We're Moving...

My favorite part of the journey is the people I meet along the way. Though we all have to go in our own direction I would hate to lose some of you just because I changed directions. I am moving my site over HERE so please follow along there or click the image below to continue drinking every last drop of this bottle.

I'm Back, Bitches

After 3 months (the longest stretch I have been home to NJ since moving) of living the gypsy life, which Husband and I have come to know as our summers home, I have finally returned to our abroad home in Santo Domingo... and it feels goooooood. Usually after 6-8 weeks in the summer, there is an enveloping sadness when I leave for my island life but there was something about an extra 4 weeks in the Garden State that moved me from sad to set. I don't know if it was the month without Husband or just the natural desire to rest my head down on my own pillow but, either way, I was ready to get back.

There is plenty I won't miss when I leave this rock at the beginning of every summer. But there's also so much I can't wait to return to...

Dios le bendiga
Husband and I joked when our daughter was born that she would think her name was Dios-le-bendiga instead of Rafaella because everywhere we went Dominicans were God-blessing-her. A trip to the supermarket included 17 Dios-le-bendigas, 3 avocados, and one boxed milk. As a prego, I got plenty of blessings too and as a normal person I get them as a less aggressive cat call. It has come to be part of the vocabulary I associate with life here. When I go to NJ, no one blesses my kids or me. Actually, very few people could care about my kids when I'm in the States which wouldn't bother me except for the fact that, here, they are rockstars everywhere they go. I figure if it's good for my self-esteem, it's gotta be good for theirs too.

Hair
Hair. Long beautiful hair. Lots of ladies I know on this rock find that the humid island air is on constant attack to their hair. I, in fact, have the complete opposite problem. My hair likes this weather and though sometimes I could probably benefit from brushing my hair, generally, it looks fine enough. Stateside, I wake up some mornings feeling like I should Chewbacca gargle-cry since his hair days, at worst, are better kept than mine. The other day, my mother, the woman who gave birth to me full of slime and blood looked at me and said, "You're hair looks ugly." I almost chew-bacca-ed her head off. The truth is, I have become lazy doing my hair on this island. First, it is just too hot to care and secondly, why would I bother when I could go to the salon and get a manicure, pedicure, and blowout for $25.

Salons
While we're on it... the salon. Sure, one might have to let go of massage pedicture chairs (although I'd argue that I have yet to find one pedicure chair back home with all of the buttons in tact) but no one- and I mean - no one can wash and blow dry your hair like a Dominican lady. To begin with, the hair wash lasts about 10 minutes and is itself a transformative experience. Then the blow out is so intense that my neck gets a work out simultaneously so I get the added bonus of beautiful neck muscles. And the finished result, besides looking perfect, lasts me almost a week and costs less than two lattes at Starbucks. #score.

Mangos
You have never truly had a mango unless you've had one in a place like this. While mango season is technically between May-August, the mango I ate for breakfast this morning was a cross between candy and orgasmic. It was freaking perfection and reason enough to come and visit. The other fruit is crazy good too but there is a reason Husband bought me my own container of just mango from the fruit guy.

My place
Summers are beautiful for many things but getting work done is not one of them. This little desk here in the library of this school is my space. Nothing fancy. Nothing glamorous but it is where my soul is at peace and I write like the Dickens...

Colmado
If you've read Drinking the Whole Bottle before, you'll know I talk a lot about the colmado. And while, yes, I love the colmado because it is where my buddies and I drink beers, I adore the colmado for what is represents more than for what they sell me in a 40 oz. frozen, glass bottle. There is a freedom, a laid back life that comes with this country and no where is it better executed than at these corner bodegas. No worries. No stress. No reason to rush. People are friendly, ready to offer you a smile or a Presidente - because either one makes any moment better. But mostly, it is a place to meet, to socialize, to stay connected, to laugh, to laugh louder, to sit elbow to elbow with people that make your life better. God, I love this place.

My bithces
Walking into Carol Morgan this morning, on my way to see Husband, I ran into a friend. Well, I ran into many friends because everyone here is so darn welcoming, but I ran into a particular friend who from down the hall opened her arms wide and said, "Finally. Now we're complete." It struck me in the gut: I am a part of a family here; a different kind of family than the ones I leave behind in NJ, but a family just the same. A family that leaves and changes and grows every year. A family that is built by proximity but held together by intimacy. A family that I love.

It's good to be back, bitches.

Chewbacca - Alejandro Slocker

Snapshots: Dominican Republic Year 3

I am a lucky girl. I live in a beautiful world full of beautiful, fun people and get to make beautiful memories with my beautiful, healthy family.

What else could anyone ask for? 

