Last day SOL18

Sweet victory has arrived. I have a newfound loyalty to my blog as I could be soaking up this 5 minutes of peace my husband has offered me with a little siesta but I wanted to make sure I got every post in. Looking forward to continuing on Tuesdays for the rest of the year.  I have a new appreciation for people who make blogging their job or are doing their job and maintaining blogs consistently.

I’ll see you Tuesday.
#SOL18 #TWTBlog

Off The Radar: Day 30

Will be honest. It’s very hard to post and blog when you are at the beach or pool all day trying to relax and the only moment of freedom you have are spent napping or in the dark eating or reading. Such is life on vacation with a babe.
#SOL18 #TWTblog #Springbreak2018

Waves

Eyes full of wonder
As the turquoise blue
Waves ripple in.

Our legs wobble
In the pearly white sand

Waves are such a simple
But incredibly satisfying
Phenomenon at any age. 

Beware of Ceiling Fans

“Give me Pablo! I’ll put him in the backpack.”
I said throwing my arms up in the air. Andres responded “No, I got it and put Pablo above his head only to be whacked instantly by the metal ceiling fan. He started screaming and blood started coming out down the right side of his head.
“Go. There’s a medbay here.” I shouted.
Andres took off Pablo bawling in his arms,
I grabbed my wallet and phone in case and ran seconds behind them.

After an hour, of four of us holding Pablo down, a messy milk bottle, and bloody pillowcases, Pablo now had his first stitches.

They won’t be his last my father said.
Poor Andres feels terrible.
Poor Pablo looks like a war victim with his head all bandaged.

There’s countless endings for this slice but the most important simple one is to: Be cautious and aware of ceiling fans.
#TWTblog #SOL18 #springbreak2018

Your Child Was Born in Another Country

Your child was born in another country

and so there are hoops

to jump through

to get him to live

somewhere else.

Your child was born in another country

and so each day 

he sees faces different than his

and his world

becomes imminently

bigger.

Your child was born in another country

so he may 

never be able

to see the hospital

where you had him.

Your child was born in another country

so his palate is 

a colorful passport

of all the places

he has been and will go.

Your child was born in another country

so he doesn't 

get to see his 

grandparents or cousins

as often as anyone would like.

Your child was born in another country

so he already

has a brat pack of

international friends

that have similar backgrounds

Dutch American, Danish Czech, 

Canadian, American with parents 

who have lived abroad for years.

One day he will meet in a bar

with his international friends

in some exotic destination

and praise or curse you.

Your child was born in another country

so like you who grew up 

with a nomadic oil and gas family

he might never understand

the idea of 

my best friend since I was 3. 

Your child was born in another country

so he will share stories and 

understand histories 

beyond books and 

our imaginations.

The Power of Social Media: We are Better Together

I just got off the phone with a friend who is slicing as well.  We have been in and out of each others' lives for nearly 8 years. 

It was the summer of 2010 when we met at JOSTI, a technology conference sponsored by the US State Department.  K was a vibrant soul with lots of sparks flying just the kind of person, I need to be around at conferences to bounce ideas off of and talk through things with. 

Tonight, was a breath of fresh air.  K and I have met in person once, but we chatted like old friends who had to process so many life happenings: new jobs, new places, new family members.  Facebook may be the root of all evil in some cases but in this particular case, it is a diamond in the rough. 

K with her years of experience on me as a mom, reminded me that it gets better and that everything I am experiencing is normal and will be laughable in ways in the future.   As she moves onto a new career similar to mine, I shared my recent experiences with her, humbled by hearing my own voice and realizing how much I have grown and learned. 

With friends, near or far, old or new, we are better together. K, I hope the next chat can be in person over a beer or big glass of wine, in a great place. 

#TWTblog #SOL18 

March for Our Lives: A Poetic Reflection

I am inspired by this generation
of kids standing up
against the NRA.
Standing up
because they
want to survive
and they know
we can be better.

As a teacher
those students
make me
proud.

As an adult
those students
make me excited
to go into
the next 20 years
of my career
and hopefully
get to work
alongside to
build the
change
we all want to see.

