Around the time I started my first "real" job (self-contained speech and language classroom in a middle school) I discovered succulent plants.  Traditionally, I cannot keep houseplants alive, but these adorable tiny plants were supposed to be so easy to take care of I couldn't resist picking one out.  It lived on a windowsill in my classroom.  I got addicted to them.  I wanted one of every kind I could find.  They would grow, I'd split them up and transplant them to bigger pots.  I got a shelf. The kids enjoyed helping me watering them.  I'd cart them home every summer and bring them back the next fall.  
Then, one summer I got married, quit my job, decided to return to graduate school to pursue a doctorate, and bought my first house.  Umm.  Let's just say things were crazy and I was looking to simply in every way possible.  I put the entire garden of plants on the curb with a "Free to a Good Home sign".  They all disappeared overnight.  
Honestly, I didn't miss them.  First there was the new house, new marriage, and graduate school.  Then Michael and Ava arrived in quick succession.  There was a time when the children were both tiny, that I couldn't hardly muster the energy to pet my cats much less miss my succulent garden.  
Now that the children are older and life is beginning to find some balance again I have been looking longingly at the tiny baby succulents in the garden section of whichever store I happen to be in at the moment.  This weekend I decided to treat myself to a late mother's day gift.  I picked out some pretty succulents, some cactus potting soil, and a pretty neat pot that will securely straddle my deck rail and built myself a brand new succulent garden.   It's beautiful.  I couldn't be more delighted.  And this sounds a bit dorky, but my spirits lift and I feel a little joy every time my eye wanders in that direction.