Fashion Blues...

I thought I had a 21 month old son - not a self-conscious, 'fashionista' teenage daughter.

But the past two days now, when I have attempted to dress Bronson, I have, inevitably, chosen the wrong shirt-and-short combination. After flailing his legs out of the shorts, and practically ripping his head off along with his shirt, he then points to which outfit is acceptable for his public to see him in.

And he is completely content , and even sadistically rueful, once he is wearing the proper attire.

What will I do when I have a daughter?

Everyone out of the water!

I remember the sorrow, the frustration, and the cold-blooded malice I used to feel, when, while serenely swimming away to my childhood delight, the whistle would blow, informing everyone to leave the pool - and it wasn't just for a ten minute adult swim. Rather, for an all day cleaning, because some calloused, irresponsible, and vindictive parent chose to not clothe their toddler in the correct garments: yes, the fateful poop-in-pool experiences, I remember them well.

I guess the proper idiom is 'what goes around, comes around'.

Yes, there we were loving the shallow and salt-free Plaza Resort pool water - we had even paid to enjoy its amenities, lavishness we not often allow ourselves...and then it happened. Little swollen raisins began floating around my fish, and I instantly realized my fatal error.

Now, I know what you are thinking...but what you don't know is how expensive those "Lil' Swimmers" are, or how hard they are to come by here in Bonaire! They are practically gold here, and the tourists always snatch them off the shelves before I can even attempt their purchase.

And usually it's a non-issue, as pool water is a luxury; the majority of our swimming occurs in the ocean, where, if poop happens (which it does), one can quickly rinse boy and suit out, without anyone being the wiser...

We were only planning on being in the pool for one hour.
It wasn't Bronson's scheduled poop time.
But here I was, the very same irresponsible parent I used to loathe.

So what did I do, you ask? Now, please, don't judge. Maybe by realizing the hatred I used to feel towards these situations will vindicate my subsequent action: I quietly pulled the poop-machine out, rinsed everything thoroughly, and...quietly got into the other pool.

I didn't tell anyone. No one else was playing in the pool at the time, and I figured (hoped, I guess is the better word) the filters and chlorine would fix the little mess that was there...I had, afterall, dispelled the situation as soon as it had begun, and even took the liberty of cleaning the aftermath a bit, in my hasty retreat.

And I especially didn't want to be the cause of everyone leaving the pool.

So in all honesty, I was helping, right?

I don't know...I'm still feeling the pangs of guilt; as we were leaving, a darling boy and his loving mother (not too far in age from my son and I) were stepping into those same waters...

Tip #3

Get an apartment with a Dominican Landlord: more specifically, Amada.

You will have the best neighbors you can ever imagine having, your grocery bill will decrease by about half, based on the food they constantly bring over, and your son will have a never ending supply of cookies (I'm not sure if I love that point, but Bronson sure does...)

Plus, they will put up with your chickens roaming throughout their yard (and house), not mind all of the random boards that pile up in their driveway, watch your son while you cook, and sometimes even help you with your laundry (especially if it starts raining while you are out).

To top it all off, you will be lulled to sleep every night by the sound of their warm laughter and neighborhood-wide hospitality.

If anyone tells you Antriol, Bonaire is the ghetto, they have never visited Kaya Fidelia #11.

P.S. If you are lucky enough to get a Dominican landlord, don't forget to yell to them 'hey, compadre - que lo que?!' in your deepest, roughest, Dominican accent. They'll love it.

Tip #2

Find some big, old windsurf boards (most everyone here calls them "barge's" - I guess because of how ancient and massive they are). Try any local windsurf shop, or just keep your eyes peeled as you're driving places. Both of ours were found on the way to the dump. Fiberglass any holes or dings so that they are water tight...

(I would explain how to do this step, but, unfortunately, I am unaware of it's procedure. That is the job of my McDreamy. Fiberglass is, to him, like epoxy is to my father: the all-encompassing panacea, for defects ranging from the minuscule board ding to the extensive whole body car restoration... )

Then voila! You've just cheated the system and gotten a normally $1000+ paddle board for about $20 of fiberglass repair equipment.

Then use the leftover fiberglass to adhere a piece of wood to an old windsurf boom (also found at the dump), hacksaw it (the boom) in half (again, the job for McDreamy) and you've got the best date-on-a-plank you can come by. Paddle out to Klein Bonaire, and watch, like a kid in a candy shop, as 20+ turtles swim underneath you. Wave to the Dee and Joe as you pass their Trimaran (The Woodwind), and take a swim in the best (ok - this is my opinion) snorkel spot on Bonaire.

