I’m on the bed next to a sleeping Sylvan. He’s wiped down with sunscreen, actually wearing his little swim bodysuit, all ready for the beach, and sweetly sleeping under a white hotel sheet. K+K+B took off on their semi-automatic scooter to zip down some island roads. Raines and Aaron are still off on their adventure, hopefully bringing me back a coconut soon. I’ve started a great thing by eating at least four gingerbread tea cakes throughout my days here. Bread=love, for me anyway. Or really anything that eventually turns into sugar.

Okay, I’m gonna swing back to our last days in La Concepción. There was that one day that Kylie and I decided to go up to La Concha with our teachers (Jimmy and Katy) during our first class. We wanted to check out the church. So we did. And we also sat on top of a paper mache cow and horse and had our pictures taken. Worth it. But now I’ll say something about the scandal. I mean, I heard so many versions of what really happened that at one point I made up my own version but didn’t like it too much. Okay, okay, so it had to do with the church in La Concha and another church just down the road. Once a year, the church marches the imagen (statue) of their patron saint (La Virgen de Monserrat for La Concepción/La Concha) through the town streets and all the way down to meet her saint friends San Juan Bautista and San Marcos. It’s a big deal, and has apparently been happening since 1920. So here’s the part that had everyone so emotional: When San Juan Bautista was being marched up the hill, they went up a ways and then turned around and went back, before the two imágenes even got a chance to meet. Eeek! The most likely reason seemed to be that the priest down the hill was new and just didn’t know what was happening, maybe? Anyway, it made for fun eaves dropping over the next day or two. I was also thinking, does this just go unresolved until next year? And how many mishaps during this next year will be blamed on what happened, er, what didn’t happen?

hold on, Sylvan just woke up, sat up, and is now staring at the wall. Um.

On my last day at the school, I told Moisés that we needed to go bury some more letters and climb some trees and not talk about the subjunctive and just use it, k. He said okay, shut his laptop, and went to find a machete. We had already hidden a couple things earlier that week, but this time I was looking up, way up in those giant, gnarly, badass Nicaraguan trees. Poor Moisés was all dressed up for a meeting that day and then here we go off into the jungle. And all the while he’s just hoping that I don’t die or fall or get swarmed by little black flies since he’s kind of responsible for me. So I didn’t. I mean, the second tree was the sketchiest and I climbed down faster than I went up due to a big buzzing circle of…stinging insects probably. And the maps he made are really only helpful in showing the letters are in a tree in Nicaragua. So good luck, recipients, and just get in touch with Moisés Cruz from Santiago (La Concepción area) when you try to find them.

La Mariposa really is such a great Spanish school. I like to try new spots and make these trips as challenging as possible in every way (jk, but if so, this goal has been accomplished every single time), but I really would consider bringing the kids back here. They do an excellent job with teaching, and the environment overall is lovely, minus the tarantulas. And really the tarantulas just needed a home, but I have to stop talking about them right now and leave them in my past. Sylvan has started repeating words and has a few of the sweetest phrases in Spanish. Hearing his voice say things like “Gracias” and “bus” and “Por favor” shines light all over my face. It has begun. As for Raines, he did really well with his teacher Claudia, except when he only wanted to sharpen his knife and didn’t have time for words. He did really wonderfully with his writings and drawings though. And me, well, I had some of the strangest subjunctive scenarios explained to me that I hope I’ll never forget… Gracias, Moisés, y me podés agradecer por no caerme del arbol. ¿Claro cómo la sangre?

We headed out of La Concepción on a Thursday morning, after a group photo with los guardias de La Reserva and a prayer with Aleyda and José from across the street. Javier took us in our own microbus all the way to Granada, where we started to see the white specks of tourists on every street. Granada was also where I decided to not ask so many questions about William Walker… since he’s the one who burned that city down a few years back. Plus, he was from Nashville, dangit.

It won’t let me upload the photo of Jimmy on the cow, but maybe you can check his stuff out on YouTube…so many talents.