The Reoccurring A%$ Kicking

It's 11:30 am.  I have been up since 7 am.  Pablo woke up slightly later than usual but the anticipation of him waking up, had me lying in bed with one eye open, ready to jump up and grab him when the "get me out of my crib, I've been here 12 hours" cries began.

We had a nice morning but he is now cranky, fighting a nap, and I have had it.  I arrive at a tipping point, where his cutesy, mischievous smiles, his spaztic movements and his inquisitive self all become a little bit too much for me to handle.  So I go lie on the bed to try and get his dad up and let Pablo basically climb all over him until he gets up or until Pablo surrenders to his yawn.

Eventually his father gets up, grabs him, takes him downstairs to darkness and gets him down.

Life with kids can kick you in the ass sometimes.  I sometimes think waiting until I was 36 to have one also bit me in the butt because I was so blissfully independent for what feels like forever.

#TWTblog #parentmusings #parenting #SOL18

Wasting away in Burkiniville

Tonight, I went to KLCC mall to buy a swimsuit for my upcoming trip to the beach.
I started off at Marks and Spencers, thinking that there would be conservative but at least Western type options there.  I believe there were about three choices. 

From there, I jetted upstairs to Parksons, where I entered the second floor, which said that it was sportswear.  The only options were rash guards or burkinis.  I asked the Filipina salesperson if they had any "normal" bathing suits.  She sent me to a sports store two floors up.  At the sports stores, all I could locate were some really ugly speedos circa my middle school swim team days or a conservative version of Baywatch.   At this point, Pablo passed out facing forward in his baby Bjorn as this was becoming dire.

There was one last option in this mall.  The trendy Japanese department store called Isetan.  They had to have something, right? I landed on the floor with sportswear and saw some swimsuits also a burkini corner, no bikinis or onepiece swimsuits that were not full on thin wetsuits.. "Is there another swimwear section in the store?" I asked with very little hope left in my voice.   There wasn't.

For now, I am off to do some internet searching, inquiring into my international mommy groups and praying to multiple gods that I will not waste away in Burkiniville.  

The Perfect Slice

On my drive to school this morning, I was daydreaming and brainstorming about what I might write in my blog today.  It got me thinking, about what the perfect slice of life might look like at this place in time and in my life.  

It starts when I get home from school/ work.  I walk up the stairs and my husband says in Spanglish "Buenas tardes, my darling.  Good news! Pablo's birth certificate has arrived from Argentina."   He approaches me with Pablo in his arms, the three of us have a family hug and Pablo giggles like a 10 year old when Andres and I kiss.  

It's hot outside so Pablo and I decide to walk over to my friend Deseree's house for a swim.  She has her own pool on her roof top. It's about 4x 3meters and on a sunshiney day with a cloudless sky around 4 pm, there's not a better place to be in Kuala Lumpur.   I sprawl Pablo on the bed to change him into his bathing suit, his grin runs from ear to ear and he lays his arms and legs passively on the bed, letting me take off his clothes and get his swim clothes on.  Within minutes, the four of us, Des, her baby, Eli, Pablo and I get in the water and float around, playfully splashing.  Smiles spread smoothly like jam on toast and we get a much needed cool off from the heat. 

About 30 minutes later, Pablo and I return home to his father saying, "Go read, go take a nap, go ... I got this, Mama." So I pass Pablo on and get about 30 minutes of ME- time.

It seems so simple and so do-able.  But reality is, because of being a new mom, being about to move, a lot of commitments falling at the same time (SOL, making charity items, food reviews, etc), it's not easy to get quality time with my son, for myself, and especially with my poor husband.    There are hardly enough minutes in the day.   

We had a chat yesterday about shifting our mindset on success and that sometimes success needs to look different for where you are in your life and what you are doing.  It seems like a mantra that I need to remind myself of.  

#SOL18 #TWTblog #parenting #Sometimessuccesslooksdifferent

Wrong Turns

Only in Kuala Lumpur, a capital city, Malaysia's biggest city, can you take two wrong turns and go on a 20 km/ 30 min detour.  

This 30 minutes of my life/ slice was not one I am proud of.   I was on the verge of tears and all I was thinking after a long day: work, faculty meeting, food review, was I want to see my baby boy and husband. 

It's easy to report out on the good, but the bad and the ugly are less fun.  Still the same, I made it home, even with a cement truck stuck for no apparent reason in the major intersection near my house.  

