Butterflies, Bees, Bunnies, Babies, and Bliss

Everybody needs some bliss; especially ME when tugboat man comes home unexpectedly and then even more shocking, gets a call to return to work WHILE WE’RE DRIVING HOME FROM THE AIRPORT!

It’s not unheard of in the maritime world, but I’ve not really experienced it until now.

Glass half full; we had an enjoyable one-and-a-half days. Thirty-six hours is better than nothing.

It’s important to stay positive and present in the moment, rather than dwelling on the injustice, which would be a waste of time, and TIME is precious.

So he’s gone again and it’s time for a little bliss in the form of Mother Nature.

Breathe deeply and OMMMMMM….

Butterflies…

ButterflyMay172015may2015butterfly3 Bee on buckwheat. may2015bee Bunny trying to get into the vegetable garden. May2015bunnyI also saw a baby bunny running around, but couldn’t snap a pic before he ran under the deck.

Baby announcement!

The ultimate blissful event is the birth of one of my resident hummingbird’s eggs; you can BARELY see a miniature fluffy speck huddled in the bottom of the nest.

HummybabyMay16Mom feeding her newborn. HummyfeedingMay15

And JUST NOW, the second egg hatched! Could anything be more amazing than Mother Nature?

Hummy2eggsMay17-

Here’s an update: Pretty good close up video of the two newborn hummingbirds:

Ending with the B is for Bliss theme, a boat birdhouse.

At least THIS boat is firmly anchored and will stay in one place, right?

boatbirdhouse After the rain; blue sky bliss.

BlisscloudsGone in the blink of an eye; it’s as if he was never here, except that he fixed a couple of my car’s minor problems and I have more laundry than usual.

Tugboat man should be home for sure at the end of June; at that point he’ll have been out to sea for more than ninety days when it was only supposed to be for six weeks.

Such is the life of a tugboat captain’s wife.

PS All photos, unless otherwise noted, are property of EnchantedSeashells.

Happy Mother’s Day To My Son

Vintage Angel Boy

Vintage Angel Boy

Because, of course, without him, I wouldn’t have a Mother’s Day at all.

This was brought to my attention one year by my facetious brilliant child who remarked that in fact, HE should be the one who garners all the attention, because without HIM, I’d have nothing to celebrate.

I thought about it and he’s right and the day belongs to my Angel Boy.

I’ve enjoyed thirty-four years of receiving gifts and presents and all the little things that go along with this one day set aside to recognize mothers; handmade cards and macaroni hearts (I’ve kept them all) and coupon books for hugs and dishwashing (still waiting to collect on a few of those.)

Now that our nest is empty and I don’t wake up to a sweet little boy snuggling in bed with me; that embodiment of Mother’s Day with every smile and giggle, there’s only one thing I desire, and this is true of a lot of other empty nest moms I’ve talked to.

Wikipedia

Wikipedia

What do we want?

TIME!

When do we want it?

NOW!

My cell phone rang and the little screen flashed “Angel Boy”, which always makes me verrry happy, because as much as texts and emails facilitate instant communication, there’s really no good substitute for hearing my only child’s voice.

Me: “Was ist los, mein Kinde?”

(That’s pretty much my entire body of knowledge of German, which is Angel Boy’s Ph.D.; Germanic Languages and Literatures)

Him: Hi, Mom.”

Me: “To what do I owe the honor of an actual telephone call?”

Him: “What do you want for Mother’s Day?”

(By unspoken agreement, this query includes my birthday, which is either ON Mother’s Day or within a few days of it.)

Me: “YOU know what I want.”

“It’s that little four-letter word. It’s what I always want. Say it.”

Him: “You want TIME, right?”

Me: “Yup, that’s it. I want YOU. I want time BEING with you. I want to spend TIME with you.”

“Don’t buy me any THING. What I want is priceless.”

And that’s the truth.

Ever since he left SoCal to pursue his lofty academic goals mostly on the East coast, TIME has become a precious commodity.

Now I know why my mom counseled me to spend every second, every minute — with my child, because she knew that once they grow up and fly away, all you’ll be left with is memories.