One of her best poses

Mustache making everyone feel a little less relaxed. + motobaby Brave

Hoping to get this back alive and whole

Candyland. What an incredible setup. I told Sylvan, don’t worry, even though you’d fit perfectly in one of those cauldrons, I won’t let them take you. Want some sugar and coconut?

KB, look for this tree and this guy in San Juan de la Concepción…somewhere behind La Mariposa.

Felipe the Entomologist. So glad we got to meet this Canadian and his mum.

Saying goodbyes to Claudia, covered in Taqueritos

This one worked

Canción, it’s not terribly deep and I hope the rains don’t wash it away. Find Moisés Cruz from Santiago (La Concepción area)

Burrito by Kylie

Felipe helped Raines make some pretty rad knives for their…avocado factory?

It’s almost like they have an announcement…also, a nice Kylie pose

Hermanos Andersen en la hamaca (that I gave away to a family on Ometepe because it was too heavy. Haven’t told Raines yet, but I’m working up a strategy for that)

Being saved from a teenage tarantula

Saying goodbye to Quinn

Lucy the Fav

Chepe and Kevin both think that mustaches are okay.

Goodbyes for Pastors José and Aleyda. Such sweet, kind hearts. Free cookies and chocobananos every day. And a sweet pair of pleated shorts for Kev. Even with squirming children, the prayer we shared before we left was wonderful.

La Pareja de los Cheles

Riding through Granada in a horse carriage

We’re gonna have to fast forward to the present, where I’m sitting in a dive shop on Big Corn Island drinking rum and coffee. Just for a minute, though, and then I’ll try to recap things in a believable way. Aaron’s here now, as of three days ago. This basically means that the boys are eating food again, Sylvan only wants Papa, I get to fall all the way to sleep, and now we have a machete for coconuts + life. It also means so much more than this, but those are my secrets. I won’t do too much of this, but I need to write down and read for myself one of the goods this man brings to our lives. Really, what a phenomenal luggage bearer he is… jk, jk… but just to say one little thing: I say we just have to take these trips with our kids and we gotta do it every year and it’ll be good, and then Aaron says “Okay, let’s make it happen,” and then he starts talking about his new favorite crane, but he means it and we keep making these trips happen. He listens to my heart (uh…starting to sound like a Thumbelina song so I’ll move on). I may still be clinging to the bottom of the ladder in the vulnerability department with others, but I’m getting pretty damn good at it with Aaron. Scary and lovely.

Skipping through the past couple days, I’ll mention that we flew from Managua to Big Corn Island on Thursday to hang off the Caribbean coast and stare at clear blue seas and bright white waves until Monday. I’ll post a photo but it’ll probably just look like your screensaver, so maybe I shouldn’t. We’ve rented a pretty jankity scooter to save money from all those seventy-five-cent taxi rides, ya know (20 Córdobas is what they cost on the island…from anywhere to anywhere else). So yesterday Raines sat in front of Papa, Aaron drove, and I sat on the back with Sylvan strapped to my back in the Ergo. And off to the beach we zoomed. Aaron and Raines are on a date today, in search of coconuts, shipwrecks, and the Golden Pyramid that’s on a hill somewhere. Sylvan is hanging with Kylie, Kevin, and Brave for a few hours and here I am, drinking coffee, click-typing, and thinking about all those sharks out that window.

Now, looking back to even before Ometepe Island, let me sift a minute and remember some things to say…

Due to the style of wi-fi we get to enjoy here, my last post was deleted. So some secrets and details of our doings are out there somewhere, floating around in the deleted zone. Lame. (This happened multiple times in La Concepción, which is why I’ve held off until this couch to try again.)