Spring break goals

Current status:
Horizontal position
On my sofa
Pleasantly full after a
Salmon, Kaniwa and Kale salad dinner.
3 days to go until Spring break.

Goals for the break
1.  Read at least 3 novels
2.  Swim everyday
3.  Dive at least three times
4.  Sleep when Pablo sleeps
5.  Get my Argentinian visa paperwork really sorted. (Pablo's birth certificate take 2)

It's Not all Candy Canes & Rainbows

And then there's nights like tonight. 

Pablo's dinner put down in front of him and he hovers over it, smears himself in hit but does not come near eating it. 

He is angry. He is wailing.   

I pick him up and he stops but then he starts.  

He's overheating so I run upstairs to get the thermometer.

He's fine. 

I imagine he is laughing on the inside.

I put him back in his high chair and he screams again. 

My headache from last week is back and with a force from a Star Wars movie. 

That and I am running on empty as wake up was 5 am sharp this morning.

I call for backup.  His comedian father steps in for the side show. 

He says "He doesn't like pasta."

Great. So I throw some other food in front of him.

He tolerates it but isn't really thrilled.

Between miffled cries, tears and a ruby red face, he eats enough to survive. 

I throw some pineapple at him and give him a look. 

"Eat it, Pablo." I say sharply feeling a slight bit of guilt at my tone. 

The fun doesn't stop when he bites my nipples as I try to nurse him to sleep.

Parenting: it's not all candy canes and rainbows. 

#TWTblog #SOL18

My Little Foodie

Pablo is on fire these days.  He is generally happy and it's so pleasant after a difficult 7.5 month leap that coincided with his Dad being away, him getting a pretty bad cold, 4 new teeth breaking through, amongst other things. 

Today we went to eat Mexican food.  It was Pablo's first experience.  I handed him the quesadilla and his face squirmed up for .5 second as it does when he tries something new and then he was inhaling it.  All of it, including the pico de gallo.   By the end, his arms and chunky thighs were covered in refried beans but when we went to the bathroom to clean off, he was all giggles as I threw him under the water.  These are the moments you live for as a parent, when every moment is fun and new. 

Tonight, it was mango.  He had finished up his normal pumpkin, fish, purple carrot combo and I gave him some of the mango I was cutting up for a snack.  He housed it and longingly eyed me for more.  In the end, he ate 2/3 of the mango on his own and none of it was wasted or thrown to the floor for fun.  The only other thing he has done this with are his raspberries, which might as well be gold-flaked as pricey as they are in Malaysia.  Having said that,  if he is going to have addictions to fruit rather than chocolate or yogurt or something that might have a lot more hormones or preservatives in it, I am happy to pay the price. 

All in all, I am just happy I am raising a kid who will try anything and has a worldly palate. 

#foodie #SOL18 #TWTblog 

Grit: Part 1

As a mom of a young boy, I worry about our boys. 

I look at boys at my school that are 4, that are 8, that are 11 and I notice a common thread among all of them.  Their energy levels are enormous and our current educational practices aren't reaching them in the way that they could or should. 

What are we doing wrong?

I try to think of my husband, my father.  I don't have grandfathers that are still alive and when they were I didn't know them well enough.  Anywise, back to my husband and father.  

My husband born in 1977, Spanish, raised by his mother and a nanny predominantly, went to Catholic school, from an early age was quite academic and had papers published by high school.  He was not an athlete but the school was nurturing his computer engineering talents as he quickly became a young business owner and flourished.   His mother was successful in running the family pharmacy. 

Then my father born, to an American mother and a Czech father, nearly 25 years before in 1951, grew up predominantly in Northern Minnesota. Also, was without a father in many ways, but was a strong athlete, runner, rugby and football player as well as valedictorian of his class.  His mother did a variety of civil service jobs but I am not sure I would dub her highly successful.  She was strong and independent and raised her 2 boys, one of which had MD.  

As I write all this down, I realize these two men in my life are probably not the best typical examples.   They had a level of intrinsic motivation that educators, employers, parents, dream of, but then I realize that's just it. 

