Nesting

There's a tree just across the street from our house that every night fills with . . . well, Ask.com and Google tell me they are called Cattle Egrets.  So we'll go with that.  They are pretty white birds and they congregate nightly in this one tree.  They seem to ignore all the other trees.  It makes that one look pretty magnificent as the sun is setting. 

 

 

Conclusion:  It is easy to forget that what is familiar is often also spectacular.

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.

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!

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.

Travelin'

We took Bean to Roseau.  It's a trip of about 30 miles that takes an hour.  In a crowded van.  I was a little worried about it.  She was a real trooper (unlike the fictional troopers of Star Wars fame) and traveled quietly and happily.  She passed out on the way home.  We got a picture the only way we can these days - with the video camera.  The video actually gives you an idea of what the ride is like.  It may even give you motion sickness.  It's still adorable.

Before you ask, no she is not in a car seat, just my lap.  Carseats are not really an option around here, at least not with the public transport system.  She is protected by my lovin' arms and angels.  Lots of prayer goes into it, you know?

Conclusion:  When high-risk activity is the norm, it seems safe, but it's still high-risk.

Carnival Miracle

It's like a Christmas miracle, only different.

Have you heard of Carnival?  Do you have any idea what it's like?  Let me 'splain.  Ok, so I've experienced three Carnival seasons, but one was spelled Carnaval, so it's different.  None of the three have I actively participated in, so maybe my descriptions and views are skewed by my general innocence and/or prudish-ness.  

 My first season was in Portugal.  That's the one with the weird spelling, cuz, you know, it's written in Portuguese.  I was serving my LDS mission in northern Portugal.  It seemed mostly like a cute parade with Halloween costumes.  The end.  Maybe I missed the real fun, since I was busy proselyting and stuff.  Still, it wasn't anything so crazy it really seemed like it interfered with my life, unlike a friend of mine who served a mission in Brazil and had to spend two weeks inside his apartment in order to avoid all the rampant sinning.  Portugal was no biggie.

My second season was last year in Dominica.  We were already into the middle of the Carnival season before I realized what exactly was going on.  Wonderman and I could not figure out why there was such a constant stream of pounding music night after night (the downfall of living on the main road, close to the city center).  I don't remember how we figured it out.  I do remember cursing it nightly.  I also remember waking up one night in the middle of the night (well, around 3 am) to music louder than I had ever before imagined in my entire life.  The pounding bass was so loud I could literally feel it in my bones.  It was loud.  Wonderman had a test the next day.  He was not happy.  We got out of bed to see what was going on.  We saw a semi truck with the trailer stacked completely full with speakers, driving (read "creeping") down the road in front of our house.  There were also flashing lights to make it even harder to sleep through.  Following the truck of speakers was a crowd of people dancing (read "stumbling") behind.  Maybe their movement was such because of the speed (read: "lack of speed") of the truck.  Maybe it was because of the ungodly hour.  Maybe it was alcoholic impairment.  Maybe it was all of these things.  It looked lame.  After much grumbling, we returned to bed to toss and turn.  Thankfully, that was essentially the end of the season.

This year, I knew it was coming.  I was mentally preparing a while before it even began.  I was super nervous about dealing with the noise with an infant in the house.  During one of the nights of insanely loud music, we put Bean's crib in the closet space that is the only place in the house without windows, hoping to cut down on her noise disturbance.  She still woke up multiple times in the night.  I was not excited for what I knew was coming (apparently the early morning parade is called j'ouvert (juvé) , meaning: parade that ends at sunrise, which sounds kind of neat and definitely benign, but is really not, unless maybe it is if you're in it but it's not great from the outside).  I expected to just bring Bean from the closet to our bed and spend the night nursing, and then probably the next day nursing as we struggled to recover from the night before.  I miscalculated.  I thought the parade would be tonight/tomorrow morning.  Alas, it caught me by surprise last night/this morning.  I didn't put the baby in the closet.  I had laid Bean down just an hour before after her mid-night feeding when I heard the tell-tale pounding.  I closed all the windows and drapes (every little bit helps) in the house and then waited, essentially right at the foot of Bean's crib, knowing she would be waking up crying in just moments.  The speaker truck got closer and closer and the music got louder and louder.  Literally all the windows and doors in our house were rattling.  Bean stirred.  She curled up and threw her feet down.  The craziness passed, still more than audible for quite some time.  SHE SLEPT THROUGH IT.  Seriously?  The child that wakes up if Wonderman lets his belt buckle rattle at all when he's undressing as we go in to bed (have I told you how fun it is to share a room with an infant that goes to bed five or six hours before we do?) slept through that insanity?  Really?  How is this possible?  I have no idea.  But I am grateful.  I am also tired, since I spent so much time awake and on the alert, waiting for her to need me.  Sigh.  She never did. 

