Tuesday, May 31

Summer Days and the Name Game

I am up early this morning, which in my life, up early only technically qualifies if I am up before the girls. So happy I was able to get this huge body out of bed this morning so I could write a little. It's getting a little uncomfortable to sleep in one of the two positions us prego ladies are allowed to sleep in, left side/right side and turning over is just becoming a chore. I lay there and think and procrastinate until finally I make myself switch sides. Can't believe its come to this. 

I can't seem to get out of vacation mode (and used to the air conditioning) and get into a routine, though I have to often remind myself that I am not technically on vacation. Staying up late, sleeping in, shopping for cheap food because we can, no plan for daily activities, flying by the seat of our pants, and of course, little to no routine for the girls as family shows up and always has something awesome for them to do. They are loving every minute.
Big day for Nyah yesterday, she mastered riding her bike and swinging alone. Both serious summertime skills. I am thoroughly enjoying catching these girls up on the activities of an Indiana summer.
Besides all the vacationing and play, my mind has been occupied thinking of boy names. We have decided on a new middle name for the little guy. He was going to be George, Jr all the way, but George (my husband George, see how confusing) is so sweet and let me/us have the middle name since I am not really ready to call a precious little baby, George (no offense to all the George's out there). Definitely a name he needs to grow into. George's middle name is Patrick, which we could call the baby, but I lie awake at night envisioning someone call our boy, Pat, which is something I absolutely can't live with (once again, no offense to all of the Pats of the world, I am sure you are totally rocking the name). 

So we are constantly brainstorming names that fit with the first name George, contemplating a family name or something more esthetic, and of course scouring name websites which can kiss it because they absolutely suck. The girls names came so easy, not so much with the boy names. We have a few in mind but who knows what will stick in the next four weeks leading up to his arrival.
So we are off to start another day of beautiful randomness with family and friends in this great state of Indiana. Happy long summer days to everyone.

Friday, May 27

Loving Limbo

Christmas morning, 2011, or in my children's life, something even better. Waking up at Nana's house after a full day of flying across oceans arriving asleep in the wee hours of the morning to their new temporary home. They woke up and realized they hit the jackpot, cash money. They found their paradise. St. Croix who? They are in heaven, in a frenzy since we arrived and they just can't stop. 
We are really enjoying our days here so far, family time like woah, and its awesome. Something we all really needed but just weren't aware of.  
I feel like I have traveled back in time. I am seeing everyone from my life past (enjoy introducing George to them all), cleaning out stuff from my old room dating back to high school to make room for my fam, showing Ny my old school, and the list goes on and disgustingly on. So quaint here, so familiar.

The question keeps coming up from many, "Do you all live here?" (We might stick out a little, not sure.) There is no simple answer to the question. Limbo is what we are in, stuck somewhere between island time and Christmas morning and loving every minute. 

Monday, May 23

Mega Tings

This morning was a special morning. A little big girl, alone time spent with my growing girl before school, discussing big things over coffee (sounds good, but more like a light drink for momma and a juice and pasty for kid) at the new, posh coffee shop on island. 
So stateside, so Starbucks like, its scary. Literally. Guess it's a good warm up for me, a chance to test the water so I won't be so blindsided by the always shocking entrance back into life on the mega mainland. The land of fast moving, busy people, interstates, fashion, mega everything- over stimulating all of my Virgin senses.
As I watch Ny devour her pastry, not a care in the world, she looks at me, raises her eyebrows and nods. Our secret code that, damn, this food is good. I can tell she finds pastries are one of the right things in this world, finally something fair. Unlike lost jobs, lost plans, lost dreams. A legitimate excuse to eat sugar in the morning, passed as acceptable for breakfast by someone I am sure she would like to thank, maybe even hug. 
We enjoyed this early morning moment, the calm before the storm, time together where everything is still the same, as it has been, still familiar. 
Because I know the rest of my days here will be devoted to these guys, flat rate and parcel post boxes, our new companions. Packing our last few possessions, as the girls entertain themselves while their parents go crazy, stress, analyze and reanalyze how this will all work, attempting to solve the unsolvable million piece jig saw puzzle of what is important in life, what stays, what goes, what we really need, what we don't, what gets donated. This is beyond packing for vacation, this is packing for life, though leaving so much behind. We are now a light family, our lives condensed to a few boxes and suitcases, nomads until we find a new home to start over in. Leaving the place where it all began.
St. Croix, circa 2007, a few months after discovering Nyah would soon be joining me in life. My constant companion, my island girl, my coffee buddy for the morning life in our journey together, where ever that may take us.