Oh...and don't forget the water-wings for your son. He will more than likely jump off your board when he sees an 'ishy' (bronsonian for fish).


P.S. This board will also be handy as you try to teach yourself how to windsurf. Those teeny-tiny boards all the professional's ride...you know - the ones that make windsurfing look so easy...well, yeah. They're not as easy as they look...

Tip #1:

Buy chickens. It will likely be one of the only times in your life that you will live in an area that allows you to do so, and they are terrific pets. Not going to lie, it has taken me a while to get used to the after-rain stench that occasionally wafts into the house, but the two to three fresh eggs I pull out of their cage daily more than compensates this vice. And there is nothing cuter than your son, strutting around, garbling like a chicken. Well, except for the times when he comes up to you with big, betrayed, puppy-dog eyes, finger extended and pouting 'ouch', all because while he was happily feeding them they got too excited and pecked his finger a bit...

don't worry, all their beaks have been filed, so it really doesn't hurt as much as it scares....

new leaf...

Slow and steady wins the race...right? RIP Stinky (unless your still alive out there)

 So it’s a new year, and we’re supposed to turn over new leaves, right? I think the last time I consistently kept a journal was in High School, so I guess this is as new as it gets. And leaf – well, I guess electronic book pages aren’t considered ‘leaves’…but, it’s close, eh?

Journal keeping is something my McDreamy (this nickname was coined by a classmate, so I can't claim it...) has always been good at. He is especially against me reading it, though, not because he has secrets in it, rather just that he’s a little embarrassed by it or something…I’m not really sure…anyway, being the wonderful, sweet, obedient wife that I am, the second he is out of the house (and I’m not busy doing other things), I love ripping it open and pouring over (deciphering, really, as his penmanship is rather rough and fast) what he has written…I’m usually pretty disappointed after these moments of true child-like mischief, however, as he usually just accounts our everyday hum-drum experiences…I mean what’s that all about!? Aren’t secret journals supposed to be emotion-filled and juicy? Despite this, I still rip it open when it’s left unattended, as sneakily as ever, and am occasionally satisfied with a wife-brag section (can you blame me?)

Anyhow, now it is my turn. And this one won’t be secret.

The main reason why it has taken me this long to rekindle my oh-so-important-journal-writing flame, though, is that every time I decide to start again, I instantly feel overwhelmed. I realize how much and I need to write this thought and post this picture and tell this story and oh how could I leave this out and oh she’ll want me to include this and….

I end up immediately shutting the book – better to just not begin. There’s too much to tell, and not enough time. Or at least that’s how I justify myself.

As I creep on my friend’s facebook page.

Not enough time…

So here I am, starting again, with these thoughts of no time again rising out of my head, all while my heart desperately tries to relinquish them. Luckily my fingers type faster than my head thinks.

Funny, though. This time, I’m not as worried about getting everything written as I am about making it an extraordinary beginning. Along with journal-writing, a new goal I’ve made for myself this year is reading more ‘classics’. Oliver Twist and Jane Eyre have such splendid, romantically tragic beginnings. If only I could begin my journal in the same way as some classic romance, perhaps all of the stories left out would be recompensed. Of course, both of these characters were orphans...and fictional...hmmm...

All I have is a stream of consciousness, rival to Virgina Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway.

So, I’ll be brief. I am a mother of an almost two year old, chicken-clucking, cat-loving, lego-skyscraper-building, best-hug-giving boy, Bronson (yes, as in Charles), and a wife of my ruggedly handsome, best-dad-achieving, do-it-yourself-ing, any-board-sport-mastering, medical-school-going Dev. Maybe I’m biased, but I’m pretty darn lucky. And me? I’m a stay-at-home mom living in the Caribbean while my previously mentioned McDreamy does medical school, finishing my own graduate degree (MS in Education) online during Bronson's nap-time. Isn’t the internet incredible?

Anyway, in this blog/journal I’ll write about our lives here in Bonaire, medical school (and medical-school wives) tips, Caribbean living tidbits, and the ever-exciting tales associated with a little ball of energy (i.e. my son). Maybe I’ll even throw in little flashbacks of our past, just so I’m taking care of that unfinished business…it would coordinate well with my Mrs. Dalloway stylings, so who knows?

I guess it depends on whether my friends have anything good posted on their facebook statuses….