Acht

In German it sounds like a sneeze, which is appropriate for someone who sneezes as much as she does.  Bean is eight months old.  That means we've kept her alive for eight months.  I've been a momma for eight months.  We are officially closer to one year than zero years.  It is pretty awesome.

I know that the cute thing to do is to dress your baby up in an adorable outfit for their "birthday" photo shoot.  However, we don't really "do" clothes around here.  Meh.  She is adorable nonetheless.  Or maybe more. 

We tried to at least add a cute headband flower thing.

That didn't last very long.

Having a distraction helped with the headband-ing, but not the photo-ing.

Can you see her arms flapping with joy?  She is excited to be so grown up.

We also tried a faux-hawk.  It was pretty great, for the two minutes that it lasted.  This is also the necessary "picture by the same stuffed animal every month so you can see how big she really is" photo.

And this one is just cool perspective to show you how cool she is.  Obviously very cool.

Conclusion:  Being momma to this Bean is the coolest thing I've ever done, and I've done a lot of cool stuff.

The Hardy Boys Go To The Beach

A couple weeks ago, we got to go to one of the most beautiful beaches on the island with - get this - WONDERMAN.  It's true, things are a bit less insane once fourth semester is over.  We love that aspect of things.  LOVE it.

So, the beach is called Batibou Bay.  We quickly found ourselves looking forward to what sounded like the title of a Hardy Boys novel - The Mystery of the Baby at Batibou Bay.  It has a ring to it, eh?

Anyway, I'd heard it was amazing, but somehow never gotten to this particular beach.  Our friend, M, simply could not fathom how long we've been here without going.  It's hard to explain the logistics of working and then being pregnant and simple inertia culminating in me not going to all the lovely places there are to see here.  I am so grateful I got to come back and that Bean got to see it, too.

It is pretty stellar, as beaches go.

And surprisingly un-hot.  Maybe the copious shade is an indicator, but I was still surprised.

It really is the perfect beach.  Sun, shade, sand, enough waves to be fun, not so much that it's ever (well, while we were there, I'm sure it has its moments) scary.  We could've spent hours and hours more there than we did. 

Bean got some sweet Daddy Time:

And got sand in every crevice, not the least of which were fat rolls (delicious!):

She tried to eat a sandy leaf.  Wonderman tried to stop her:

And then I let her do whatever she wanted (I've tried to explain to Wonderman my philosophies on the importance of children being allowed to explore, and even eat dirt, but he's not buying it.  Still, I'm the one around and in charge most of the time, so eat dirt she will, if she pleases, and she certainly did please.):

She also got to eat some bananas.  We're still working on technique.

She took a nap on the beach.

We found a leaf the size of Bean.  Well, bigger than Bean, really.  BTB, if you want the official term.

All in all, it was a great family outing.

Conclusion:  Solving mysteries is rad.  All the cool kids are doing it.  The Hardy Boys are totally coming back.

Family Portraits

So, we had a friend of ours take some family portraits a couple months ago, but I didn't want to post them until our moms got their Mother's Day package of pictures.  And then I forgot.  Oops. 

But . . . Here they are!  We are so grateful to Paige and her wondercamera! 

 

 

 

Wonderman and I pretty much look exactly the same as two months ago, but it's crazy to look at these photos and recognize just how much Bean has changed.  Wow.  Too bad Paige is gone.  Michelle?

Conclusion:  This family is forever, yo (and thank goodness)!

ps - we sure made a beautiful baby, no? 

Siete!

It's true, I haven't posted in a bit.  Meh.  We're still here, living and loving it up in Dominica.  Wonderman started his fifth semester yesterday.  There are things that make me anxious for these eleven weeks to hurry by (can you say "heat rash?"), but generally I'm already getting pretty sad that we'll be leaving, most likely forever, Dominica so soon. 

On a more important note (I may catch up later, but we're going to start with current news), today is Bean's SEVEN MONTH BIRTHDAY!  We are having tons of fun.  She is getting bigger and cuter and more fun every day.  She is a pro roller and she's getting really good at staying upright when I sit her up, but she has yet to find that sitting position on her own.  She is toothless, but I can't say that I mind.  She is loving solid food and thriving in the warm weather.  I have to admit I already wonder how I will function if I have babies that I can't just leave naked when it's convenient, because it's too cold.  Especially as she begins eating, naked is MUCH easier.  Maybe Alaska really is out of the question.  Sigh.

Anyway, here's a naked picture of her and her daddy (only Bean is naked, don't worry) at exactly seven months:

I know, she's a little weird-out-of-focus, but it's by far the cutest one we got today.  Gosh, I love that kid!  And her daddy!