That’s why I got up at 4 a.m. and did as much housework as possible before he woke up so that every minute could be spent caring for him, playing with him — just BEING with my Angel Boy without having to say, “in a minute” or “not now, I’m busy.”

If I had to give advice to mom nowadays, I’d tell them to spend more precious time being present in their children’s lives, and spend a whole lot less time on their electronic devices.

Because one day, their children will be gone, and you’ll regret the hours you spent on Facebook.

Although I’m not seeing my Angel Boy ON Mother’s Day, he planned a camping/hiking trip for us in a couple of weeks, and that’s when I’ll bask in the glow of TIME.

I can’t wait.

Happy Mother’s Day, everyone!

UPDATE: Three Weeks Old. Kidnapped, Killed, Stuffed in a Trash Bag, and Tossed in a Dumpster

UPDATE: Four people have been arrested for the kidnapping and murder of baby Eliza.  It involves a bizarre story that’s right out of a horror novel. One of those arrested, Giseleangelique Rene D’Millan, 47, of Thousand Oaks, California – concocted a plan to win her boyfriend back that resulted in the kidnapping and murder of baby Eliza Delacruz and the shootings of three of the newborn’s relatives. Last year, she lied to her boyfriend, telling him she was pregnant with his twins. Detectives believe the lie soon morphed into a desperate criminal quest of finding babies around the same age to kidnap and keep and represent as her own.
http://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-ln-arrests-kidnapping-killing-long-beach-infant-20150325-story.html

WTF is wrong with this world?


This is Eliza Delacruz. Or rather, this WAS Eliza Delacruz.

(family photo)

(family photo)

On Sunday, a transient found the body of this ten-pound girl in a plastic bag stuffed in a dumpster behind an Imperial Beach strip mall, one hundred-twenty miles from the girl’s home.

Only twenty-one days.

Only 30,240 minutes.

Eliza Delacruz was only able to take about twenty breaths a minute times twenty-four hours times twenty-one days.

No more pretty dresses adorned in sparkles with a matching bow for her hair.

No more goodnight kisses.

It’s beyond senseless…beyond comprehension.

A beautiful three-week old infant girl, who, up until the moment she was torn from her mother’s arms and kidnapped, had been living for nine months in a safe womb, growing and maturing until she was born into a world she will never know.

Can you even imagine the pain her mother and father must feel?

I remember how my breasts ached if I didn’t nurse my son every couple of hours or so — Eliza’s mom’s body will respond to hormonal messages but there’s no baby to nurture and feed — nothing but the constant pain of a broken heart.

What hope is there for this world if someone could do this to an infant?

How can I be continually surprised at the dreadful cruelties perpetrated on animals when human life can be tossed in the trash?

I’m disgusted, disheartened, distressed, and depressed.

Are we so blasé about the deaths and murders and abuses and cruelties we’re bombarded with on a daily basis that this horrific story hasn’t stopped us in our tracks?

Have we become so desensitized to pain that we just say to ourselves,  “tsk, tsk, so sad” — and move on?

This should be an event so overwhelmingly tragic that nothing else should matter.

But we turn the page of the newspaper, click to another channel, scroll down to read about another crime or shooting or rape and one horror pours into another horror on top of another horror and you know what?

We’re drowning under the weight of the terribleness of this world we inhabit.

From Long Beach to Imperial Beach, the killer probably drove down the coastline, maybe even some of us passed him on Highway 5 or Highway 101 and we were totally unaware.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Los Angeles County supervisors offered a $25,000 reward Tuesday to help catch an attacker who shot and wounded three members of a family and kidnapped a 3-week-old girl who was later found dead in a trash bin near the Mexican border.

The award for information leading to a capture and conviction comes a day after police said they had no leads and no motive for the Saturday attack in Long Beach that wounded the parents and uncle of Eliza Delacruz.

Detectives had only a vague description of a man who may be black or Hispanic and were trying to discover whether surveillance cameras in Imperial Beach may have captured any images.

The time and cause of the girl’s death had not been determined.

The girl’s father was released from the hospital but her mother and uncle remained in critical condition.

At a Monday news conference, Police Chief Robert Luna said the lack of direction in the investigation was frustrating.