With this school year coming to a close, all of our friends are wrapping up, packing up, and some are shipping out. It is the only ugly that comes with this life - saying goodbye to those you have come to call family... and really mean it. 

Here is a snapshot of what our YEAR 3 looked like:

(and if you're Jimmy Fallon - scroll down to the bottom to see 3 of our 20+ lip sync battles... and then invite us on your show! we'll be in NY allllll summer)

We live on an island. Of course there will be beautiful beach pictures!

The Bluffs - Praxe's Bluffs to be exact - is one of my favorite places here. Drive up the sidewalk and park the car on a beautiful bluff overlooking the ocean and beautiful sunsets. This year we stepped it up by bringing the kiddos. This is Santiago sleeping at the bluffs. Other times they have a great time bouncing around and playing in our travel pack and play - the car.

We spend almost as much time at the playground as we do home. Correction: we spend more time at the playground than at home. The kids love it but so do we.

This picture of Santiago reminds me how fast time moves.

    

This is one of my favorite pictures of this year. It is so spot on of what our life is and how our kids are growing up, on an island where they find coconuts in the backyard.

There's two things in this picture. Like the picture above one is that my kids live in a place where mangoes grow on trees and mangoes are yum! But the second and more important detail for me is the note: "Mango de la beba." These mangoes are from Ayalibi, one of the maintenance workers of our school, and one of about 5 people that bring us mangoes for our kids. Apparently, everyone knows that our kiddos (especially Rafa) love mangoes so we have co-workers, maintenance staff, nannies, and parents that scout trees, pick, and deliver mangoes to us for Rafa and Santiago. It's in these moments that I think "this is the only place for me."  

Everyday isn't a walk at the playground though. This day was the first day we understood the difficulties of being the parents of two kids... that are sick. Poor Rafa fell asleep on the couch this afternoon - which she never does - but she was so exhausted from throwing up all morning that she couldn't help it. 

Husband and I are lucky that our nanny allows for our love story to breathe and grow and flourish. Our family is our major priority but we like to remind ourselves that we are the first priority. You can't have a happy family without a happy marriage.

Just a typical Wednesday afternoon with the family.

Milestone moments! Our youngest's 1st birthday. And even more special was that his grandparents were able to celebrate here with us - a major bonus considering most birthdays abroad are grandparentless :(

BESTIE! This chick has been my friend for life. Seriously. We've been best friends since the 5th grade. We went to college together. Got pregnant the same year and had our kids 6 weeks apart and this was the first time she was able to come and visit. What a treat to show her around town at the life we live here. And what a reminder that no matter where in the world we are this kind of friendship travels well.

 We party like rockstars here for sure. This is one of many awesome parties we throw here on the fablous Kury Rooftop... a Lip Sync Battle Party, Jimmy Fallon style!

There were over 20 acts but to not break their privacy I can only share my lip syncs. Here's a taste:

 Yes. We are grown adults playing Tug O' War at the beach. One of my favorite events added to this year's agenda was Thanksgiving Olympics. Over 40 grown adults running, jumping, relaying, battling for the glory of winning! Our team did not win the whole Olympics but we raged in battle at Beach Tug O' War and came out victorious. We weren't expected to win which made the victory that much sweeter. 

My Surprise 80's Party!! Holy Mother of Tear Down the House! This was a rager! People came to party like it was 1999 and didn't go home until all 99 Luftballoons exploded and were left on the dance floor. Husband worked incredibly hard to pull this off and I was totally surprised. Thanks to everyone for really showing up.

And now if you don't mind, I'm off to join husband for a cold one at the colmado... the best place on Earth. 

Listening to:
Home - Phillip Phillips
Burn - Ellie Goulding
Don't You Forget About Me (cover) - The Wind and the Wave
The Only Place - Best Coast

Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 4 & 5 - Spring Break and the Bunny

Should I feel bad that I might be the only mom on my FB feed that hasn't dyed hard-boiled eggs, stuffed plastic ones full of prizes, or taken a picture of my kids with the Easter Bunny? Cause I kinda feel bad but I kinda don't. It's kinda like that hashtag #sorrynotsorry. Except it's more #tootiredtobesorry.

Since last week was Spring Break, the family and I traveled to Cabarete, an active beach goer's paradise. Wavy beach, laid-back town, kite-surfing capital and lots or nothing to do...  your choice. In our perfect life we would have had two cars to get us there, but since we are talking about our imperfect life, I should mention that in order to save our somehow always dwindling money we didn't rent a second car. Instead we crammed in to our SpaceWagon - yes that is her actual name and it is as glorious as she is - 4 grown ass adults, 2 babies complete with car seats, 2 dogs, 2 pack and plays, and the baggage that accompanies that many people. And that's why the SpaceWagon is awesome. We all fit.