Friday, May 20

This One's for Africa

The awesome place that is Nyah's preschool had a special African Week this week, part of a series in their studies of the continents. Luckily, her school is a miniature United Nations and many of the continents happen to be where the kids and/or their parents have once called home. Nyah's teacher hasn't requested any of my knowledge about Franklin, Indiana yet. Not quite sure why...

So this week was for Africa. The kids brought African treasures from home, ate African food, sang African songs, read African stories and did a million other great things, with one of the mom's from Ethiopia, which I know little about because Nyah only reports when I make my daily inquiry into what she did at school is that she did, "Work." 

This is the little beauty who greeted me at the door yesterday afternoon after George picked her up from school. I know I am her mother and think she is the best thing on Earth, ever, but sometimes I can't help it, she just takes my breath away. I am sure the screaming fit she threw when her teacher tried to take this African outfit off of her to return before leaving school wasn't breathtaking, but I wasn't there so George had the pleasure of handling that one. They ended up letting her keep the outfit anyway, thank goodness.
Of course, she had to show off her best African dance moves she had learned that day.
This afternoon the parents were invited for an African Celebration finale and I went, (George stayed home with our little marathon runner) thinking I would see the kids perform a little somethin' somethin', I would take some pics, sample some African treats, and find it absolutely perfect because I was watching my child. 

But oh no, this is what I found on this Friday. 

The African drums get me every time. The beat always manages to lure me into its trance. Amazing.

Typical, real typical. Seems I always learn as much as Nyah does from the events at her preschool. PRESCHOOL, I remind you. Should I be embarrassed by this? I just appreciate the diversity and culture she (and I) are exposed to on a daily basis at her little school, because, honestly, I will take all I can get. Guess its been worth every penny, right George?   
Nyah written in Amharic

Wednesday, May 18

Scary Tales

We began our night time routine as usual tonight, as we do every night due to Nyah's need for repetition which I have wrote about before. Dinner, bath, read, teeth, potty, bed, songs with scratching, kisses, water, another kiss and done (if we're lucky). 

On this particular night, as many nights before, Nyah chose to read the story of Hansel and Gretel. Someone gave us this story, a story I was not familiar with. The pictures are seriously faded with the characters molded from clay. Its a special book and understand why she is so drawn to it. Its odd, you can't help but stare at the pages and strange characters. 

Tonight I began the story and told it as I always do but kind of felt bad because honestly, I am not giving Ny the whole truth. I have to make up the story as I go because, hello, has anyone read this story? I remember my first time reading the story, I almost choked as I read the words and of course immediately stopped. Wasn't aware I needed to prescreen fairy tales prior to reading them. 
I will admit, I am a bionafied wuss- no scary movies, try to limit the bad images that I allow into my brain, jump when a door closes, etc. With that said, I might be sheltering Ny and creating another wuss but I just can't bring myself to tell my three year old about kids who's stepmother doesn't want them, abandons them in the woods, kids who eat a gingerbread house, only to be invited in by a cannibalistic witch who captures them, locks Hansel in a cage to fatten him up to eat while she enslaves Gretel only to be outwitted by the kids, pushed in the wood burning stove to be burned alive. 

