Thursday, March 24


The countdown has finally come to an end. In less than twenty-four hours my Mom will arrive on the island. There is such a buzz in the air. Nyah is most excited and has had the sleeping arrangements planned for months, obviously Nana will be sleeping in her room. Pictures are colored and awaiting the superstars arrival. George and I are excited because having Nana around means a little down time for us and possibly some alone time since we will have a built in babysitter who is actually excited to watch the girls. Who knows what we will get out and do, the options are endless. We might even get gussied up and go and be social. Not sure if I remember how to do that but exited to give it a try.

It has been awhile since Nana was in the house, over a year to be exact, when Elsa was born.
We are so excited to have you back. Safe travels Mom, we can't wait to see you.

Tuesday, March 22

The Lunch Situation

Each night after dinner as I put the left overs away and begin the meticulous process of cleaning the kitchen, I pack Nyah's lunch for school. George helps me clean the kitchen of course. He is the master of washing dishes and loves to remind me how much better he is at this task than me. I have to say, I totally agree with him. He can totally claim that one, spotless dishes every time. Remember dude, I grew up with this little invention called a dishwasher. Mind blowing, I know. I have told him on numerous occasions that since he is SO much better than me at washing that he can be totally, one hundred percent in charge of the task but he won't buy it. But I am thankful for whatever help I can get.

Since packing the lunch kit is such a part of my daily routine that I truly enjoy, and will probably be doing for a long, long time, (wow, I am really going to pack a lot of lunches in my life) I thought I would share what its all about.  So here's the lunch kit, in all of its glory:
We are highly discouraged from using plastic baggies, juice boxes and other disposable stuff at Nyah's school, in an attempt to keep waste to a minimum, something that has become habit in our daily lives. We are lucky that none of her classmates have any over the top peanut allergies so peanut butter sandwiches are a-okay. Nyah typically opens her lunch box to find a sandwich or left overs, always fruit, maybe pretzels and her all time favorite, yogurt. A serious treat for her. 

The containers are from some mega store, cold pack a gift given to Ny when she was a wee precious one from my dear friend Ashley, and the snack bag is courtesy of my sister and the rockin' toy store she works in.

Nyah stays hydrated through the school day and during lunch from a tiny glass full of water which she pours from a mini glass pitcher. Real glass? Three year olds? Really? Yes. All part of the process. Dropping and breaking glass and the reaction it elicits is all part of the process of learning to be careful, concentrate and handle things with care.

I pick Nyah up at twelve o'clock sharp each day and get the pleasure of spending some time with this little community of barefoot kids. 

Yesterday, one of the little cutties reached his tiny, short arms up to rub my belly and while peering at me from under my bump asked me so curiously, "Why is your belly so big?"

To which I replied, "Because there is a baby growing in there".

To which he bluntly blurted, with his best are you crazy lady look on his face, "AGAIN!?!".

I'm convinced picking Nyah up during lunch is the best part of Elsa's day. She gets such a kick out of making her grand entrance to meet the group of socializing children gathered and eating lunch at their chowkies on the open air porch of the beautiful school*, hoping to get a bite but always receiving a hug.  

Oh, a chowki is a little table which originates from India (where Nyah's teacher, Ms. Jill received her Montessori training). Ms. Jill describes how the guards used to sit on the little tables outside of homes during a long watch, so I guess this would make them more like stools. 

Here is a photo of the Indian God, Ganesha, sitting on a chowki. Obviously, the one Nyah uses daily is made of wood and not nearly as ornate, but you get the idea.
The kids at StarApple Montessori use the chowkies as tables to do their "work" (a very serious matter if you have had the pleasure to be around a Montessorian) and also to eat on. The students take wonderful care of their little chowkies, the perfect sized work station and portable table for them to eat on.

So there you have it, the whole lunch routine from start to finish.

*I would love to include some photos of Nyah's amazing preschool (yes, I am so inspired by a preschool) but just don't feel right snapping photos of others children but maybe someday I will find the school empty. Until then I will leave it up to your imagination.

Sunday, March 20


Obviously, I interrupted some serious business here. Nyah in the business of teaching and Elsa fully emerged in the business of learning. Major world issues in the process of being solved until Mom barged in with the obnoxious camera. Carry on girls, carry on with your business.

*I know, I know. They will hate me for this photo someday, a future I am willing to face. I just couldn't help myself to share this precious scene (with the world). Sorry girls, I take full responsibility.