I can’t tell you all the truth; I don’t want to and I don’t even have it all yet. This next part is a bit self-focused but it may explain a few things to those of you who’ve been around me this past year or so. I’m breathing underneath a pile a pillows, shallow breaths some days and deep, sweet breaths others. I mean, I’m sad. Sylvan was born May 1, 2014 and things felt dreamy in so many ways until he was about five months old. From that point, music began to overwhelm me, Phynley’s whine made me wanna crush a glass in my palm, and I would stare at my children and reiterate to myself all that I should’ve been feeling toward them. But really I was this emotional void–there, did you see that? That’s where shame bit into my heel. ME. Not just what I did, but me as a mother, me as a friend, me as a wife, me as a woman. I certainly recognized that this wasn’t normal, per say, and that it probably had some to do with postpartum stickiness, but I would definitely be able to, ya know, fix it. I didn’t doubt myself too deeply until I wanted to sleep for forever and forever and then take a nap…and maybe keep sleeping. I was developing such dynamic relationships between guilt, shame (they are different indeed–we can talk about it if you need to), ambivalence, apathy, anger, resentment, sometimes laughter, and desire. Pretty impressive what our chemical brains can do. Anyway, some days are like summertime and breakfast on a balcony and other days I’m like Atreyu’s horse, Artax. I’ll be all the way back soon, though, and I’ll be walking with more understanding and empathy, which should serve others well. So I’ll thank God today, out loud so I can’t try to take it back, for this ice wall that I’m trying to take down with a spoon.

So many photos, so check them later if you need to. Had to catch up on, oh, two weeks or so. K, I’m gonna get out of this comfy spot and go walk on the sand.

El Chanchito: best time with babies at a bar, eating nacatamales and drinking Toña.

Kylie, Kevin, Sylvan, and Brave enjoyed listening to Carlos Mejía Godoy while I wandered around with a incessantly whiny Raines Wilder, rabidly begging and pushing me because he wanted blue cotton candy instead of pink. I looked everywhere for a clean enough box to put him in…but too many policía staring.

La Reserva

Kylie studying to make her teacher, Jimmy, proud. “La muchacha va a la fiesta sola” Jimmy teaches her…

Cheles en otra hamaca

hiking up Volcano Mombacho

The real Fern Gully…except on a volcano. Truly incredible

Sylvan would like to hike the volcano by himself, thanks.

Who we are on top of Mombacho

Peter Pan

Cheles en hamaca con almohadas

lots of this

Cumiches con Jorge el Curioso

Teresa Monterrey: The woman who lives alone on a corner in a pink house with yellow walls. Her family has left her and only occasionally sends her money. She drinks all day now. She’s too old, she said, to cook and clean. She’s too tired and old now, she said, to keep up her house. Two chairs and a few catholic imagenes on her walls, the rest empty. Maybe there was a bed behind that one closed door in the back. Maybe. We found all the street food we could and took it back to her. She has a sister in Miami, she told us. But no one wants her anymore, she kept saying. We kissed her and thanked her for inviting us into her home. Teresa Monterrey.

Military truck that took us up the volcano at 40% grade. Sylvan got to sit in the front for a second. Super-happy chele

Super-quick post maybe, mainly photos that didn’t load yesterday. But also something else, that should only take up about two minutes: tarantulas. Also, I was planning to say something nice about Kylie, but really I can only say this: If Kylie had just ignored that first giant tarantula lowering itself from the ceiling, we wouldn’t be in this situation, right? I mean, this girl is a resplendent gem otherwise. But when it comes to looking at tarantulas and other distressing insects in our house, she’s terribly good at seeing them. Now there was that time yesterday when Raines stifled a shriek and said, “Mami, ¿Qué fue eso?!” [Mommy, what was that?!]. I tried to tell him that whatever he saw was probably one of the mice we live with, but mice don’t have more than four legs, he said, so… no. No. No. Yeah, and you should’ve seen his little hands trying to show how big it was. I guess partial blame for this situation can fall on the five year old. But not me; I have nothing to do with it.