Who decided this German fairy tale was appropriate for children? What is the moral in this story, as I thought all of the classic fairy tales seem to have. Um, be good or your parents will abandon you, especially if you happen to have a step mother, or don't trust old woman, or keep an eye out for cannibals. Wtf? 

The story disturbs and scares me to say the least so I just make up my own story and leave it at that and hope the tale never comes up with her teacher or other kids someday when she will have to be all like, "What, you mean Hansel and Gretel didn't get lost during a picnic and the kind old woman helped them home and they all lived happily ever after?" 

I can't imagine if I actually read her the story word for word, she would be up all night. She already has enough to worry about before bed, like moco jumbies, what she is doing when she wakes up, who is taking her to school, and if she can have juice in the morning the second her eyes open. Maybe she is onto me, onto the fact that I am not telling her the whole story which is why she keeps asking me to read the story over and over again.

So here is my official apology, to you Hansel and Gretel, I love you and am sure you were adorable in your creators head, but your story is sad. But I am mostly sorry to you Nyah, just can't bring myself to expose you to the oddness of the world quite yet. I am your mom and thats my job.

Welcome to The Good Life

The last minute visits with friends lately have been bitter sweet, both making the sadness creep up my throat that yes, this is really happening. We are moving. And yet the other reality that, yes, we are moving which brings out the tiniest tinge of excitement for new discoveries, really not knowing what is the universe has in store for us but having all the confidence in the world that it will all work out, because it always dose. 

Nyah had a memorable goodbye visit with one of her friends, who she usually hangs with at our playdates on Wednesdays. These two friends have just hit it off from the beginning, they love each other, and I enjoy the the mom time equally as much, double bonus. Nyah got invited to play at her friends house this weekend, really her first time playing at a friends house and I'm afraid it happened. Remember being a kid, thinking everything someone else had was absolutely rad, down to their dishes, siblings and parents? Well, after Nyah's first glimpse of what life in someone else's house was like, she didn't want to leave. She would have moved in if given the option. It all started with this.
The badass Cadillac. Sadly, Cadillacs are one of those toys that my children will probably never own (along with Nintendos, (or whatever they're called these days), and cell phones). Not sure why, no strong reason, they just won't. I have become such a minimalist in ways since becoming a parent. (And I will come back to this post in many years when my children have all this stuff I just listed and remember to never say never, because motherhood always has you doing the unexpected.)
Nyah's friend was like a driving prodigy. Better than me, I'm afraid. She rocked those gears, reversing and spinning the wheel, getting herself out of sticky situations with ease. I couldn't help but laugh seeing these girls cruising around together, Nyah thoroughly enjoying being a passenger. Nyah got behind the wheel once and a head on collision into a tree was the immediate result. We've got to work on that.
The afternoon continued with playing, screaming, getting dirty, and swimming, which by the way was followed by towels heated in the dryer for them to dry off with, and then hot chocolate since they were cold. Hot chocolate, in the Caribbean? Who thinks of this, well this awesome mom did and after Nyah's first taste of the warm milky goodness, she finally gave me a look like, "What the heck, what is wrong with you?" "Stop depriving me of all that is good in the world, woman."

Nyah cried all the way home (I kinda felt like it too, but for other reasons) when I finally drug her crying a pleading out of this kid heaven back to the reality of her life. I am sure this won't be the last wake up call for her, or exposure to the good life. But as I have so often done, after hanging out with people's family who seemed to have it all, I always ended up coming home to my family and being thankful, because they were mine. I hope Nyah had a similar feeling as she was crawling into her bed that night, exhausted, with thoughts of Cadillacs and hot chocolate dancing in her head. 