Thursday, March 17

She Eats

I finally discovered the culprit, the reason I have to make an extra trip to the over priced grocery store in the middle of the week. There she is, the full blown, extra mouth to feed in our house, and feeding she does. She just doesn't stop.
She eats her portions and then finishes her sisters meals. We have had to stop her on more than one occasion, afraid she would make herself sick from eating too much. We are still wondering where the petite fifteen month old puts it all. She has pretty much ditched the breastfeeding thing for the real stuff and hasn't looked back since. 

And, once again, I found myself way behind at dinner last night (as usual). I handed her a fork (just to get her warmed up to the idea) with a bowl of pasta. She proceeded to eat her whole bowl of pasta with the fork, stabbing the noodles with perfect precision and bringing them to her mouth with skilled eye hand coordination as if she has been doing it for years. Seriously, who teaches her this stuff and where was I? Watermelon is definitely one of her favorites.

Twenty Five Weeks

For those wondering, here's what's been cooking for the past six months. 
I told myself I would gain as much weight with this pregnancy, that there is just no need for it. Well, the veracious hunger has taken over and though I am eating healthy, the extra lbs have found me. My stomach popped out this past week and my pants won't button. The old rubber band trick my mom taught me with my first pregnancy is doing the trick so far. Other than growing exponentially, I am feeling awesome and enjoying every moment of this pregnancy. We are truly blessed.

We cleaned out all the baby girl clothes from the closet yesterday and gave them to a friend who is expecting her first girl soon. It was so bittersweet as I smelled and snuggled some of the softest pinkest clothes both girls wore when the were the tiniest beings. Could they have ever been so small? Guess we are confident this baby is a boy. Lets hope ultrasounds don't lie.

Friday, March 11

Island Living

We have some major changes and choices approaching us in life. No, I am not pregnant. I am already pregnant, remember? I know it seems this is the only surprise I am capable of. As we brainstorm and evaluate life, we am being forced to figure out what we want from life for both our happiness but more importantly our families well being.

As I was getting out of the shower last night (where I do some of my best thinking) because we ran out of hot water (common occurrence here), I began to think about what it is that really attracts me to St. Criox and island living. With a shiver, I then wrapped myself in my thin, dry towel. The thin towel is key for me. I am guiltily, I used to be the connoisseur of the thickest, plushest, most expensive hotel towel to engulf myself in but now the thought of one makes me ill. To me, thick and plush means the towel will not dry completely in the moist environment we live in and that I will have a mildew treat built up on the towel by my next shower and well, that is just sick. Clean off in the shower just to wrap yourself in mold, now thats hot.

It is little things like this, so different from mainland life, but things I love about living on an island. To me, life is real here and I seem to do better with it. I am weird, I am fully aware, but it works for me. It works for me to wash my dishes after each use and to conserve as much water as possible while doing so because WAPA (Water and Power Authority) is so absurdly expensive here. It works that I have to make sure each and every crumb is accounted before or ants or bugs will feast. Love that I have hang my washcloth outside on the clothes line each night or it will infect my counters with mold if used in the morning. I relish in the fresh breeze that blows through our house, even in the hot months, because this is real, though I might be sweating or pissed at the mosquitoes, this is what real life is like.

This is just the beginning, a small look into my daily chores which are made different because I live in the tropics. Why does it work for me? I am not sure. Every action has a result, a price to pay and I like it that way. Life is not easy, no dishwasher, washing machine, no cheap groceries, less than outstanding customer service, rough public schools, long lines, bumpy roads, frequent power outages, (I could go on and on). But to me, there is beauty at every turn, culture, and diversity, and adventure, which I am finding I thrive in. 

I remember during my grandmother's first visit to the island she said something along the lines of, "I don't get the attraction". Ouch. I totally get it though, this isn't Hawaii, you have to look beyond some things to find the beauty. I can only imagine what the cruise ship passengers think as they land in Frederiksted.

But, I guess what I am saying is I feel guilty with abundance, I am a proud American but the abundance we can be faced with daily on the mainland is a bit much for me, it isn't fair and honestly, it weighs on my conscious. Don't get me wrong, we are far from third world here but we are definitely a step down from America.