Here's a video I took of the parade this afternoon.  I think it was all students from Ross.  Maybe it's just the university's attempt to make students feel like they're participating, without them having to be awake at 3 am.  I don't know.  It wasn't nearly as loud, so Bean and I went out and watched it.  She seemed to like the music and the colors.  Most importantly, you can see at the head of the parade the insanely large conglomeration of speakers.  The afternoon parade was loud, but still probably four times less loud than it was this morning/last night.  This is not a particularly exciting video, but it's 24 seconds of an interesting bit of culture.  Sorry that I didn't get out there at 3 am to get the real thing.

And now, as I write this, I can hear some pounding music, but at enough of a distance that is bothers me barely at all.  I don't think I have ever been so aware of or so excited for Ash Wednesday.  I will say that I went into town on Saturday and got a taste of the celebration in the air and thought for a minute or two that it might be fun to check out what Carnival was like, even if I don't drink.  I may have been influenced by the really pretty masks I saw for sale.  Maybe.  Anyway, Ash Wednesday will be here soon, soon.  I may never be so aware of it again in my life.  And I'm ok with that.

Conclusion:  It came to pass.

ps - It's strange, I didn't grow up in a culture where Carnival (or Mardi Gras, or even Lent for that matter) was a part of life at all.  Still, I feel like I have a pretty good general understanding of the history of it.  Or I thought I did until this afternoon when my neighbor, Chris (she's Dominican by heritage, but spent most of her adult life in England, still she understands and is part of the culture here - way more than me), was lamenting the continued celebration of Carnival.  She said it heralds back to the days of slavery where slave "owners" would allow only one day for slaves to take time off and celebrate.  She said the costumes' origin was in how the slaves dressed up like their "masters" and their concubines.  I had to agree that maintaining any tradition connected to slavery is lamentable.  I was confused, however, since my understanding of Carnival connects it much more to Catholicism than to slavery.  She should know though, so I accepted.  Until, of course, I checked on Wikipedia (the source of all light and truth).  Wiki made no mention of Carnival's connection to slavery.  In fact, it seemed to be very much a European tradition that connects to other pagan, pre-Christian rituals.  I'm led to doubt Chris.  I'm curious where her understanding of it comes from.  What do you think I should believe?

Brrr!

A week ago Saturday it was cold in the morning.  Perhaps it's been cold in the mornings before, but I used to sleep through the cold part and wake up when the sun was shining and cold was far from my mind.  Bean has helped me to develop at least half of the "early to bed, early to rise" habit, however.  I was sitting on the bed in my next-to-nuthins (which is what I spend most every night and therefore early morning in) and I was cold.  I'd put Bean to bed in merely a diaper, so I assumed she was probably a bit chilly as well.  Out came the sweatshirts and fleece (I was so glad she still fit in the adorable warm traveling outfit we bought just for the trip down here.  It was so cute and one wear just didn't seem like it was enough). 

 It wasn't until later that I realized that perhaps the more logical step would've been to simply close the windows, instead of bundling up.  But you just don't do that in Dominica.  Windows are meant to be open, right?  Anyway, it was kind of fun to snuggle up.

Conclusion:  Sometimes logical solutions aren't as much fun.

Beach Trip Numero Uno

Can I just start by saying black sand gets everywhere?  Instantly.  You think I'm joking.  I'm not.  I swear, within seconds of getting to the beach, Bean had black sand in literally every crevice and fat fold on her body.  Adorable?  Maybe a little.  Annoying?  Maybe a lot.  The paste that was created in her elbow pit as the sand mixed with the sunscreen was pretty funny, though.  I only wish my fat folds were as cute as hers.
 

Bean wasn't too sure what to think about the beach.  She liked us putting the sunscreen on (guess we need to do more baby massage), but she seemed uncomfortable with the sand idea.  Then Wonderman took her into the sea.  There was more skepticism, which was followed quickly by some crying.  We think the moving water was a little too much to start with.  We had never even taken her to the pool.  So, we retraced our steps and took her to the pool. 

It looks kind of idyllic, eh?

She liked that a little better, but withheld judgment until a few days later, at which point she decided she loved it.  I can see a lot of pool trips in her future. 

Conclusion:  Baby steps really are the best way to begin.

ps - Can I do a ps after the conclusion?  I would just like to point out that Wonderman and Bean have the exact same color of skin.  Have I told you about the CNA at the hospital when Bean was born who told me that my daughter looked nothing like me?  She looked like her dad, but not me.  Who tells a woman who has been a mom for all of 24 hours a thing like that?  As I see pictures of her with me and we look almost like we're different races and then she has pictures like this with her dad, I have to accept that maybe we don't look exactly alike.  Sigh.