Tuesday, May 17

Holla If Ya Hear Me

As I was finishing up writing my 111th blog post this morning, I realized I totally blasted past the celebration of my century post (which is nothing, I know, in this major era of blogsters). I kept watching the blog tally in the few weeks approaching this mega number and couldn't help feeling a bit excited with a side of accomplishment. I mean, I started typing this little bloggidy knowing good and well in the back of my head that I probably wouldn't keep it up, not due to lack of desire, but due to the congestion in my brain that tends to occur from the arm pulling business of being a mom, wife and nurse (sometimes). But here I am, and on this day, and the day after the major 100th post, I honestly forgot to notice the blog entry number and just typed along, content in my own little head world. 

So my awareness and conscious have been in full effect the past couple of days, and as I am sneaking up on my first year of blogging I just keep having these reoccurring, nagging thoughts of, should I keep this up, what is the point in all of it

Come on, we're moving, its back to reality and who wants to read about a mom who lives in suburbia (or wherever we end up), and that is, if anyone is even reading? I know my family reads, they would read and praise, mark me as genius no matter what I did (they've always been pretty awesome like that). Its hard not to notice the number of those reading or feed off of the comments readers leave. As I was looking back on old posts, what made them good, bad, funny, I read my first post ever:

Thursday, June 3

Lets Get This Party Started

I did it, I started blogging. Trendy, I know.  Couldn't help myself, life is too precious not to record this stuff! 

My main reason for starting this blog is to make sure our family, both near and far, can share in our life. I know I am not the blogging type, I am not a writer nor do I claim to be. I am using this blog as journal to record this beautiful life I have been blessed to live. I don't want to forget a single second. I also think it will be nice for the girls to look back and see what inspired and motivated me at this time in my life. So this blog is for our girls, my family, and me. Enjoy if you choose.

After taking this in, I gave up on the negativity, humbly reminded of why I am doing this, why I have let writing become a part of me, an outlet, a creative fix. I realized after looking back that it really doesn't matter who is reading or how many followers I have because this is all bigger than me. Recording our lives, our stories, our history is all for them; my family, and a blog just happens to be the medium. 

As I am rejuvenating and rebooting my focus, I keep reminding myself that I also want to give my children (girls and boy), a view of, "What inspired and motivated me at this time in my life.", (which I need to write more about by the way) (maybe I should put a sticky on the fridge reminding me since my memory and I haven't really been on good terms lately). I am finding a clear focus and purpose is a good thing. 

But I also hope the three of them realize after reading each and every post that they are a major part of what inspire and motivate me beyond my ability to put into words with their energy, their fire, curiosity, strength and awe inspiring way they are growing before my eyes into the newborns, toddlers, little kids they are destined to be. 
{insert photo of baby boy here}

I am refreshed, amped up, ready for my next one hundred posts in my attempts to record this breath taking life and thankful beyond words that I will always have my first post to keep me focused and motivated, reminding what its all about. So lets do this.

Thirty Four Weeks (With Surprise Guest)

Here we go, thirty-four weeks. The pregnancy website compares the little guy (in weight) to being the size of an average cantaloupe. Unfortunately, a cantaloupe is the last thing that comes to my mind as I look in the mirror in the morning as I try on yet another shirt dress with fingers crossed that something, anything will fit, please. Hoping I can make the limited amount of maternity clothes and non-maternity dresses I have last through this last month. Something like beach ball seems more appropriate to describe little dude at this point in our relationship. 
Oh yeah, I know, I'm huge. 

Despite my staggering size, the most miraculous thing has happened this week. I seemed to have gotten my second wind. By this time in my pregancy with both girls I was beastly and rolling around moaning feeling too short of breath and swollen to accomplish much. Lately though, I actually feel quick on my feet, it's the oddest thing. I can carry both girls with ease, go about my day without much thought to my limitations. I am savoring these feelings of strength, liveliness and health. 

I couldn't be more thankful for this surprise gift of energy because it is on. We leave in one week and between life and the girls, little time is left to sit, be lazy and eat ice cream (as I did with my other pregnancies) and obsess about every detail of what is to come. 
Time here is flying by. Besides packing and preparing for our departure we have been spending some time with the awesome friends we have made during our time on the island. I was out for coffee with a friend this morning and ran into a million other moms/friends and realize what an awesome network of supportive Mommas and women live here on island. Hope I am able to find this nook wherever in this world we end up. But for now, back to work, much to do.