I love that our girls are being raised to be conscious of themselves of their impact in this world, in beauty, in nature, barefoot, and in a diverse environment, without constant consumer driven images being shoved down their throat of what they she look like, should be, should buy.  Can this way of life be found other places or is it just about making it happen?
So as life comes at us again, I have to think, for all of the frustrations, would I want to live on the mainland again, could I live by the clock again, sit in traffic, wear shoes, unload a days full of dishes from the dishwasher, go to a mega shopping mall, have everything at my finger tips?  Not sure but frightened to try.

I will keep you posted as things but we are first trying to figure things out for ourselves. But for now,

Wishing you all a beautiful day.

Wednesday, March 9

Cork Board of Dreams

Since she is getting older and loves her room and family, I figured it was time for her to have a spot of her own where she could display things and people she wants to look at and dream of. So off we headed to the mega office supply store, which makes me feel like I am in the States each time the colossal sliding doors open and I am blasted by the AC, to find a cork board.

We found one, surprisingly. On this island it usually takes a couple trips to different stores to find what you are looking for. We got lucky this day. We brought the big brown board home and added some color. 

She picked the photos, mostly pics of her family which I find adorable as I am sure this will someday be riddled with the mugs of her friends. Can't wait to remind her of this when she is a cool teenager.
She is really enjoying her new room decoration for now, pointing and talking about everyone in the picture and remembering good times she has had with those who live so far.
Here is our conversation last night as she was crawling into bed after she had spent a good while silently gazing at the pictures.

Nyah: "I am going to a wedding in the morning, you wanna come and be a flower girl with Nana?"

Me: "Sure. Who's getting married?"

Nyah: "Me."

Me: "Oh, who are you marrying?"

Nyah: "Uncle Chris!" (Duh, Mom!)

Me: "Oh! Well then sure, I would love to come."

The innocence is untouchable. I am cherishing each and every one of these oh so precious moments with this beautiful growing girl. 

Tuesday, March 8

And the Award Goes To...

Remember what a great time I mentioned we had with George's parents watching them sing and celebrating St. Lucia? Well, there was just one minor bump in the road that I failed to mention. I thought I would share the fiasco so hopefully someone can avoid making a similar mistake as me, though even at the moment, I didn't want some idiotic move on my part to overshadow the beautiful day we were having.

It all began as we were attempting to sit through the church service, something we don't do often which was made blaringly obvious my kids' behavior. They have obviously not been trained in proper church etiquette. Nyah insisted on talking in a regular tone of voice (which was loud) and Elsa, well I am sure you know what she wanted to do the entire

So I finally accepted defeat and shlepped all of our coloring books and snacks and stuff outside to spend the rest of the service in the open with the calming breeze. All was going well, many other mothers outside, a friend I have known since moving to the island with her kids and calm and no need for formality. Have at it kids. 

Nyah, the angel (seriously?) spent the rest of the service gazing wide eyed at the older girls of the group, following their every move. Elsa, oh Elsa, just had to prove to the other kids there that she had more energy and stamina and could out run them. She succeeded.

So I spent a good thirty minutes chasing her repeatedly to the parking lot, which was far away. Repeatedly, did I mention this? How do these other kids her age sit so still? Am I missing something?

So once again, I accepted defeat and began to head to the truck for the strolller to strap her down. Enough is enough. Off Elsa and I went to journey across the church grounds, to the parking lot for the stroller in the truck, leaving Nyah under the watchful eye of my friend and the older girls. Honestly, I don't even think she knew I left. Elsa and I passed the old men ushering and guarding the door, or getting fresh air, whatever.

We reached the truck and I put Elsa in one of the two strollers we had in the bed of the truck, the nice stroller, the cadillac, the one that lies down. Would she sleep? Maybe. I strapped her in and then I discovered it, cat hair, all over the stroller. Out precious outdoor siamese cat Samba decided to make a bed of her stroller, which was stored on the front porch. Awesome.

Out of that stroller Elsa came and I decided to put her in the front seat of the truck since I had some work to do, putting the nice stroller away and and getting out the other one and setting it up. So before I left her I decided to shut the door to the truck. This is Elsa we are talking about, a child who would think a flying leap from the high seat of the truck would be a great idea. Safety first.

After I had gotten the stroller situation under control, I went to get Elsa out of the truck. Wait, let me try again, and again and oh f*#$, the door was locked. I looked to the other door, locked too. I look at Elsa, precious Elsa, and there she was, sitting there with the keys with the remote lock in her hand smiling like, "Look what I've got, Mom!". Deep breath, stay calm. "Push the button Elsa, yes, push it, you can do it." Nothing, just laughs. F#$%. Sun blazing, window up, absolutely no air circulation. Must act fast to get her out.