It's that grit, so it gets down to determining where that comes from.   I do agree with Daniel Pink, the carrot is not it.  I think there are so many other factors that affect drive.   I think there's parental support, being there to pick people up when they fall, being there to provide a number of opportunities for growth and brain development.  Then, I think of all the kids that come from underprivileged families and still power ahead to do something with their lives which contradicts that theory.  I think that planting the seed of having a dream and nurturing those ideas as if they are a real possibility is super important.  Acknowledgment that we can always grow and be better is something that influences my drive.  

Getting back to those boys, I am now on a mission about articles, books related to motivation and grit.  I'll try to write part two once I've done a little research. 

#TWTblog #SOL18 

Hollow Guns

Have you ever noticed that steel cranes look a bit like hollow guns?
They penetrate the sky and hang high above our heads.
Sometimes they are straight shooters, pointed directly at things.
Other times, they are wild cards, moving around in spontaneous patterns like bees.
Their presence and potential power looms, suspended in the air.
You can't know when one will snap or shoot off metal into the atmosphere.
Their volatility is nerve wrecking.

#SOL18 #TWTblog #kualalumpur

From the Passenger Seat

In the passenger seat,

I am able to float in and out

of the world. 

I read my book

Jumping into 

Another character's life

and imagining

What exactly I would do

if I were in their shoes?

And then, I see the never ending stream of flashing lights,

the Domino rows of cars.  

Even the motorbikes are trapped 

in this stream crossing.

I go back to my book.

A Morman world, 

A lack of education,

Being devalued as a women,

All of it makes me feel mad.

A yawn crawls across my face

spreading itself wide.

My frustration seeps into my 

slouchy shoulders.

I long for my bed to 

give my mind a break

and let my eyes soak in the

darkness.  

Darkness these days equals peace, 

no flashy LCD screen,

no social media updates.

We speed past the accident 

and into the darkness steadily.

Home is calling fiercely, 

sending out messages of love 

that fuel the way back. 

Hard day Headache

My energy levels are low this week.
I have been going to bed before 10 pm.
I wish I could say why. 
I have been exercising but definitely not more than normal. In fact, a little less.
I have been parenting and I guess the 2 hour park visit which is pretty involved with a 9 month old was exhausting for a Monday afternoon but still not more than normal.

Tonight, it's worse.
My head is pounding. I haven't had a headache in awhile,
My eyes are dry.
My jaw is tight.  Every so often, there is a sharp piercing pain that rings through it for a few seconds.

It's been a hard week.
Tough conversations at work.
Passing on truths that may not want to be heard.
Asking probing questions that have been asked 100 times and still not answered.
Running into not enough time.
Not enough time.
Not enough time.
To do what we want to do.

Still Got the Groove

This morning I was driving on the busy highway on the way to work.  Zoom! Beep! Bump!
I click to switch lanes and look over the corner in my blind spot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a motorbike dangerously close to my car.  It looks as if he is holding on and riding like kids do on the back of delivery trucks sometimes.
At second glance, he has come closer.  He is looking directly at me.  He slowly lifts up his helmet cover and it appears that he is checking me out.
Is this really happening?  On the highway?
I look to the side again and his stare is fierce and he has a smooth grin too.
What the?  
At this point, I am feeling a myriad of emotions.  
A little bit of anxiety that this man might hurt himself and others while checking me out/ doing whatever he is doing.
A little bit of uncertainty on the best way to avoid the awkwardness of this situation as if I were 14 years old again in 8th grade math class.
Finally, a little bit of pride in the sense that my wavy medium length hair and crystal blue eyes can still seduce some young ones, even if they are Malaysian motorcyclists.
I prioritize safety and dodging the moment and speed up.
1 minute later, Motorcycle man passes by me.  Devilishly tilting his helmet up again, staring at me with his almond colored eyes, he speeds by me.  I note his skinny ankles, absurd height and he turns around with a smirk and zips away.
All the meanwhile, I keep my eye on the highway, soaking in the steamy sunrise and beaming like a cheshire cat cause I still got the groove.

Monday Night Rhythm

Click, fizz, shwish

The beer opens.

RELAXation.

The park was conquered.

The dinner cooked and cherished.

The bath done.

The milk given.

It's Monday night

and 7:30 pm

and

we are all

ZONKED!