Sunday, May 15


George sold his Jeep this week, the ultimate island ride, but not before the girls had one last go around with her.
How can a car (a mere material possession) become so synonymous with a person? This Jeep was George in an odd way, what he rode in daily or for fun since I met him way back when. As old couples begin to look like each other and complete each others sentences, to the girls and I, George and his Jeep had this going on. It was all him.
The girls knew the unique hum of the engine to an eerie perfection as he would turn our corner, arriving home. The sound of the door cuing Nyah to assume her usual position, hiding under a sheet or something and Elsa to run to the door shrieking. Same thing. Everyday.
It's a shame I had to crop the bottom half of all these pictures out. Nothing more adorable than to see these bare little ba'nas hard at work. The concentration and true sense of purpose and determination the girls showed while washing their Dad's beloved Jeep was priceless, their love for him shining through in their labors. I am sure to the girls, Dad will always drive a red Jeep (but Nyah could only dream it was a rental car).
Elsa was obviously just happy to have her clothes off, finally. 

Friday, May 13

Sounds of Our Nights

Last night was a special night in our house. George was fixing the air conditioner in our room, trying to get our place in tip top shape for a renter, so as the AC was sealing, drying (something) and couldn't be used for twenty-four hours. 

Being that it is getting hot here, we are getting frequent showers (air is so stagnate prior to rain) and my thighs are rubbing together at this point in my pregnancy, I have been favoring that AC at night, actually craving it. The alternative is waking up drenched in sweat which is neither hot nor cool. Seriously. So since the AC was in repair, I prepped myself for an interesting night of rest, window open, fan on full blast (actually George wouldn't let me but on medium speed), I made my attempt. As I was lying there, alone, Elsa deep into her dreams (her crib is still in our room), I was overwhelmed by the sounds of the night. Sounds I used to be lulled to sleep by nightly.  

I am so thankful the noisy air machine broke down so I could be reminded of the soothing cadence of the bush dwellers symphony they put on each night. The relaxing melody could put anyone to sleep, including me. 

I found this video of a long, long time ago, and often revisit it not only because it captures a monumental moment in Elsie's life but because of the sounds. The sounds of the night. We were so concerned about Elsa as a baby that we wouldn't run the AC, worried that we might damage her precious lungs, wanting to give them every opportunity to mature, in fresh air only. Seems almost silly now. I remember crawling under her mosquito net this night, mesmerized by everything that was Elsa at seven months, not even realizing I was capturing some of my favorite sounds of our island home. The sound of the perfect summer night which St. Croix always is. 

Not sure if you can hear what I can, so turn up your volume and listen to the sweet rhythm.

I am so thankful I have this video to revisit on the nights I am lonely for St. Croix and her sounds, just one of the many things I will miss about this place.

I feel like I should just make a new category on here, Things I Will Miss About St. Croix. I could and am seriously considering it but that might just be pitiful. Moving on, I am. Really, I am trying. Trying real hard.

Thursday, May 12

Her Secret

I was finally able to catch this rare shot of Elsa before her aerobics class last night.
Wait, how else do you think she maintains her amazing figure or we are able to get enough energy out of her to get her to go to bed at night?
Hard work my friends. Wow, they really grow up so fast.

Wednesday, May 11

Moving On

We finally made our decision. We are packing up and moving on to new horizons with a pit stop first in Indiana for the month of June to birth us a baby. We decided to go now because apparently its frowned upon to fly in the ninth month of pregnancy. Guess no one finds it cool to see a mom deliver a baby on an airplane. Whatever, wimps. 