Our first evening of vacation started with Rafa waking up every hour or so needing to be put back to sleep. This kid is a monstrous sleeper so when she woke up saying, "Gripe ~ cold." I knew we were in trouble. I don't remember a night - inclduing her newborn months - that she slept this miserably or that I did. It was one of those nights that only a mother could understand. Tired, rundown, wanting to be held and that was just me. Poor Rafa couldn't get comfortable either.

And this was the first night of our vacation.

I shouldn't say it like that because really any beach vacation as imperfect as it could be will always be - in its own way - perfection, unless there's a tsunami. There was lots to enjoy like our perfect breakfasts at Cabarete Coffee Company or our scrumptious shrimp dinner at Papi's in their special curry sauce, or the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous day we spent with the family of one of Husband's student's. It is one of my favorite things about living here - this idea that business and pleasure are so interjoined. In the states, I would never dream of accepting an invite from parents to visit their beach house. Here it would be considered rude not to. And somewhere between the fresh ceviche they made us and the gin and tonic that Dad concocted for me with his tailored Gin bar or citrus and rose-infused gins and the third bottle of champagne we uncorked I thought, Gosh... this is pretty good for an imperfect life. ;)

The car ride home - 4 hours on a Dominican highway - as new as it is - always reminds me of why I don't like traveling on this island. It's long. And boring. There are no rest stops with promises of Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or even Carl's Coffee (whoever Carl is) So for 4 hours I sat in the third row of our glorious SpaceWagon edged between a suitcase and one dog waiting fruitlessly to be transported back home. And by the time we got back home Saturday evening, I was done. Done with vacation. Done with packing and unpacking. Done with sleeping in a bed with sheets that made more sound than thunder. Done with Rafa's cold and the stomach bug that my father got, that then my mother got which was the reason I gave up my bed that night and slept in a recliner. D-o-n-e. Hashtag that! #done.

At 5am, when I had to get up to drive my parents to the airport, I felt more dead than alive. Even the streets matched my outlook. The sky was still dark, the streets were quiet. Not a soul on the road... well almost and the sadness of taking my parents to a place that would fly them away from me. Major imperfection to this life.

By 7 am Easter morning, I had no room for a bunny and it's eggs. You know what I had room for? My couch. And I felt a little crappy about that. Shouldn't I be hiding pastel-colored eggs and posting adorable bunny-eared pictures of my kids dressed up in beautiful Easter gowns? Cut yourself a break, I reminded myself. I do Christmas BIG and birthdays BIG and right about now that's all the BIG I could muster. Does it all ahve to be BIG? Do I have to post all of my BIGness to Facebook? And well, doesn't that just bring me back to why I started down this Road to an Imperfect Life because looking at everyone's newsfeed of their Easteryness made me feel all small and bad mom-like. So I'm giving myself a break this time, a pass, a passover (I couldn't help it. That joke was there for the taking, Husband.)

Sometimes you have to tell the bunny to hop along because your due for a nap. #sorrynotsorry, bunny. Maybe next year. Or maybe not.


Oh. Week 5 that's easy... our nanny called out Tuesday and I woke up Wednesday with a migraine. An all day Wednesday that flooded into Thursday and imprisoned me into the 4 walls of my bedroom for entirely too long migraine. Migraines will always be the devastating car crash on my Road to an Imperfect Life.

But I keep driving.


Photo Credits:
Cabarete Beach Town Jeff Space Ritual
Cabarete Kite Surfing - Swell Surf Camp

When Mami has to Deal with a Big Girl Bed

We've talked about this in logical terms (for months... and months):

In order to make this room a play room, they have to share a room.

Would two cribs fit in one room? 

Would we also be able to fit the queen sized-bed in that room? 

Probably not.

So if we got rid of that bed where would we read to them?

Ok, so we could get rid of one crib and move Rafa to a big girl bed?

But what about naps? 

Would Rafaella nap in a big girl bed? 

Would Santiago nap with her in the same room?

And how about Rafa? She's gotta make the biggest move.

Will she like it - this "big girl bed" thing?

Because she loves her crib so much. 

She feels safe in her crib with her GiRafa pillow.

...but she does drop clues sometimes about sleeping in a bed.

For months, we deliberated, discussed, and then decided. And then when we had finally decided, we un-decided. Rafa stays in her room in her bed and Santiago in his too. No one moves yet.