Little Miss Muffet

So, I haven't written too many posts about the critters here.  There are many things other than mosquitoes (pthhhht on them!) that creep and crawl and sometimes fly in our apartment.  Recently, elephantine spiders have been all the rage.  In fact, knowing, as I'm sure you do, the precious nature of the sleep of an infant (sleeping like a baby, ha! what a silly phrase), you will appreciate the horrific nature of these beasts when I tell you that not once, but TWICE we chose to sacrifice the sleep of Bean in order to kill one of these spiders.  It had to be done.  The day after the second kill, I found a group of ants working diligently to carry up the wall and presumably out the window a spider leg that we had missed in our clean-up.

Sure, it is photographically weak, but ITS LEG IS AS BIG AS A DIME!  Creepy.

Now, let me go back.  I said "we" killed these spiders, but it was really Wonderman.  The first two were all him.  The third was spotted when Bean and I were home alone and she had just fallen asleep.  It was right by the open door that led to her bedroom.  It had been a struggle to get her to dreamland.  I wasn't about to forfeit that if I could avoid it.  That's right, I faced the behemoth and I won - silently.  The silent part took great self-control.  And this time I got slightly better pictures.  This one is for the ick factor:

And this one is just for relative size (Keep in mind that this is the monster curled up in death.  In life, with legs radiating to grotesque lengths, he was much larger):

Conclusion: Sometimes a princess in a tower remains alone and has to fight her own battles.

It Simply Isn't Sound

So, many of you have heard the story of our friend ordering a meatball sandwich at Subway here on the island.  It went something like this:
"I'll have a foot-long meatball sub."
"We don't have enough meatballs for that."
"Ok, I'll take a six-inch."
After this conversation, the person behind her in line ordered a meatball sub.  They received it.
"I thought you didn't have enough meatballs for a twelve-inch sandwich?"
"We don't.  We only have enough for two six inch sandwiches."

That story has come to  exemplify the many idiosyncrasies of logic (?) we find here on the island.  My recent favorite was going to the pizza shop for Friday Fun Day.  A pepperoni pizza cost $43 EC.  A cheese pizza cost $41.  A half and half pizza cost $47.  I asked if they could put pepperoni on just half the pizza, so the other half would be just cheese.  Guess how much that would cost?  Sigh.  $47, of course.  We had all pepperoni.

Conclusion:  It really does require serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

Paradise?

Dominica, being in the tropics and all, gets a lot of sun.  For someone who is brown-ish and "ethnically vague" like I am, this is no big deal.  For someone who is white and pink like Wonderman is, it is a big deal.  Bean takes after her father.  Sigh.  I have come to the conclusion that a person like me (brown and completely unaware of sunscreen) to have a baby like Bean (white, white, white, and a little pink) in a place like Dominica (S-U-N-N-Y) is the perfect storm of bad luck.  Thankfully, I did think (by chance really, but I am very grateful) to buy her a sun hat before we came down.

 Conclusion:  Sometimes protection can be fun.

Eaten Alive

Um, all my posts may begin to seem a little Bean-centered.  Good thing she's so adorable, eh?   (Don't answer that.)

So, we live on a tropical island.  It sounds like paradise.  In many ways it is.  Not so much in all ways.  One not-so-paradisaical element is the beast known as "mosquito."  They always seem to eat the newcomers first.  Both Bean and I seem to count as new-comers.  After just a couple of days here, her little face looked so sad (and yet she grins), with all the bites on it:

And her little arms and legs were worse.  Especially the tender (ok, it's all tender on her) under-arm area, since she always sleeps with her hands above her head as though she is surrendering to a brutal police force.  Thankfully, a friend of ours had a mosquito net he was willing to lend us.  Now she sleeps like this:

The puffy pink spots have GREATLY decreased.  They really didn't seem to bother Bean (although she is just developing enough body awareness to rub her eyes when she's tired, so maybe she doesn't have a way to show that it bothered her), but it definitely makes for a much happier mommy.

Conclusion:  Armor of all kinds has value.