I have no hesitation in going away for the summer and know the girls will have an absolute ball in Indiana, the land of green grass, swing sets, corn fields and family at every corner. I would be lying if I tried to convince anyone, including myself, that I am not a little intimidated by the thought of tending to three babies, alone. It's not the baby that scares me (sleep, feed, sleep, feed). It is these little ones that frighten me. 
I can't imagine they would be too satisfied being cooped up all summer waiting for baby bruda to finish napping. Destruction of, well, everything would be the ultimate result. Indiana will be good for them where I can open the door and they can run and run to their hearts content with a loving family member not far off their tails.

Now to just figure out the best method to convince a three year old that she is moving. For good. That her room will no longer be her room. That she isn't going back to school. So far when I try to explain this to her, she can't ever get past the fact that she, "Is going to Nana's house, to use her own garden tools, and swing on the two swings, and she gets to bring a suitcase." I guess she will figure it out. Kids are extremely adaptable, so I've heard. 

Unfortunately my child is far too familiar with airports, saying goodbye, and the geography of the world, or at least the places where her favorite people live and travel to often. She announced to her class yesterday when discussing full names that her name is, "Nyah St. Croix". 
Wherever we live, whatever we do, I guess I can rest easy knowing we have planted the seeds of freedom, curiosity, discovery and travel in her that will hopefully stick with her always. These girls are Cruzan through and through. We or they will be back, no doubt about it.

Sunday, May 8

Mother's Day Tradition

As I am sitting here so early in this morning (no sleeping in for me) looking at my Mother's Day card, I can't help but wonder, does it get much better than this? 

To me, there is no more perfect occasion for a homemade card or gift than Mother's Day. This is one of the events of motherhood I have always imagined and looked forward to because I always took creating homemade treasures for my mom pretty serious as a kid and so far I have not been let down as Nyah is arriving to this sweet age. 

The gifts, cards, pictures, masterpieces she has given me have far exceeded my expectations of this anticipated moment. These gifts are priceless. To me, and I am sure I am speaking for many mommas out there, there is nothing better than a homemade gift from the heart and hands of the little ones you love most. The hard work of those little fingers, the thought, the dedication and the pride (she had to give me this on Friday when she got home from school, just couldn't help herself), there is nothing more rewarding.
Each year, Nyah's teachers helps the students make cards like these for Mother's and Father's Day and they are perfect. Words spoken straight from the mouth of the little one, word for word.  So we all now see what Nyah's priorities are in life are; juice, candy, and lipstick. I am actually surprised she didn't mention Nana's name in here somewhere, another one of her main obsession in life. 

So, Happy Mother's Day to all. Enjoy celebrating the woman who brought you into this world, today and everyday.

P.S. Happy Mother's Day, Mom, your homemade card is in the mail.

Friday, May 6

Detangler: Our Lifesaver

Where would I be without this product?
Since I a big fan of leaving our girls' curls natural and free, instead of like this, detangler has become my go to product. Yes, something as simple as detangler makes my life, our morning routine, and most importantly, my girl's hair lives go a lot smoother. I admit, I am nothing without this product, the matted curls blessing our girl's head would dominate me each morning and our children would end up with hair like the cat at Nyah's school. They call her Rasta Kitty and she gets her name honestly.

Rasta Kitty is an old, old cat who has outlived many previous owners. She is definitely living each of her nine lives to the fullest and her hair seems to be her ultimate proof of this. She is a cat who adventures both inside and outiside of the school and her long greyish hair is matted into little locks, which is where she gets her name, obviously. All of the children love Rasta Kitty, (not so sure the feeling is mutual though).

Not sure the kids would be so kind if we left Nyah's hair to the elements each morning, though they probably wouldn't notice. Dread locks would be the ultimate result if I did not have the daily battle with the beautiful curls on top of our girls' heads. It doesn't matter if we wash it and comb it nice the night before, braid it before bed, or wrap it before bed, they will wake up with matted hair which isn't really the most conducive environment for a brush. So, I get out the detangler and go to town I am so thankful for this product. I can't even get into if they took a dip in the salty Caribbean, there is nothing to do but wash their hair using almost a bottle of conditioner.