If I'm honest, I made these decisions (time & time again) from a sentimental, illogical place. (Yes, it's the same place that I make many decisions from; the corner of Overly-Sentimental Irrational Mother Drive and Illogical Emotional Lady Ave.) I wasn't afraid she'd fall out of the big girl bed or that my sleeping would be sacrificed at the altar of a big girl bed. I was afriad of what the big girl bed meant. A big girl bed meant one step closer to her being a big girl. A big girl bed meant she was my little girl one day less. A big girl bed meant she no longer needed the literal (and imaginary) walls of security.

Waaaaaaah! Sniffle. Tears.

As much as I joke that I'm ready for these kids to be old enough so that I could (take your pick):

I don't like the speed in which these two are growing. Who do they think they are, growing so fast? She's ready for a bed, really? I suppose she's ready for college too. Why not just move her out of our home and have her contribute to a 401 plan. (Sorry, ended up on that corner again.)


I started prepping her all day. Telling her that tonight she was going to sleep in her bed. I changed the sheets to a previously never before used bed and set it up with a comforter and pillows and blanket - a proper bed instead of the jumping/landing zone it was before.

The evening was the same as always but tonight after her bath and her pajamas and her screaming, "I LOVE YOU, PAPI," to daddy who is putting Santiago to sleep in the room down the hall, we laid down in her bed, her big girl bed. For the first time in over a year, I was unsure of what to do at our bedtime routine. I didn't want to freak her out with something new so I asked without asking if she wanted to lie in her bed so that she thought but kinda knew she didn't have a choice (confusing parent tricks).

"Rafa. Let's lay in your bed?"
"Ok."
Whew... that part was easy enough.

We read a book titled Siempre. I thought it appropriate for the night. When it was done she asked me for her tete.

"Do you want your pacifier now, Rafa?" I was willing to stay in there as long as she needed.
"Si," she confirmed. So I got up to get her pacifier and brought it back. And she continued, "Quiero mi tete. Para dormir aqui en la cama. Como la gente. --- I want my tete. To sleep here in the bed. Like the people."
"Ok, Rafa," I laughed

She asked for "Música I Love You" which is what she's named the lullaby I sing her 3 or 4 times repeatedly. After singing her lullaby only once last night, she was already snuggled into the pillow like the north pole to the south pole of a magnet. She muttered, "I love you mucho mucho," her cue that she's good to go and that I was, in fact, also good to go.

I knew if she fell asleep that she would be asleep for the night but I secretly hoped she would get up and need me to tuck her back in, that maybe she wouldn't like her big girl bed or being a big girl because then that would mean she wanted to stay my little girl. Irrational, I know. But no such thing happened. I was so proud of her last night and so sad for me.

This morning, I heard, "MAMI!" and a door slam at the exact same time. I jumped out of bed and opened my door and there she was in the hallway, not sure where to go since she had never just walked out of her room alone before so these walls appeared totally different then she had ever seen them. So out she walked confused but happy. Beaming with happy about her first night in her bed. And then she ran down the hall to me.

Turns out she's still little enough to run into my arms and that just because she doesn't need her literal walls of security doesn't mean she doesn't need these arms of security.

Dominicans' Loudest Day... and That's Saying A Lot

Sometimes the things you can't stand about people are the same things you love about them.

Within the first few weeks of our arrival to Santo Domingo, a neighbor down stairs had a party.

For the love of God, I'm 8 months uncomfortably pregnant and I just want to sleep. They want to have a party now?! On a Friday? At night? Don't they know that someone living in their radius is about to give birth, is about to push a large fruit out of her hoo-ha and that these were the last few nights of precious sleep she would ever in her life have again? 

I guess they did not know this.

It doesn't matter if it is an intimate gathering or a rocked out, all nighter - Dominicans do not know how to do small. They certainly don't know how to do simple. And quiet? I'm pretty sure if you looked up the word quiet in a Dominican dictionary, it wouldn't be there - instead you'd find a big gaping space where the word should be. Or it would be there with a question mark behind it as if no one could find the definition to such an absurd word.

But, and I laugh as I say this, it is also the thing that now makes me love them. It's like that partner question you're asked at an interview: What's a weakness? What's a strength? Is it me or don't you usually want to answer that it's the same thing, that what makes me strong also makes me weak. (I'm smart. Like wicked smart. But sometimes being this smart is a weakness because I'm so much smarter than everyone else.) If Dominican Republic were interviewed they might have a similar response; their weakness is making everything so grand and big and loud and finding a reason to celebrate everything and there strength is making everything so grand and big and loud and finding a reason to celebrate everything.

It's all in the way you say it, isn't it? The way you choose to look at it.

The end of February is always a reminder for me to say it with optimism and look at it with gratitude. I love Dominican culture because it is so grand and big and loud and everything is reason for celebration. February is Dominican month. And this is serious here. Not to be taken lightly.