Someone drove by, I stopped them to ask to use their phone. They said they didn't have one. Right. Who doesn't have a cell phone and what about me says, she looks crazy, don't lend her our phone?

Time was ticking and Elsa needed to get out and I knew the fastest way to get her out was to get George there who was at work with the extra key and remote lock on his key chain, or should I call the police? No, what could the police do and it would honestly take them an hour to get there, no joke. My final decision was to call George but phone was with Nyah at the church. F;#$!

So I decided I had to do it. I check Elsa one last time, she was exploring the keys, still happy as could be though I could see the sweat beads forming on her head. I had to do it. I kicked off the Payless church shoes and ran as fast as my six month pregant body would carry me. I ran and ran, past the gentlemen guarding the door, who's heads just follow me like a typewriter. I think one mentioned, "Were's the baby?" No time to explain. I reach Nyah who was coloring, oblivious of our absence, and crouched low, grabbed the keys and turned to go, calling out to my friend, "Locked Elsa in the car, watch Nyah". And I was off again in the other direction across the rocky parking lot. Rocks in my feet, ouch, uterus cramping, ouch.

I finally reached the truck after what seemed like an eternity. Elsa was fine and not choking or doing any of the other horrible things I imagined could happen to her while I was running. She was still smiling. She wanted to give kisses through the glass.

I dialed George, still out of breath, feeling the effects of the last four months or so of no running. "Elsa, locked in truck, no air, come now." He asked maybe think one question and he was on his way. And at that moment, I realized that was the first, OH SHIT phone call we have had the pleasure of sharing and hopefully our last.

So I waited and played with Elsa, she was fine. She discovered the center console and was now jumping on it. Freedom in the car, what could be better.

George, Super Dad, arrived maybe seven minutes later and the "Beep, beep" of the truck unlocking was music to my ears. He later told me he broke every driving rule possible even heading the wrong way on the highway momentarily to reach a short cut. He opened the door to get her out and she ran to the other side. She didn't want out, she was having too much fun. Silly girl. She finally leaped into her Dad's arm and all was right again in the world.

So off George went to work and I put Elsa in her clean stroller and we moseyed back to the church like nothing ever happened. "Who me, running past you, barefoot like a mad woman?" I have no idea what you are talking about. We reached Nyah, who was still coloring and didn't even acknowledge our return. Nyah's Aunt later told me that she took a break from singing and came outside to get a drink of water and found Nyah sitting without me and Nyah quickly requested her Aunt take her to the restroom. When she asked Nyah were her mom was, Nyah nonchalantly replied, "Oh, she locked Elsa in the car."

Elsa drank some water and finally took a break for maybe a second and then chasing continued. The cramping continued but quickly went away later in the afternoon after lots of water, some rest and good food. The guilt sitting deep in my chest is also slowly disappearing. I felt so horrible making such a careless mistake putting my baby's health in danger. 

Definitely earned Worst Mom Award for the day, I humbly accept.

Sunday, March 6

Here's One For St. Lucia

The girls had the amazing opportunity today to get in touch with their St. Lucian roots and join their family in the celebration of the 32nd anniversary of St. Lucia's independence from the British. What a beautiful day we had. 

The celebration began with a church service (at the church George grew up attending) where George's parents sang enchanting songs in Patois (a dialect of French commonly spoken in St. Lucia) accompanied by steel drums, in a choir composed of mostly St. Lucians. The day continued with partying, food, more food and a whole lotta love. 

Nyah and Elsa's Aunt made them dresses for the celebration, a Madras (St. Lucian cultural dress), to match the choir. Their Aunt of course dressed them up (because I had no clue) and did their hair (because I can't be trusted, obviously). Guess who loved every minute of it? 
Many times through the day I found myself being overcome with these odd emotions as I witnessed the display of love, pride and loyalty for St. Lucia from those who still hold her so close to their heart during the celebration. I can't imagine moving to another country with nothing, making whole new life for my family and struggling and working harder than ever imagined and being wildly successful at it. And as I am thinking this I look and up and there are George's parents dancing their way down the aisle, leading the choir processional, singing their native songs in their native dress in their native language and I lost it. Not completely, I swallowed it, but you know.
Elsa on the move with her Grandma.
Pregnancy emotions or not, today made me seriously realize that I am fully entrenched in this West Indian culture, particularly St. Lucian culture. I am making a new history for myself, for my children that we wouldn't have experienced in Indiana. George comes from such beautiful people, inside and out, and such a rich culture which I am honored to be a part of and have our daughters raised in. It is beyond words so I won't make an attempt but at one point during the afternoon, George's dad, with his sweet hug and huge smile whispered in my ear, "Do you fully see what you got yourself into now?" 