#sliceoflife #SOL18 #TWTblog

Haiku Meals

Slice of Life Day 10: Make up post

Yesterday's meals were so diverse & delicious! 

Breakfast
Raspberry yogurt
with Pablo, peanut butter
toast and strong cold brew.


Lunch
A broth of pork bones
Piping hot, wiry noodles
grey curly mushrooms


Dinner
Earth elements
Five courses, eight tasty plates
Malaysia happy

Afternoon Reading Break

Sitting on the bed, the sunlight poured in through the gray screens and lit up the spotlight for Pablo.  After reading a couple of books, I flopped down on the bed in a horizontal position and just took a minute to watch him.

He picked up a book, opened it and beautifully interacted with it.  It was one of the sensory books and he first touched the shape that had the different texture, then opened the flap to see the whole picture revealed.  After that, he turned the page and repeat.   

Pablo is 8.5 months old and I am a learning specialist and literacy coach.  His closest thing to a word that I have heard so far is bu, boo, and so we are trying to get it to book.  That would have me soaring for days but this little slice of his life is enough to put me on cloud 9 for the rest of my Sunday.

#SOL18 #Sliceoflife #TWTblog #booklove

Morning Onomatopoeia

A V of birds... flap, flap, flap

A child's face squished into the car window, eyes wide and shut... zzz, zzz, zzz

A man running in jeans, a collared shirt and leather converse on the highway... click, clack, click

The coffee machine preparing my frothy cappucino... ouh, ouh, ouh

My fingers hitting the keyboard typing this slice... tic, tap, tic, tap

#SOL18 #sliceoflife #ISKLproud #TWTblog

What's for dinner? Pig's Ear

San Sebastian, summer of 2012.  After three weeks on the Camino De Santiago, eating mediocre food but drinking fairly decent wine, I was ready to level the field.  I headed to Spain's culinary capital, San Sebastian, otherwise, known as Donostia, for a reunion with my partner, Andres and indulgent meal after meal.

I could go on about my trip and list the amazing meals we had but that wouldn't be a slice of my life.  Instead it would be a piece of cake.  There was no doubt that we had wonderful, delectable meal after meal.  Having said that, the special thing about this story is that the culinary experience I most remember from that full on foodie, reunion sex-filled gluttonous weekend, was actually an unexpected star.



I believe it was the second night I was there and Andres had a plan.  This was a rare and wondrous occasion that he did the planning and I embraced it.  We meandered down the cobbled streets and ended up at a place called La Cuchara de San Telmo.  It was later so the place wasn't jam packed like sardines but I let Andres gargantuan physique take over the ordering. "Dos vino tintos y una oreja."  Andres shouted across the bar. 
"Did you just order an ear?" I asked.
"It's one of the best things they have, trust me." He said, his vino in one hand, jolly faced.
"What kind of ear is it?" I asked.  I was okay with the ear of something.  It wasn't the weirdest thing I've eaten before.
"You'll see."  He replied with a twinkle in his eye.

One by one, plate by plate came out.  One of which was so buttery, soft, with a soft squid like texture.  It was more or less caramelized in flavor and we devoured it within seconds.   I took a swish of my wine.  "Where's the ear?"  I asked curiously.
"That was it.  Pig's ear."  He replied and dashed away to order more wine. 'Really?' I thought.

It wasn't that I expected the ear to be bad.  What had shocked me was the beautiful, silky, softy, buttery texture of this dish.  I can still taste it today.

I'm not gonna lie.  We went back the next evening for another "oreja." And my mouth is watering as I write this.

#TWTblog #Sliceoflife #SOL18 #isklproud

Keeping the Learning Switched On!

YAWN! 

Today was parent teacher/ student led conferences at our school.  I am an instructional coach and curriculum specialist so I use this time to catch up on documentation, particularly revising, cleaning up, determining next steps for curricular areas and grade level teams.  

While it's wonderful to have the feeling of "getting shit done" and streamlining and standardizing stuff so that it's easy for teachers to read if there is turnover or movement between teams, it is also tiring.  