In the states we honor our independence for one day. With a BBQ. Delicious, I'll give you that. But do we really celebrate the reason we are independent? Do we remember what makes our country great or do we shuck some corn, grill some burgers, drink kegs upon kegs of beer and then watch fireworks and pass out? I'll be honest, that's my celebration for our Independence Day. But shouldn't we maybe celebrate this monumentous day in our history in a way that is big and embracing and consuming like a hug from your proverbial Big Aunt Bertha?

Dominicans do... for a month.

And at the end of February, el 27 de Febrero to be exact, it all comes to a head at CMS in Comparsas. All month long, the kids in elementary school practice choreographed dances that encompass some part of Dominican culture: the baseball players and the love of baseball, the farmers and the beautiful flowers they grow, the Taíno Indians of Quisqueya, the bachata dancing and merengue shaking, the soldiers who fought for the country's independence. The costumes are incredible: headpieces with 3 foot long feathers, enough glitter to choke on and sequence to blind you. So much work goes into this that sometimes I wonder how they have had time during their days in February to do anything else. This is no makeshift event. And at these moments I think to myself I love Dominican culture because it is so grand and big and loud and everything is reason for celebration. 

And really why shouldn't it be? Why shouldn't life be celebrated? Why shouldn't we find grand, big, and loud celebration in all of our moments?

CMS Teachers performing in Comparsas - my apologies for the screaming... 

I'm part Dominican now.

One of maybe 10 elaborate performances the elementary school puts on.

Even the Pre-K gets involved with a parade for el 27 de Febrero

Long After the Journey

People are the most important part of any journey. People are who you learn from, who you share with, who you count on, who you cry to and have drinks with and laugh with. They are the family you've chosen who help watch your children and make you casseroles when you're sick. They are who you remember long after the journey. 

To recognize one person who has made this experience for me better would be impossible. Far far beyond impossible in a place of a different stratosphere.

THE BEAUTYFULLNESS
I could recognize Julia. She was my first real friend here. She was also a stay-at-home mom at the time I was 8 months pregnant and she would pick me up to have coffee. I had no car so getting from one place to another was as easy as moving a barge through mud. Having an instaFriend who I sat and had coffee with and told me the brutal honesties of new motherhood - "Your hair will fall out after you have this baby and your boobs will hurt. Just sore and painful." - was refreshing. Up until then people had just been telling me how utterly amazing having a baby would be. She organized a baby shower for me. I knew her all of 3 weeks and she decided to throw me a baby shower, a beautiful little brunch and some poolside time to open gifts - that's the kind of friend Julia is.

Without taking away from her beautyfullness, so many women have offered up that same kind of friendship to me. Mary who started our food train after Rafa was born, Gina who housed our family in more ways than one, Tia Erin who is a surrogate to my kids, J.No and Julain who have become honorary sisters, Katherine who makes me laugh, Honor and Sara who write with me and drink wine with me, Amanda who leads the fight in a woman being all things and not just a mother, Willner who reminds me why I look up to her every time I hang out with her, Raquel who is thoughtful beyond possible belief and makes me jewelry for my birthday, Gaby who is like my little sister...

THE PHOENIX
I would recognize Shayna. If you knew our friendship it goes without saying why I would recognize this incredible love light of a person. A month before I moved to this country I had a best friend. A week after I moved here, I didn't. My best friend from college was my soulmate in many ways but when I needed her the most, she bailed. Through an email.  Newlywed, newly expat, soon to be mother - it was an interesting time - so much happiness was surrounding me and yet I was in a bit of a dark place. Although Husband is my eternal best friend, a girl needs a BFF - that's just what we girls do. I was so happy to be a mother but I had so much sadness for a loss I never saw coming. And then... I found Shayna. Rather, Shayna found us in our apartment because she couldn't speak Spanish to the taxi driver. She was my phoenix, a new beginning to take the place of something that had fallen to ashes. She became many things to me and my family (my best friend, Rafa's Tia Yaya, Santiago's twin sister [Isla] maker, Husband's get out of jail free card) but she was a metaphor in my life; no matter what happens I will always get back up, out of darkness there will always come light.

THE ANCHOR
I would also mention Laura, my best friend from grade school. She isn't part of my expat life in that she doesn't live here, but she too has been a part of making this experience better because she is my lighthouse. She has given me a friendship of, literally, a lifetime and she is someone that waits for me back home. Our friendship has evolved through the years, it has taken many shapes and phases. We met in 5th grade, graduated high school together, went to the same college, and then, as if by pure force of the universe, we got pregnant and had our first babies 6 weeks apart. Without someone like this to come home to, to anchor me home to New Jersey, there would be no reason to go back.