Yes. I think I do.

Friday, March 4


Since Elsa has discovered her ability to climb into her sisters bed according to her own will, the cozy space of the girl she loves most, her best friend, her first friend, has become her new hang out. She passes her time lounging and talking to herself and calling out to us so we come in and look at her, at her accomplishment, at her independence. 
She tosses and turns, stands up then sits down. I trust her on the bed. She knows how to get on and off and there is plenty of cushion on the ground incase someone rolls out of bed in the night.
So I just let her be, for periods of about oh thirty-seconds or so and then take a peak, mostly without her knowing. I don't want to interrupt her concentration. Oh the joy of being in your sibling's space, and I realize it has only just begun between these two, something I can honestly relate to.
And soon enough, her sister joins in and I hear the familiar words coming out of my mouth and I know I have arrived. I am a parent. "No jumping on the bed!" I wonder how many times those very words have been uttered around the globe by well meaning parents trying to avoid injury.
Nyah then calls Elsa the ultimate name she can muster from the bank in her head of things learned at school, "Elsa is a silly booty tooty!" and I must say, I totally agree.

Thursday, March 3

Coconut Water

I grew up in the Midwest, so naturally each summer we would make a mad dash to Florida for our summer vacation. Florida, the meccas of all meccas, all that it seemed people during that time in my life worked for, that week or so of beach, sand, sun. Perfection. These summers at the beach were definitely where my love affair with the water first began. 

I can remember always looking a coconuts, wondering and wanting what was inside. One particular summer we worked for hours trying to break open an old, brown, rotten coconut, we had found on the ground, too stupid to know it was done, over, had nothing to offer us. I think my grandfather eventually went after it with a screw driver or something but I don't recall the outcome. All I know if that if I would have just looked up, we would have seen the treasure hanging above our heads. We had young, green coconuts at our finger tips, we just were too niaeve to know what was inside or to look beyond the awe inspiring palm tree which represented everything tropical to us to see them.  

Moving to the Caribbean has given me a whole new appreciate for the coconut. They utilize the coconut for many things here, not only cooking but in oils and lotions and well, everything. I now find myself not looking at "palm trees" not for their beautiful branches but more to find out if it is of the species that bares coconuts.  Nyah refers to all palm trees as coconut trees. 

Growing up deprived, in the land locked state of Indiana (kidding), all I knew about coconuts was the milky substance people found in coconuts in the movies or the dried stuff sold in the stores but what these young, green little beauties hold is coconut water. A sweet, watery substance found in young coconuts. Let me just say, it is good. The ultimate thirst quencher and I won't act cool, it was definitely a taste I had to acquire an appreciation of. 

George initially introduced me to coconut water and we used to set out each Sunday to find the guys who would go around and load the beds of their trucks with the little beauties then get out their machetes and show their skills, breaking the coconut open with a few swift waks and then selling the water by the gallon. We now see the tennis players on TV drinking coconut water and it makes us laugh. 

Coconut water is so cool now, the latest health craze, as it should be. The health benefits are endless, cholesterol free, fat free, low calorie, super hydrating, rich in potassium and a natural laxative. I find it interesting that in some developing countries coconut water has been used as an intravenous hydrating fluid when saline is not available. 

So why don't we go climb a tree and get the coconuts ourselves? Well, we could, but that is just hard and the trees are really high and we aren't that flexible, so we buy it as fresh as when we can. We did get lucky the other day and our friend gave us a few nuts so George popped the tops with great ease with get this, a steak knife, (no screw driver required) of all things and poured away and we had fresh coconut water to enjoy for the rest week (though I don't think it lasted that long). 
Oh, and please don't think George isn't macho, he does own a machette but he just keeps it at his parent's house. Not much storage here and the thought of a three year old with a machette isn't pretty. Machettes are pretty much a requirement for island living. Everyone has one. 
Here is my brother's holding his machete which he purchased while on island.
Oh, and here is my favorite coconut water coniseurre enjoying the tasty drink as it should be enjoyed, straight from the source. She was almost two years old in this picture and at that time still refereed to the tasty drink as "coconut wata". True Crucian she is.