In Hot Water

Bean had a conniption fit during her first bath (I was rebellious and didn't let them bathe her at the hospital.  I probably would've waited even longer than I did to bathe her if her daddy hadn't been leaving.  He wanted to bathe her, so she got her first bath at two days old).  Both Wonderman and I were doing everything we could think of to make it less horrible, as her tiny body turned purple from screaming so hard.  Bath time slowly got better as time moved on, but there were still many nights that she screamed, and screamed, and screamed when getting out of the bath.  I think it was the combination of being tired and COLD.  Cold is not so much an option here in Dominica.  And she almost always loves her bath.  She ends her baths with a smile:

It's so much nicer this way.  I'm not sure what to do if I ever have a baby in the winter time again.  I don't think we'll be living on a tropical island for the rest of forever.  I suppose I'll just have to enjoy it while I can.

Conclusion:  Take joy in simple pleasures

Adventures of arrival

So, I just barely took my camera out of my backpack, which means that zero pictures have been taken of our trip or settling into home.  However, I just thought I'd toss in a couple cents. 

We got to Dominica just fine.  Bean was screaming every time we boarded the plane (three different flights), but once we got settled and she got to nurse she was quiet and asleep for essentially all the flying time.  Hooray!  That is one big worry down.  She seems to like it here.  She likes the warmth and the breezes.  She is taking some time to get used to her new crib.  Still, I think all in all the transition is going remarkably well, even if there are times when I wonder if I'm going to survive because she is screaming for no apparent reason.  I think those times are decreasing.  I hope. 

I am fully enjoying being back on the island.  I'm glad we came in January so I could enjoy some of the "cool" weather before it gets all crazy again.  The first day we were here, we walked to campus and to a store and I realized that the "walks" I went on in Utah were ridiculously easy and didn't count as exercise at all.  Sigh.  And I've found that carrying a baby makes it hard to carry anything else.  We'll see if at the end of 8 months I regret my decision to wear Bean instead of pushing her around in a stroller.  However it goes, it is good to be home and delightful to be a family that's together more than just for a nightly Skype session.

Wonderman is back to the grindstone and doing well.  It amazes me how much he puts into this.  I've come to the conclusion that not only do I never want to go to med school, especially since it would be mostly just to prove I could do it, not because I want to be a doctor, but a regular job is much easier than med school or motherhood.  That may seem obvious to you, but it is still a bit of a revelation for me.  I already have found myself thinking about how easy my life used to be when I just had to go to work.  Ah.  If only I had appreciated it then.  :) 

And that's it.  The adventure continues.  I'll try to take some pictures and post them later.  Maybe soon-ish.  Maybe not.

Until then.

And I thought I was hot before. . . . .

Somehow carrying around my own private space heater makes things even warmer.  Some days I'm not sure I'll make it, but so far so good.

Number One Beach

In the not-too-distant past, I had my first visit to Number One Beach.  Let's just say, it earns it's title.


It is this great expanse of white sand, which really you don't see that often in Dominica.  Our beaches are usually small, rocky expanses of black sand.  Off to one side, there is a calm little river, feeding into the ocean, so there is placid fresh water to play in if the waves of the Atlantic get a little too rough.  This makes it perfect for little people, but since I didn't bring one with me, I just enjoyed it for myself.

Since most of my views of big water are Caribbean in nature, I really enjoyed getting a glimpse, and a taste, of the Atlantic.  The waves are a little more boisterous, but gorgeous and so fun to play in.

The great mountains in the background also added to the overall effect:

Since I went with a bunch of other people's children I got the joy of seeing tiny footprints in the sand and thinking they were absolutely adorable.

For some reason, I also got to enjoy my own legs sparkling as though I were a Disney sea princess or something. 

The swirling water set off my pedicure quite nicely, I thought.

I did get one of my worst island sunburns yet at this beach, but I mostly didn't mind.

Syndicate Nature Trail

Ok, so this is the same trip, same day, and the same deal applies.  If the belated nature of the post offends you - STOP READING RIGHT NOW!!!!  (That just reminded me of one of my favorite books growing up - "The Monster at the End of this Book."  Did you ever read it?  It's sooooo good.  Partly because it features Grover, who is always a favorite.  Partly because it's just plain good.  There was much childish giggling that accompanied every reading of it.  You should find a copy and read it.  The end of my ginorm parenthetical insert - a personal specialty).

After seeing the super cool waterfall that we couldn't get close to because it apparently is a direct water source (lame, right?  I just want to go swimming.  Who cares about clean water?), we went to the Syndicate Nature Trail that has some informational displays and stuff at the trail head.  This one was definitely my favorite:

We also got to see some super tall trees with awesome Tarzan vines hanging down from them:

And, of course, Wonderman had to test the viability of said vines:

I was not quite so bold:

Still, we both enjoyed seeing all kinds of nature-y things on said nature trail:

It was a super fun and informative day.  All the adventuring wore Wonderman right out.

Conclusion:  Exploring nature feeds the soul.