Conclusion: Seize the pineapple!  Celebrate the day!

A Room Full of Idiots

I remember hearing once that only a baby can turn a group of intelligent adults into a room full of babbling idiots.  As Wonderman and I are finding things that make Bean laugh, I see that it's true.  We will do ANYTHING to hear that sweet sound.  But then, who wouldn't?

This is her reaction to a bouncing ball.  Who knew that was so funny?

ps - Wonderman and I both also quite like the end when she decides she's ready to move on to another amusement.  Marked and Hilar.

Conclusion:  It's the simple things.

Bookworm

Bean seems to be having tendencies like her momma, i.e. she is a devourer of books:

Conclusion:  It may be tough someday to pry her away from a good book to clean her room, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

The Very Sad Story of the Rhubarb Jam

I may have mentioned once or twice that life in Dominica is different than life in the United States.  Yeah, yeah, it's an island, it's surrounded by water, it's hot and steamy, it's a third world country, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  What it really comes down to is stuff.  Americans have lots of stuff.  And we like being able to buy more stuff.  We also tend to buy stuff that moonlights as food (aka processed food that makes cooking simple-de-dimple).  We are generally very stuff-y, we Americans.  Where life on the island gets tricky is in the lack of stuff.  All things American are, quite understandably, imported.  This cuts down on the variety and availability of stuff, while significantly augmenting the price.  It would make sense for us to live on locally produced food while we are here (or really anywhere, since apparently eating locally is more important than eating organically [except for this article I read that talked about how to feed that trend local farms are going to all kinds of crazy lengths to produce things that are not native to their climate, which requires treatments that negate all the positives of eating locally so you have to eat not just locally, but what should normally grow locally, not oranges grown in Idaho or something crazy like that]).  But we don't always. 

One thing that is an interesting issue is jam.  The local jam can be good; it can also be weird.  Guava and pineapple are definitely more common than grape or strawberry.  However, sometimes grape and strawberry can be found.  They are generally quite expensive, not the brand we would normally buy, and full of sugar and/or (gasp) high fructose corn syrup (absolutely not good for you).  We buy it and eat it anyway. 

Last Saturday brought an important campus event - The Fourth Semester Sale.  This is where students leaving the island sell off all the stuff they brought with them that they aren't taking back to the states.  I love buying food at this sale.  There is always some awesome stuff there that you just can't get anywhere else (like chili seasoning mix [I didn't even know it existed], thanks Sindy!).  One especially good find this time around was a jar of strawberry rhubarb jam made with sugar (not corn syrup), and not too much of it at all.  I was thrilled.  It cost us 8 EC, which is about $3 USD.  I love rhubarb pie, and had to assume the jam would be just as delightful.  I am salivating just thinking about it.

The next day, during breakfast, I got the jam out to look at it lovingly, read its label, and ponder how it should be eaten.  Bean was perched in her little chair (that I LOVE, what a great purchase), grabbing at things, as she is wont to do.  Her reach increases daily, as does her ability and strength.  However, she also spends quite a bit of time just patting anything and everything she can reach, with great gusto.  The idea seems to be, if you can't grab, pat.  Pat may be too soft of a word.  Slap?  Smack?  Bang?  You get the idea.  At times she reaches for things that are not particularly baby-friendly, but that are unfortunately baby-appealing (it's a cruel, cruel world).  The jar of jam was one of those things.  I put it next to her thinking, "Ah, she can enjoy the patting of it and I will keep an eye/hand on it to keep it safe."  Have I mentioned it was a glass jar?  Yeah.  The wildly swinging mitts of Bean were too quick for me.  I swear I actually had my hand on the jar and she somehow knocked it backwards off the counter (yes, I put her little chair on the counter, and yes I swear it's solid).  I reached just as wildly, but too late.  I saw, gratefully (well, hopefully), that it was going to hit the couch that is right behind the counter.  Not only is the couch softer than our tile floor, it was also piled with laundry (who would've ever thought that my laziness could be a blessing?).  If it hit the couch and rested, all would be well and Momma would've learned a lesson painlessly.  But that's not how lessons go, is it?  It did hit the couch.  And it bounced.  And broke open on our tile floor.  It had never even been opened.  I'll be honest, I considered tasting the bit that was on top and I could tell wouldn't have any glass or floor-dirt contamination.  I refrained, but very sadly.  The jam is gone.  Now we are left with nothing.  And I just made bread, too.

Conclusion:    The edge of the cliff really is as dangerous as your seminary teacher told you.