“Somebody had to have seen or heard something,” he said.

The baby’s parents and uncle have spoken with police, but it was too early to know if the family was withholding clues, Luna said.

Detectives do not believe the crime was a random act, and the FBI is assisting in the investigation, Luna said.

The chief said nothing is being ruled out at this point, including that the gunman has fled to Mexico, or that family members or a drug cartel are involved.

In Imperial Beach, mourners erected a makeshift memorial of candles and flowers outside a pizza shop at the mall.

Aaron Cruz, who lives next door to the victims’ two-story stucco house, said the baby’s father is a veterinary technician who worked six days a week and was thrilled to be a dad.

Cruz, who described himself as the man’s best friend, said the family often hosted large barbecues on their front lawn after moving in a few years ago.

The baby’s parents and uncle lived there with another uncle and the baby’s grandparents, but no one else was there when the shooting happened, Cruz said.

Information sourced from KTLA/LATimes

Scars. Life. Love. Goodbye, 2014

All I ever wanted to be was a mom.

There’s a half moon shaped scar on my left leg where I slammed my shin into the sharp serrated metal step of a shuttle bus.

Out of breath from running, dragging my suitcase, frantic after a six-hour flight to the East coast, my tugboat man carrying everything else, and thank goodness he was able to function in a time of crisis.

I was pretty much inconsolable and incoherant but determined in my resolve. All the way across the country, I said over and over, “I just need to get to him. I just need to get there.”

I was literally running out of time.

I didn’t even know I was injured until the next day.

It was sliced to the bone and I never felt the pain, never felt the warm blood dripping down my leg, sticking to my socks, drying hard on my jeans.

I’m sure it needed to be sutured, but that constant pain, like the pain of the C-section that brought my baby into the world, is a wound I’ll always associate with birth and life.

You see, my life almost ended on April 29, 2014.

When I think of 2014, there’s really no other moment in time that so defines my year. Or my entire life.

Up until April 29th, the sun would rise and the sun would set; my tugboat man was either home or out to sea. I shopped, went to the gym, shopped some more. Life was pretty much uneventful.

Six months later, from the perspective of time, I can see that my life was split right down the middle; before the phone call and after the call.

In early April, tugboat man and I had an amazing road trip that culminated at Zion National Park; hiking and camping and revelling in the magnificent beauty of nature.

But that one particular day stopped me in my tracks.

It was one of life’s pivotal moments. What if we had been out of cell range? What if we hadn’t made it in time? What if he hadn’t had the surgery in time? What if?

It could have gone either way.

The path not taken probably would have caused my disappearance from the world of blogging, of social media, and maybe you’d have thought to yourself, “I wonder what happened to Princess Rosebud?”

I wouldn’t have survived. I’m not being melodramatic; I’m stating this as a simple truth. I would not have survived.

All I ever wanted to be was a mom. 

I was one of those little girls who always had a doll. I didn’t so much want to play house as I wanted to be Mommy. I wanted a baby of my own one day to love and nurture and care for and take care of — and protect from all harm.

It didn’t matter how smart I was or how well I did in college; it was is my calling.

My passion.

Lucky for me that my dream came true when I had my Angel Boy. From the very beginning, he was my amazing joy. His smiles, his bright eyes; they sustained me like no food ever could.

Even now, a phone call or an email from him makes the sun shine a little brighter, my day a little happier.

Oh, he was sick from time to time with the normal childhood illnesses; he broke a bone or two from skateboarding, but he grew strong and tall and his mind was a whirl of shiny brilliance and creativity.

No one clipped his wings.

I always told him he could do anything. He has no limits.

He was limitless.

The Boy Who Was My Heart 

You know how you think you’ll be when you’re a mom, but no one prepares you for the reality of it; the limitless love, the fierce primal desire to protect from harm and pain and sadness — and most of all the fact that none of those feelings end when they’re grown up and on their own. 

That’s still how I still define myself. I’m Angel Boy’s mom.

That 3:00 a.m. call that propelled us to the airport for a six-hour flight that caused me to run and trip on the metal step of the shuttle bus so we could rent a car for the final hour-long drive to the hospital to see my Angel Boy’s face before his emergency surgery was the most horrible moment of my entire life.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else matters.