Typically, I try to spend at least 3 hours of my day with students. It keeps me in the know about what "learning" really looks like.  We can make the lesson plans but it might not mean they (students) are learning.  It also energizes me to be surrounded by kiddos and makes me critically think about how we can best deliver learning opportunities to them to allow them to get messy with experimenting, reading, writing, questioning, showing not telling and much more.   Finally, I do believe that teachers are the ones who make the magic happen and since I do not have my own "class" anymore I need to be surrounded by them and their learning engagements to spark other ideas.  If I am not able to participate in what the learning may look like, how am I to imagine strategy groups for highly abled learners or a choice performance task assessment to demonstrate understanding of the unit?  As educators, no matter what role we are in; we have to be vulnerable and let ourselves open up to new learning, whatever that means.  We can make our own meaning of what we learn but we have to be willing to take risks just as we encourage our students to do regularly.  

#TWTblog #sliceoflife #SOL18 . 

We must be 

La Corrida: One Long, Luscious Laugh

"You got to get yourself together man you're stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it." U2

Have you ever had one of those moments?  One that sends you down a spiral staircase for days and you enter in and out of bliss with the remembrance but pain of knowing that it will never come again.
It was April 2012, my second year, at the infamous snail party in Lleida, Spain.  The second afternoon, there we were, Jordi, Maria, Albert, Marta, Eli and Jose and their two littles and my partner, Andres, walking through the carnival.  Salty, buttery octopus stunk up the air and a rainbow of balloons floated at eye level making me feel as if I was in a scene from the Little Mermaid.  We were slightly buzzed post lunch, a vermouth to start, followed by wine, and a digestive of Orujas and with beers in hand, we felt like we owned the place, like a group of 1970s twenty-somethings staking their territory.
After a 10 minute walk through the carnival, we put down our beer cans and decided firmly upon our ride of choice.  The bull ring, which consisted of 5 bulls or so that shaked, rattled and rolled and then a floor that also shaked back and forth.    And so, us four couples sat down, one per bull, we climbed aboard, straddling and giggling, the girls holding onto the bull horns in the front.  The boys arms wrapped around our waists.  And then came the music and the movement, and buckets of laughter.

As the bulls bucked up and down and left and right, one by one we went flying off laughing so hard my stomach shook and my face hurt from smiling.   As we stood up, the ground shaking like an earthquake, we tried to jump back on the bulls.  Bam! They would buck us off again even before we had saddled up.  When I got off the ride, my legs felt like jelly and I couldn't stop smiling and with sweet surprised splendour.  I felt like I had been injected with a shot of seratonin and each time I think of that moment, my eyes shine, cheeks warm and I get a little grin and have a sweet, long, luscious laugh. 

#TWTblog #SOL18 #Sliceoflife 

In the last minute: Who's winning?

The hour before he goes to bed is quite labyrinthine.  He, being my 8 month child, has the volatility of a middle aged bipolar adult, fluctuating between angel, devil, cooing, wailing, adorable and evil and you never know what road the evening will take you down. 

The hour begins with Pablo, aka a 10 kg weight, glued to my right hip, usually not happy about being put down. I'm sure he is thinking something along the lines of I have 2-3 hours with you, Mom.  Just let me be close to you.  And when I consider that and write it down, I feel pretty guilty about calling it freedom. 

It's just that for all of the day I am mainly someone else's.  My job, my trainer, my son, my husband's.  It's the minutes in the car listening to podcasts and giggling to myself and questioning something whimsical or the time after he sleeps when I send my husband to cook and get to indulge in some words, that I feel like I am me, doing something for myself, being what I envision myself to be irrespective of all those other things that now define me to the outside world.

Pablo and I mosey into the kitchen.  I usually ask him "What's for dinner?"  His gorgeous ash colored eyes pop out and his tummy grumbles and I try to cess out the situation through deductive reasoning on what the nanny fed him for lunch.  You might be thinking, shouldn't you know that?  But I am trying to relinquish control where I can and Pablo's lunch seems like a reasonable place to do that these days. 

Tonight's special is a 1 egg omelette with some aged Parmesan.  I wonder if my diet was as fancy back in the 80s.  I am going to guess no but you never know.   He gobbles it down like a hungry sailor and then happily indulges in some pineapple and bits of peaches that I have regurgitated after gnawing the skin off. 

I scoop him out of his chair and am happy to say that tonight's meal was quite a tidy one.  There is not food in my hair, nor really on him, and the surrounding premise is still fairly spotless.   Mom is up 1 point.

