Daily Deals from a Nerd Mom

Photo by Juan Felipe Ramu00edrez

The Backyard Showdown

I was just sitting in the backyard for a few quiet minutes, soaking in that very specific Central Florida warmth. Suddenly, I noticed two lizards moving in a way that definitely wasn’t casual.

At first it looked like one was just tracking the other.

Then the stalking got tighter.

The slightly bigger one kept edging closer, darting ahead, jabbing at the smaller one. I’ve seen lizards do little push-up displays before, but this felt different. More intense. More territorial.

And then it escalated.

The smaller lizard finally had enough and whipped around, grabbing the other one by the mouth with his own mouth. For a split second, they were locked together, twisting, like tiny scaly wrestlers trying to flip each other over. It was wild. Shockingly aggressive. Way more dramatic than I expected from something so small.

They broke apart.

Then the stalking started again.

I sat there thinking, How many kinds of lizards are actually out here in Central Florida? And how many have I completely ignored my whole life? So I did what any curious Floridian homeschool-minded nerd mom would do: I started googling.

Armadillos: Tiny Tanks, Big Reactions

Florida wildlife isn’t always graceful – or cuddly. Years ago, a group of three armadillos scurried around our house, and I completely freaked out. I had a major phobia from my teen years.

Growing up, we lived on a dirt road across from railroad tracks with woods on both sides. Armadillos were always dead and squished on the road or tracks – never alive. So when I first saw a live one walking down the road after we moved to a new town, it was like a scene out of Night of the Living Dead.

I screamed, cried… full blown panic attack.

Ever since, armadillos have triggered that same gross, anxious feeling in my stomach. Harmless as they are, they definitely command attention in Florida.

Childhood Trauma Meets Tiny Tails

Living in Central Florida means lizards aren’t just something you see outside.

Our oldest (turning 25 next month!) is absolutely terrified of lizards. When they were little, my aunt caught a lizard and handed it to them. Sweet in theory. Nature bonding moment, right?

Except when they opened their hands, the lizard was gone.

And the tail was still there.

Wiggling.

There was crying. There was screaming. There was lifelong distrust of lizards established in a single traumatic afternoon.

Photo by James Mirakian

And living here, that fear makes sense. Lizards are everywhere – on fences, patios, even in garages. When I lived in Deltona, we had to keep the dryer door shut, because lizards would crawl inside. Nothing quite prepares you for reaching into warm laundry and discovering a baked lizard inside.

Cats, Predators, and Unexpected Drama

Then there are the cats.

Our cat Kiki, who has since passed, treated the porch like her personal wildlife documentary. She would catch lizards and… well. Nature took its course. Gross, but impressive.

Kiki had a wild side beyond lizards. When she was still a stray we’d taken in, we occasionally let her outside. One day she came back carrying a baby rabbit. Alive. Totally unharmed.

We all screamed – my kids jumped onto my bed because we were certain it was a rat or mouse. My husband carefully got her to drop it, placed a laundry basket upside down over the little bunny, and guided it back out the door. It hopped away like nothing happened.

Just the other day, my mom’s cat Belle found a lizard in the house. She stalked it all day. We couldn’t catch it. The next morning, Belle finally won and… made a snack out of it. My husband and dad walked in before she could finish. Belle ran off. They didn’t see what was on the floor… until my dad stepped on it.

Blood. On the floor. Poor lizard.

Our Gazebo: The Front-Row Wildlife Deck

Photo by Jay Brand

By day, it’s lizards doing push-ups, squirrels performing acrobatics across fences and trees, and bees and wasps drifting by.

By night, apparently, we host visitors. Every so often, we find tiny raccoon footprints on the table, perfect little handprints pressed into dust or pollen.

It’s like polite but curious burglars stopped by to inspect the patio furniture.

Photo by patrice schoefolt

And Florida raccoons don’t always follow the rules. A realtor once told us that raccoons don’t live in attics during the summer in Florida. This was after we told him we suspected one was in there. Yeah… apparently ours didn’t get the memo. One day, it fell through the ceiling and landed in our garage! We had called a company to try to catch it, but they couldn’t, and then – bam – it crashed through.

And here at our current house, a raccoon once managed to steal a pineapple right from the backyard – like a tiny masked bandit claiming its prize.

Photo by Felix Perez Mercado

And we’ve even had cranes! A family of three crane birds wandered into our yard, and one of them actually came inside the garage while we were cleaning it out.

Nature is loud, messy, and impossible to ignore.

From the territorial drama of a Brown Anole male to the higher perches of a Green Anole, to raccoons occasionally falling from the sky, cranes, and pineapple theft, our backyard feels less like property and more like habitat.

Beyond the Backyard: Lakes, Pools, and Alligators

Living in Central Florida, wildlife doesn’t always stay in your yard. A few weeks ago, we visited a vacation house by a lake. Just behind the pool, there was an alligator lounging in the water. The pools were all fenced in, thankfully. However, some curious visitors from nearby houses ventured down to get a closer look.

Photo by Phyllis Lilienthal

It was a reminder that Florida isn’t just full of tiny backyard critters. Lizards and squirrels are just the warm-up act. Alligators, raccoons, and all sorts of unexpected visitors are sharing the landscape too. It makes you realize that, here, humans are just one species among many.

Curiosity in Action

That’s the part of me that never went away. I am the kid who wants to know why a tail still wiggles. I am also the adult reading about invasive species at 10 p.m. because two lizards couldn’t settle their differences quietly.

Curiosity doesn’t always start with a lesson plan. Sometimes it starts with sitting still long enough to notice.

Sharing Space: A Front-Row Seat to Florida

Our gazebo might just be metal and fabric. But, it’s also a front-row seat to Florida doing what Florida does best. And apparently, we’re just another species sharing the yard.