THE TREASURE
And then there's Shelly. Oh Shelly. The single reason I cannot stomach leaving this country...ever. Shelly is our nanny. Correction: Shelly was hired to be our nanny but then became family. So Shelly is the family that helps watch our kids. Shelly has been with Husband and I as parents as long as Husband and I have been parents. She was home when we arrived back from the hospital with Rafaella. There when I battled through breastfeeding. She was the one that shoo-ed me off to go write, assuring me that our baby would be fine, that I had nothing to worry about. She was there when I announced my second pregnancy with Santiago and watched my belly grow bigger and bigger and bigger. Shelly stayed with Rafaella the morning we went to the hospital for Santiago's birth. She has heard Rafa's first words and seen Santiago's first teeth and has seen me come into my own as a mother without ever judging only helping. She is loving and playful and honest. I have never doubted my kids' well-being in her hands, not even for a fleeting second. To know that someone else on this planet loves my children as much as I do is a gift that I can never repay her for. And that's just the wonder she has been in my life as a mother. As a wife, she has been a treasure, granting Husband and I a gem... time away together. I see the important role she has in my family and think of the heartbreaking day that we will leave this country with our kids that she has seen grow up every day since they were born and it is a knife to the gut. She has truly made my experience here better. She has made my life better because she has made our life better.

It is easy to figure out why living abroad is so hard. It isn't learning the language or assimilating to the culture or any of the things you think might make it hard. 

It's learning to say goodbye.

Credit:

Thanks to In an Opal Hearted Country for organizing the February Expat Blog Challenge opportunity.

Day 26: Recognize someone who has made this expat experience better.

A Riddle, a Gem, a Best Friend

Here's a riddle...

What do all cities have that most tourists know nothing about? 

Hidden gems. 

Born and raised here until she was 5, my best friend, Laura, was the first person I called when we got this job.

"You'll never guess where we're going."
"Dominican Republic." 

Oh, so she guessed it. She is my best friend after all. 

A few weeks ago, we were talking about her upcoming trip to Dominican Republic. She is coming for a wedding and decided to extend her trip a bit to celebrate her Godson, Santiago's, 1st birthday. My son, Santiago. One in the same.

After ironing out a few details (I'm watching her son who is the same age as my daughter when she is at the wedding) we started talking about what we would do after she was done with all the wedding hoopla. 

"We can go to the Colonial Zone or Café del Sol. Or we could keep it local and hang out at your hotel pool or our apartment pool."
"Those all sound like good plans."
"Ohhhh. I definitely want to take you to the Bluffs."
"What's the bluffs?" She asks.

I responded the best way I knew how:

"Umm.. well, the Bluffs are... actually it's called Praxe's Bluffs and... hmmm..... Uh.. ok, so our friend Praxe discovered the Bluffs his first year here. It's on the Malecon, a cliff overlooking the ocean where the occasional fisherman will go to fish. You have to drive on a sidewalk and then up a small dirt hill to get there but it's so awesome. We go there some Friday afternoons and tailgate: bring lawn games, wine, and a gang of friends. Sun sets. Just awesome." 

I could tell she was thinking about it. "Your family wouldn't know where it is. It's not like... on a map or anything." (Although I have since drawn one.)

It hit me then that this is a hidden gem. Something that - for now - only we know about, a select lucky few of us. I don't know if this is the reason that the bluffs are one of my favorite places on this island or if it's because every time we go it means we're hanging with good friends and loosening up the week's belt, if it's the island sun sets at 6:00 surrounded by crashing waves and rocky cliffs. Maybe it's the lawn games or the drinking wine or the the way I laugh every. single. time we drive up the sidewalk to get to a place that only a select number of us in a whole city know about. I'm not sure...

and to be honest, I don't care.

The drive up the sidewalk

Husband and I at the Bluffs

A break from lawn games for a photo op w/Baby Santiago sleeping

The gang's all here... well almost, but a good number of the gang

Credit:

Thanks to In an Opal Hearted Country for organizing the February Expat Blog Challenge  opportunity. Day 24: A hidden gem.

Two Much Two See in the Dominican Republic

Let me share a story with you.

Once upon a time -  two years ago - a newly married lady decided to move away with Husband and have a baby two months later in this new place. As year #2 rolled in, just when they were settling into their new baby and their new life in this new place, they got pregnant again with number two. The number of years they lived in their new country matched the number of times they'd been pregnant... two.

Now in their third year the dust is finally settling. Where there was once a wall of dust so thick they had no idea there was light on the other side, there is now clarity, the knowledge and appreciation that you have come out of the dark alive. Exhausted. But alive.