Wednesday, March 2

Stepping Up My Game

Wow, sorry for the momentary lapse in blogging. I have been sleeping. You think I am kidding? I wish I was. For a week straight I have been napping during my normal computer time (which is in the morning when Nyah is at school and Elsa is taking her morning nap). I don't really ever feel tired but the second I sit down, sleep calls my name. The breezes have been amazing here lately, especially up on our hill, requiring a blanket for warmth, which adds to my cozy sleep state. The increased need for sleep comes down to the fact that I am pregnant, oh yes I am, and it is suddenly obvious, little dude reminding me often and growing what seems like by the day. I am suddenly noticing all of my shirts are getting shorter and shorter as my belly is protruding. It happened, so suddenly, I am big and pregnant, so what am I to do but surrender.

Besides the sudden roundness of my abdomen many other surprising things have been going on around here lately. I am sure I have mentioned it before but one of my favorite parts of parenting and witnessing a child grow is when they bust out new knowledge, words, skills, or "tricks", (as Nyah informed me she was doing while walking up the steps to school this morning. I thought she was just lollygagging but no, she was doing "tricks"), making all that I was comfortable with them knowing before obsolete, like they are telling me to step up my game and get with their program.

Like when we were watching the local news last night, as we do every night, more for the entertainment purpose than staying informed about our community (which we also love). One of the reporters, Wes Small, is hilarious. I not sure if he actually qualifies as a reporter because most of his reports result in tangents, personal opinions, and feelings toward the person he is interviewing (if it is a woman, he usually ends up revealing how beautiful she is). 

If you are interested, he is a clip of Wes from our local news. Yes, this is real.

Well, last as we were finishing up dinner and the news was coming on Nyah said, "Look Mommy, its Wes Small!". What? I had no clue she was even watching the news all this time but she doesn't miss a beat. She then pointed to her National Georgraphic Kids magazine and matched all of the rhyming words perfectly in an activity. George and I just looked at each other with a "woah" look on our face.

Or when we spur of the moment went to the Dominican Republic Independance Parade on Saturday and Elsa wanted down out of George's lap. George and I looked at each other, bracing ourselves for the chase, knowing it wasn't a good idea to let her loose because we were so close to the road. When he finally gave in and put her down, she just stood by him and danced. And clapped to the music. And didn't run off. Like she knew exactly what was going on and the proper thing to do at a Caribbean parade... dance and shake it. She danced proudly by herself with no prompting or following of her her sister for the length of the parade, never once running off. It is becoming more obvious to me, as Elsa's Aunt often reminds me that she, "is a West Indian girl with St. Lucian blood" and I am quickly realizing this means she carries a lighthearted happiness, fondness for all, and the love of partying and music deep in her soul (like her dad and grandparents).

Nyah's teacher, Ms. Jill, reminded me just this morning another reason I need to get with the program, coming out to report to me that Nyah did beautiful work yesterday. Ms. Jill said she was giving a math lesson to some older kids and Nyah came over and picked it up right away even noticing counting blocks up to 1,000. 

What? My child? My child who you recently told me was too social and in fact you have never seen a child so social in all of your years of teaching (Ms. Jill isn't young)? Really? (By the way, if you are a teacher, try to refrain from using terms like, "I have never", and "in all my years", especially in a negative light because it can really send the parents for a loop, especially me). But she gets it and all this time I have been pushing letter sounds a writing when what she is really good at is math. Is this my child? And yes, I did raise my fist to my chest and pull down a silent, proud, and relieved, "Yessss".
Nyah before school this morning, showing off her necklace she made.
...and this little one was then begging for her picture too.
And finally, Elsa showed she knows more than I imagined this morning as I went into Nyah's room and found her lying on Nyah's pillow, just relaxing (when did she figure out how to climb up on the bed?) and when I went to wipe her snotty nose and she started blowing her nose. She actually knows how to blow her nose,  and did it at the right time and on cue. Really? Who taught her this and when? Where was I?

My children are passing me by, I think this is my clue to wake up and get with it. The are awesome unbelievable girls and I love every minute of watching them grow.  Thanks for keeping me fresh and on my toes girls.
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