site that she had plenty to share and I responded. There were enough for multiple people which is great because we all care about helping butterflies.
Photo by EnchantedSeashells
The woman messaged me her address which was literally only about three minutes away and I headed over there.
Here’s the problem: She lives in a new housing complex with a million apartments. Her very detailed map didn’t help me as I get typically become hopelessly lost in similar situations. I drove around and around for a while and couldn’t find the location where the plants were waiting for me at the front door.
As I usually do, I became a bit disoriented when I get lost, and dejected, I drove home. My navigation skills are sorely lacking and I felt incredibly stupid. I messaged her my apologies and reason for not showing up and suggested she choose another person.
Instead of doing that, this woman that I don’t know — a complete stranger — offered to bring the milkweed to me! It was such a kind gesture that it blew my mind.
I gave her my address and she came by a couple hours later with the plants and we had a lovely chat.
With all the horrible news coming out of our nation’s capital, it’s heartwarming and affirming to realize that there are still good people in the world, those who will go out of their way to help a neighbor AND help save butterflies.
Recently, I was in a public restroom that had several stalls on either side of a long aisle.
It was crowded with lots of flushing and doors opening to welcome another visitor.
There was an obviously broken toilet on the right side with a large black plastic bag covering it, but women kept peering in before they realized it was not usable. If it were me, I’d have an “Out Of Order” sign on the door and taped it shut…oh well.
I was next up in the (not-very-long) line when a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, swooped in with a flourish of her long trendy coat, high heels, and designer handbag — way WAY overdressed for the setting of a public lavatory. I could smell the entitlement wafting off of her.
Impatiently, and with a pompously demeaning tone in her voice, she turned to me and asked, “Is there a line?”
First of all, I wondered why she chose to address ME…did I look like I was in charge of the line? I was just standing there, minding my own business.
(Let me back up a wee bit and explain my response–I was tired, recovering from a horrible upper respiratory infection– not Covid–and her “I’m definitely more important than anyone else” attitude simply rubbed me the wrong way.)
I repeated her question slowly, “Is there a line? — looked around and responded, “No, obviously I’m just standing here so I can meditate for a minute before I urinate.”
I then pointed to the stall door (the broken toilet) that was ajar and said, “There’s an opening. Go for it.”
And then I confess that I laughed to myself as she flounced in, only to immediately discover that the toilet was out of order and she had to back out on her precariously high heels. (Heehee)
Admittedly, this wasn’t indicative of my very best self, but it was so satisfying to put that haughty and pretentious little girl in her place, to maybe take her down a notch or two as she assumed her rightful place at the end of the line.
No cuts! Wait your turn!
And namaste…
P.S. Lest anyone think I am always this snarky- whenever there’s a child or someone pregnant, the unwritten bathroom code is to allow them to go first, but that was NOT the case here.
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.
“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.
Just picked a cluster of gorgeous grapes; might pour myself a glass of some chilled and fermented ones a bit later. (Of course I’m talking about chardonnay.)
The end of July has brought a triad of unfavorable events, one right after the other — snap, snap, snap…
I feel like it might be about time to run to the forest, search for a circle of rocks, tune into a different frequency, and step into a completely different dimension.
If only I knew the magic words to reveal the gateway to somewhere else. I don’t feel exactly enchanted right now…
The day after I brought home those adorable Lagerfeld heels, I broke a toe on my laundry room doors so I won’t be wearing them for a while.
Somehow, I entered into another inadvertent situation, and by that I mean, my innate carelessness subjected me to a dumb unthinking bizarre accident. I somehow injured the ulnar nerve on my left hand, which can be way more painful than you think! Because it really hurts, I had to get a brace to protect and immobilize my hand as I kept aggravating the Cubital Tunnel Syndrome/ulnar entrapment.
Do you see it? That freaks me out JUST A LITTLE because “ulnar” is “lunar” and I’m desperately and compulsively trying to discern if that’s a MESSAGE from the universe — or not –and what it might mean on a cosmic level.
And finally, since I have a history of skin cancer and have undergone Moh’s surgery, I had my six month check with the dermatologist and she discovered THREE areas on my face and nose that were problematic. I have to use this gross cancer cream, (which is really chemo) for two weeks. It’s brutal, as it causes my skin to sorta look like I have leprosy — not a pretty sight, that’s for sure, and I can’t go out in the sun at all. DAMN those summers spent tanning on the beach because now I’m paying the price.
I’m not really complaining though, because things could be worse. I mean, they ALWAYS can be worse, right? At least I’m balanced–right toe broken, left hand injured, the exact same spot I broke a bone in 2013 when I ran up the hill to look for a coyote; slipped and fell in the ditch. BALANCED.
I hopehopehope August brings happier news and maybe I’ll finally find the key to unlock that door to another dimension, maybe to a day before I broke my toe or the day before I aggravated the ulnar nerve or before…never mind.
On the other hand, I’d be overjoyed if I could stuff my little toes into those shoes…
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.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 