To ask this girl what she still hasn't seen in her new country would be like asking a kid what they want for Christmas...a lot.

* * *

In the years we've been here Husband and I have done many things: we've spent many days relaxing in Juan Dolio, a few long weekends in the young vibey beach town of Cabarete, a week vacation in serene Las Terrenas, a yoga retreat weekend in Las Galleras, and lived like millionaires in La Romana. We've visited the mountains of Jarabacoa twice, eaten at some lovely restaurants, discovered hidden gems, explored the Colonial Zone, played a lot of volleyball and frequented some colmados (ok we've done a lot of colmados).

Whew! Just saying it makes me feel good about all of the things we've done but having been first time parents and then second time parents within our first two years abroad has certainly hindered many of things that we would like to do on this island.

Most people think of Punta Cana when they think Dominican Republic and the all inclusive hotels that the east part of the island offers tourists. We haven't visited Punta Cana yet and while I wouldn't mind sipping free daiquiris all day one day, I should add it wouldn't make our top 3 list of the things to see and do before we leave this place. Apparently, it wouldn't even make our top 8. There's so much more to see here...

Top 8 Things to Still See Here:

NEED I SAY MORE?????

1. Climb Pico Duarte - the highest mountain range in the whole Caribbean. The senior class takes a weekend climb trip here every year - it's the only reason I would even attempt it. If rich 18 year olds who have drivers could do it...

2. Bahia de las Aguilas - Southwestern coast of near the southernmost part of the border of Haiti and considered by many one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

By Swatigsood via Wikimedia Commons

3. 27 Waterfalls (27 Charcos) - Mother Nature's handy work at its best. On the Northern Coast, 27 awesome pools etched out of limestone. Check out their website here. This one is one I'd love to take pictures of Husband doing. Not for me but seems totally cool.

4. Whale watching in the Samana Peninsula - from Decmeber to March the whales hang around to mate and have their calves.

5. Barahona - the biggest city in the Southwest, it's part mountain range, part desert, part coastline and some of the pretties beaches I've seen (in pictures of course)

6. Los Tres Ojos - an open air limestone cave located in the Mirador del Este park in Santo Domingo.

7. Visit the Mirabal Museo, the house of the Mirabal Sisters. - Known as "las mariposas," the sisters became inspirational leaders to the resistance against Dominican Republic's dictator Trujillo. After an effort to silence the Mirabal sisters did not work by imprisoning their husbands, soldiers ambushed their car one evening, clubbing them to death and then covering up their murders to look like a car accident. The public did not believe this story of an "accident." Many believe this to be the turning point of Trujillo's demise. You could also read their story in the book titled "In the Time of the Butterflies."

8. Cuban music in the Colonial Zone - I know! You don't have to say it, I KNOW. How has this Cuban girl not been to Cuban music in the Colonial Zone? The answer is pretty simple. Music starts at 6:30 and the kids are asleep by 7:00. In short, kids' sleep trumps our evenings out every time.

Credit:

Thanks to In an Opal Hearted Country for organizing the February Expat Blog Challenge opportunity.

Day 22: Something I still haven't seen in my expat country

A Little Prest-O Change-O

Husband sits down on the couch and throws his feet up on the ottoman. He whooshes out a breath, relieved to be done with most of the settling in to our new apartment. Almost instantly he asks, "So... how long before you want to rearrange the furniture again?"

For someone who doesn't like change, I like change an awful lot.


My room as a kid was a small space with lots of furniture. Being that this was pre HGTV and there was no headquarters for small space ideas to turn to, you would think there wasn't much you could do with such little room. Au contraire. I was a magician. I could pull a reading quarter out of a hat and still have room for a sleeping nook and a writer's station. It wasn't always the most sensible of layouts but it wouldn't last forever. It wouldn't even last two months.

In college, my roommates would come home late night and lit and sling their sloshed bodies onto the couch only to  fall face first onto the hardwood floor. "Who moved the couch?" After a while they started penciling in Jen's Moving Furniture Days t the schedule so that they knew when a change was coming.

Like my Abuelita Dora, who relocated houses more often than an army family (one time she moved to the house next door just to "change it up"), I needed changes, small changes - move the bed there and a chair here and voilà!

Prest-O change-O.

Life abroad is kind of the same thing... just on a larger scale. If you grow tired of your Caribbean motif apartment in Santo Domingo, why not change it up for an Asian themed highrise in Shanghai. Tired of that? Trade in for a place with a European feel in Croatia. Sick of sipping on some café au laits, move to a house with an African concept in Mozambique.

Like David Bowie says, "ch ch changes."