We were all thrust into a vortex of a limbo world. Waiting to get to him, waiting for the emergency surgical team to assemble, waiting by his side as he was prepped — watching his body contort in agony that I couldn’t do anything about, his eyes filled with pain — but I could feel each spasm in my own belly — and finally waiting for the surgeon to appear. Not really talking, not watching the TV that was mounted at an odd angle on the wall in the waiting room; a desolation of uncertainty.

For three hours I was stationed in the hallway, the first to hear and then see the elevator doors open, my eyes fastened on the surgeon’s face.

He wouldn’t even need to speak; I knew his face would reveal everything.

And the huge smile on the surgeon’s face lit up the universe. No words were needed.

Everything was going to be OK. He survived. It was tricky, worse than we thought, but he was fixed.

He was whole.

My Angel Boy made a complete recovery. He’s healthy and happy.

And alive.

I see the scar every day and it’s a constant reminder to not take anything for granted; that I almost lost everything — but I didn’t.

All I ever wanted was to be a mom.

Goodbye 2014…
Cheers to a healthy and happy 2015!

POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 a.m.
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/01/that-dreaded-call-at-300-a-m/

2. Time To Exhale
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/06/time-to-exhale-hospital-update/

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/10/full-circle-from-hell-to-happiness/

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/11/what-does-a-cosmo-the-trauma-unit-and-mothers-day-have-in-common/

 

 

Nothing Much…My Boring Albeit Enchanted Life

Remember in the old days when blogging was so easy, simply recording the minutiae of our daily lives —  maybe with a pithy comment or brilliant insight tossed in for good measure?

The good old days….

I’m going old skool today ‘cos I don’t feel like being witty.

Got woken up yet again by our asshole neighbor at 4:57 a.m. as he drove off with a racing muffler. Don’t even get me started on that. We’ve had to endure this hell for a year.

Used my asthma inhaler that looks like a bong,

Took Levoxyl ‘cos I’m slightly hypothyroid. I know most people think I’m HYPER ‘cos I’m always running around, but I’m not.

Ground beans for delicious French roast coffee. No Starbucks for me!

Sometime in October, not exactly sure of the date, I broke the third toe on my right foot. That’s not such a big deal for me since I break my toes like toothpicks, but this one hasn’t healed properly even though I buddy-taped it immediately. It’s got an ugly bump on it, still red and kinda hurts, which means I need to see a doc.

The dumb part is that I thought I’d straighten it out myself and pulled and pushed on it last night before bed — and now it hurts more than ever.

Not a good idea; don’t do it!

BRB…having a second cup of java goodness.

I’m back!

I’m going to a Body Pump class at the gym.

After that, I need a few extra things at the grocery store…tomatoes, bell peppers, avocados. I forgot them yesterday ‘cos I saw a friend at the store and it threw me off my game. Got distracted.

Oh, and Rumpelmintz. It’s a holiday tradition with me and my tugboat man. The first time he ever said “I love you” was on Christmas 1991. It involved peppermint schnapps.(Look for a post about that momentous and life changing occasion.)

Phone is ringing. Hold on…It was my friend who called to make sure I was going to the gym this morning so I could save her a spot.

The remainder of the day involves house cleaning, baking, and gardening — the usual stuff.

Oh, and wine. There will be wine.

I need to take something back to the Nordstrom Outlet (a bathrobe) but I’m not sure the Friday before Christmas is the best time to stand in line for that sort of thing. On the other hand, SHOPPING!

Tracking a pair of earrings I bought online that are due to be delivered today. Fingers crossed that I’ll love them or back they go, too. Three carat morganite studs. I hope they are pink and sparkly!

Angel Boy/DIL will be here for a couple of days, my tugboat man will be here on Tuesday.

No insights, no witty repartee, no review of product, and not a sponsored post.

Simply me, Princess Rosebud, sharing the boring details of my life.

*Yawn*

Thank you for reading!

Please enjoy a favorite pic of my darling daughter cat, Bandit, before she died of chronic renal failure at the age of thirteen. She had the most kissable mouth EVER.Bandit in a box