We head for the hills or up three flights of stairs towards the bath.  Every time I turn on the water, his eyes sparkle and I am not sure why as I am still determining whether or not he loves the bath or simply stands it.  We hop in together and he's moaning a word that sounds like "Bu" I say the word book about 15 times to try and get him to elaborate but I am not scoring any points here.   He does keep talking so I am calling this one even. 

Outside of the tub, we do the evening struggle of pajama time.  This is a new and not so wondrous point in his life also known as "Let's try to not get dressed." Mom loses only 1 point tonight because it's less painful than usual.

Finally, we retreat to the bed where Pablo latches on sweetly and is out in about 20 minutes.  I lower him to his ground crib and he rolls over settling into his sleeping position.   Mom is up 2 points for this success.

Today Mom is victorious but tomorrow's another day.

#TWTblog #SOL18 #Sliceoflife

Why I Run

Why I Run

I run to release

the stress

locking my 

jaw 

when days go bad.

I run to 

REVIVE

and get energy

so I can go 

home and lift up

my babe.

.

I run to get lost

in cities, 

mountains,

countryside,

beaches,

riverbanks

and 

rice paddy fields.

I run to interpret

my own 

and others 

feelings

about hard days at work.

I run to give

myself a physical

challenge, 

motivation to 

improve upon

times. 

I run for the 

togetherness.

What doesn't

kill us makes

us stronger.  

Each time we pass

one another, I feel 

my heart lift up 

and my shoes get

a little lighter. 

#TWTblog #SliceofLife #Runhard #MWM

This morning: Saturday, March 3

Part 1:
This morning was
Crusted eyelids
Rolling over to check the
5 am
Deciphering hungry cries or
grumpy grunts and
Finally
Succumbing
A baby in one hand
Another pulling out the breast
A latch and a sigh
My head resting on the wall
Back squishing into pillows and
Pablo sucking away
Satisfied.

Part 2:
Breakfast at the cafe
Please don't bring those
plastic things
They are only toys to him.
Banana pancakes mmm
Mess distress
A smile makes it all
fall away.
Your antsyness perserveres
and we feel the need to
move. 
Luckily we don't need much
coercion with a 4 year old
cheering us onto
the park.
To the swings! Hooray!

Part 3:
Your wiggly body
is easy to manipulate
into the curves of the
seat swing.
We jiggle those arms so that you
can grip for dear life.
Smiles fluctuate
as you drift slowly
back and
forth,
back and forth,
sucking the air and
the world around you
in.

#slifeofLife #TWTblog #kualalumpur #babylove #morningswithPablo

Cotton Candy Skies

Cotton Candy Skies

The skies this morning were soft piglet pink
 and shades of lavender
swirled with dashes of baby blue. 
These colors
and the sticky, saturated Malaysian heat
sent my imagination
through a portal to
Coney Island boardwalks.
Smells of buttery, salty popcorn
drifted through the air, while
cheerful smiles, caramel cornered
light up the stalls
of vendors.
Bright eyes
illuminate the night sky
on roller coaster rides
going up and down
up and down
spiralling wildly
as if to pump up
the laughter.
And so I smile
to myself and slowly
return back to my
day, wondering
where the weather
will carry my
mind.

#sliceofLife #isklproud #Malaysia #weatherwords #teachwrite #twt

The Blinding Ride Home

The rain sputtered slowly down on my windshield and although the sky had morphed into a milk, hazy grey color, I had no fear of the rain.  I live in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.  The rain is just another part of our days particularly in the afternoon. It's not a matter of if but more of a matter of when and how much. 

The sputtered drops came out like a slow puffy muffler giving no sign of the fierce wall cloud that appeared within minutes, creeping in from every angle of the earth and making me feel so small.  I sat my eyes moving left, right, up, down.  My mind envisioning my car lifting up like Dorothy's house in The Wizard of Oz and floating us to a faraway land.  But the silver Myvi sped on knowing that was all we could do to get home, knowing that was the only way we would not become a victim floating in the mini pools forming on the DUKE highway and counting on my eyes to help bring us back to our homeland.

#kualalumpur #sliceoflifechallenge #marchmadness #teachwrite