Some people have said that they are envious of the lifestyle we've chosen here. That they would never be able to do what I'm doing. That it takes a certain kind of person. I tend to think anyone could do this - you just have to actually do it. Leap and the net will appear type thing.

Many things about my personality have equipped me for this lifestyle: being a social person helps, making friends easily is a good one, being a writer is huge (for me) since it allows me to spend time alone and process the things I am experiencing. But welcoming change -  maybe not always liking it, but welcoming it anyway - that's the biggest element that has equipped me for life abroad.

 - a little Prest-O Change-O - 

Picture courtesy of Pixabay: a great site for free images

Credit:

Thanks to In an Opal Hearted Country for organizing the February Expat Blog Challenge opportunity.

Day 20: The trait I possess that equipped me for life abroad OR the trait I possess that held me back the most.

The Haves and the Have Nots

Day 17:

Thanks to the Expat Blog Challenge, this month has been allowing me a lot of time to think about this expat life that Husband and I have built. I've had my hands full the last few years with having a baby, mothering a baby, raising a baby, growing another baby, having another baby, mothering... you get it. I've been busy. Point is, I haven't thought written too much about our life since life as a mom seems to take priority... always. So being able to sit and think about topics that are primarily "life as an expat" oriented has truly been a gift.


Our decision to leave wasn't a hard one... in the beginning. It didn't become hard until we found out we were pregnant with our first. After that, the decision became significantly more difficult. The car ride home after our first sonogram was interesting: the sonogram we went to at 5 WEEKS that made official news of what I already knew: we were having a baby. I had been ping ponging this idea back and forth for the last month.

Would we stay? Would we go?

"I still want to go!" I belted out in the silence of our car ride as if holding it in would cause me to explode and implode at the exact same moment. (I am not a Physics teacher and have no idea if this is actually possible) "I still want to go." I repeated immediately calmer. 

Husband in his infinite patience and understanding reassured, "We can do this however you want to do this. If you want to stay, we can stay. If you want to go, we can go." 

Fast forward:
I still struggle daily with our decision. Not in a should we go home or stay kind of way but in the small moments of missing my parents and our families and wishing that my father could see Rafaella, the granddaughter named after him, dance and sing. She loves music - a gift I'm certain she got from him.

Everyday I am also grateful. Grateful for all of the things I never would have seen if I'd stayed home.
The biggest being this:

I am so lucky. 

I'm lucky to have a beautiful family: an amazing husband who cherishes and encourages me, two healthy children, time to spend with them, and good friends. But this is not what I mean when I say I am lucky.

When I say I am lucky, it is with new eyes that I say this. It is with eyes that have seen what poverty, real poverty, looks like. I know poverty exists in the U.S. but I've never really seen it. I've seen homeless people in the streets of NY but somehow they blended into the background of what New York City looked like and most of the time - they had a coat and shoes. I'm not saying it isn't poverty, it just isn't this kind of poverty.

The poverty I've seen here is hungry and shoeless, walking on streets dirtier than 5th Avenue. The poverty I've seen here carries an infant in her arms while begging for change. An infant smaller than my Santiago and as pretty as my Rafaella. The poverty I've seen here doesn't have a shelter to turn to or a soup kitchen to eat at.

The poverty here lives within walls that are still standing but by the grace of God. And stands on a dirt floor. Sometimes I feel bad that my daughter runs around barefoot as her choice instead of as her only option.  The poverty here politely asks to wash my windows for a coin instead of being at school. He wipes his wet squeegee on his shirt in order to not leave wet marks on my window and I can't help but wonder how many shirts he has. The other day, when he finished washing my windshield and I gave him his change I noticed he looked at a Coke bottle I had in my passenger seat. As I drove off, I thought I should have given it to him. And then I went one more thought passed that thought; I had spent more on my Coke than he made for washing my windshield. (A thought that quickly made me loop around to buy him a Coke and a bag of chips but made me feel no better because that won't really change a thing will it?)

And then I arrived upon this again:

I am so lucky. 

The only thing different about him and I is where I was born and who I was born to. I haven't struggled in life. I haven't had to choose between an education and actual money in hand. I've worked since I was 14, yes, but didn't have to. My parents taught me the importance of work and the value of money but they were lessons with safety nets below. Lessons I would never suffer at the hands of.

It isn't always about hard work and education and determination. Sometimes it it just about plain luck. Lucky to be born where you were born and lucky to have been born into a family that could take care of you. Lucky to be able to get an education. Lucky to be you.

Luck.
Pure luck.
Those that have it and those that don't.

Credit:

Thanks to In an Opal Hearted Country for organizing the February Expat Blog Challenge opportunity.

Day 17: Something I never would have seen if I'd stayed home (photo post with no photo)