We aren't loyal to one brand of detangler, just relieved when the few grocery stores here are stocked with this product, as with most stuff here, we take what we can get. And just for the record, this is what Nyah's hair looks like when I brush it when it dry without detangler. Yeah. And by the way, she still prefers her hair to be braided.

My next challenge in the hair department will be our little boy's hair. Maybe his dad will just chop it off but I know the treehugger in me will be rallying strong and I won't want to cut his hair and managing his curls will no doubt be a challenge. The look of Rasta Kitty might be in his future.

Thursday, May 5

Mango Madness

Oh no, not another mango post! Well, what can I say, we have been eating a lot of mangoes around here.  Can you believe I just learned how to cut the thing properly? Seriously, how did it take me so many years of island living to learn this important skill?  

Actually, I am not too surprised it took me so long to learn the cutting technique considering that prior to moving to St. Croix, I don't think I had ever eaten or maybe even seen a mango in the raw? Embarrassing, I know. I remember trying my first taste of the magical fruit here and not totally knowing if I should eat the skin or not, just kinda hung back and watched others before I dove in. 

Today I will share with you my newly acquired knowledge of how to cut a mango, for snacking. When cooking with mango, I cut it a completely different way. We do it two ways around here, the civilized (clean) way and then the other way, which is really messy, depending on the ripeness of the fruit.

So here is the first way we cut the mango, the way we do it at home when a knife is handy. I thought I knew how to do this and then yesterday I realized I was constantly cutting into the tough seed in the middle of the fruit. My knowledgeable island boy husband then revealed to me the key fact that I must cut along the long end of the oval of the mango, like so. Of course, wait to cut  the mango until its ripe or feels soft to touch, about the softness of a ripe avocado.
Repeat on the other side.
Then pick up the slices and scoop the delicious fruit out with your teeth, using the skin as a bowl and a way to keep fingers clean, but don't eat the skin.
Finally, peel the center and eat all the goodness left around the seed you wish.

The next way we eat mangos is how we do it when out in nature with no knife in sight. Simply start at the top and pull the peel down all around leaving the skin intact at the bottom of the fruit so there is a place to hold the fruit without getting your hands covered in mango juice.
Then devour. 
Be careful, your face might look like this after eating a mango this way (smile included). Trust me, its inevitable.
I am sure this is probably old news but to most of you but for some, hopefully, the lightbulb just went off as it did for me yesterday. 

Hope this helps so next time you are in the islands you will look like a professional and not embarrass yourself as I did by trying to eat the mango peel. And please don't think I am stingy, I would mail you all mangoes but the USDA doesn't think it's a good idea and if they got smashed en route, it might result in a huge mess by the time it arrives which really wouldn't be fun for anyone.

Sending mango love to everyone. 

Wednesday, May 4

Tirty Two Weeks

It's pronounced "tree" here. As in, Nyah is tree years old, its tree o'clock, tirty tree cents is your change, and we will soon have tree chilren dem'.
But I will still only have two arms so I am wondering how I will accomplish all of the hugs, snuggles, squeezes and pats these two girls so love need. (Okay, who am I trying to kid here? I can't keep my hands off them).

When one wants to sit in my lap, the other is never far behind. I am sure this will only be personified when baby bruda arrives because Elsie (as her sister calls her) is pretty into snuggling, with two fingers in her mouth and blanket by her face. Baby bruda protruding in the way or not, she finds her spot. Obviously the little guy gets his fare share of nudges as these little bodies try to get comfortable.

But, I guess thats what awesome dads like George are for. Because combined we will have four arms and then we will outnumber the tree of them. Four arms will be enough arms for anyone and everyone to be held and loved on, all around, all the time. Tree will be okay, we can do this. Right?
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