Pedaling the safari cycle through the zoo, with the unmistakable aroma of animals filling the air, I found myself pondering one critical question: “Shyann, what are you doing here?” Somehow, my sweet-talking daughter had roped me into chaperoning her school field trip. And somehow—against all better judgment—I said yes. Little did I know, the true adventure wasn’t in the exotic wildlife but in surviving the day with a safari cycle full of ten-year-olds.

A few years back, I had a whole parade of caladiums brightening up my garden. But over time, they slowly faded away, like that friend who says they’ll call you back and never does. After a while, I figured the caladiums had given up for good. Last year, I got curious about snake plants—those “oxygen-boosting” little troopers. So, I planted a few in my old caladium pots and brought most of them indoors, except one pot I kept outside because, well, it wasn’t winning any design awards.

I must admit, October isn’t my favorite month. Everywhere you look, there’s Halloween gear—from houses decked out like haunted mansions to puppies on my morning walk dressed as Chucky, the creepy doll. It truly unsettles my spirit.

This week felt like one of those “Octopus Attack” weeks—the kind where the enemy seems to have tentacles wrapped around every corner of my life. I was pulled, stretched, and tested from every angle. In my frustration, I cried out to God.

We’ve all been there. You sneeze, and you expect that polite, “Bless you!” from someone nearby. It’s almost as automatic as the sneeze itself. My daughter? She’s a firm believer in this sacred exchange

Not too long ago, my dad and I embarked on a grand repotting adventure. After all our hard work, the plants looked pristine, the pots were refreshed, and everything seemed in perfect harmony—until a particularly mischievous squirrel decided that this scene was far too clean for its liking.