Six tarantulas have been humanely (as far as we’ve seen…sorry, no photos because, um, emotional reactions.) removed from our house since yesterday morning. And since they decided to spray in hopes of encouraging their search for a home in…well, anywhere else, we have seen even more. Eep. Let’s just say that my prayers last night were spoken out loud, with the name of Jesus (more than two times), and from under the carefully secured mosquito net. Oh yeah, and yesterday I thought all the bugs in the bathroom were about, well, the bathroom–but nope. When I looked in the sink, I saw something fuzzy. First thought: furry tarantula lying in wait to not only bite me but also pee on me (I’ll explain in a few sentences). Then I regained composure, stopped turning red, and looked again. A poor baby mouse had gotten stuck in the drain and died. I got it out and buried it by stylishly flinging it into the garden. We were informed yesterday that this type of tarantula, some kind of horse spider they call it, isn’t so deadly if it bites you, but you can lose limbs/use of limbs if it pees on you. I just…well, sit with that for a minute and be grateful for your giant sealed houses. I love it here, though, really! I love our avocado trees, I love our dirt pile, I love these blue skies, I really like this school, and I am thoroughly digging the hammock I’m swinging in right now. You could be here.

Hang spot

Be like Brave

You can ask Raines about his “cape” if you’d like, and how it came to be his.

Kevin + minions

Walk home

Montado a caballo

Kylie switched to the fastest horse.

Me, her, them

Cementerio

Chela en un mandarino

Catching the mandarins as Kylie tossed them down

Perfect.

Trepando

Raines-picked mandarin

Sylvan stopped at this random door, pushed it open, and then turned around and said “Bye!”

Maybe my favorite part of this photo should be La Mariposa’s beautiful reserve behind us, but it’s not. I like Kylie’s hair the best here. If only she could make this happen every day.

How we do

Arián Fabián, our guide, + my uncroppable thumb

Nostalgia has settled behind my eyes. My eyelids feel lower, carrying the mixed weight of surreal times behind me and all I have cradled in my arms today. The Toña I just drank brought up this idea of a nap in a hammock instead of breaking down payroll checks, so I feel like the trip is working.

Our walk from La Reserva to the school takes approximately ten minutes, for any other anybodies. Raines Wilder has incurred at least seven pretty nice scrapes to his feet, all of which required more than moments of hopelessness. So we take it slow and grab a mototaxi whenever I see one without people hanging off the sides or clinging to the roof. My favorite way to spend fifty cents these days. Heres something super obvious to anyone who sees us here at any point at all: Raines, Brave, and Sylvan are covered in dirt no later than 8:00 a.m., and then for the rest of the day and for tomorrow and forever. They’re so good at looking like they found a giant bag of cinnamon and carefully dumped it over each of their little white heads. At least it’s just dirt; cinnamon would be lame to clean off their faces and feet every night.

Kevin saved us all from two dead mice underneath our baby fridge. If he hadn’t been so proactive, then we would’ve lived with weird smells and hundreds of ugly gnats for another week. I will buy him a bottle of rum. He’s been running and writing songs and hanging their new handmade hammock. And he and Kylie both beat me at Spanish Bingo, so he’s got some pretty smoking language clout this week. But poor Kevin has to duck through so many doors here. I won’t talk anymore about his mustache…I’ll just continue to focus on the sweet relationship he has with Brave. Besides, I think Kylie and I have a plan to help him with his decisions. I saved us today from this dead baby mouse that had gotten stuck in the bathroom sink drain. Woo.

I’ll need to say a few things about horseback riding, climbing mandarin trees, and mosquito nets. Two days ago Kylie, Raines, and I went up to La Concha and got on some horses, with Arián Fabián as our guide. He took us up to a spot from where we looked out across mountains and over volcanic haze. Raines rode his own horse, led by Arián, and said fewer words than he says in his sleep. He loved it, and perhaps fear played a healthy role here. After bringing back the horses, Kylie and Raines found some mandarin trees to climb, and picked a bunch of incredibly sweet and almost-seedless mandarins. Arián hopped up in a tree super fast and grabbed a giant one for Raines. So yeah, good day. Also, Brave hung back and took care of Kevin and Sylvie…it just made more sense, ya know. Um, as far as mosquito nets, I love them mucho. They’re very, how should I say it…anti-tarantula and at the very same time anti-mosquito/lizard/creature–all in all, fantásticos.

I’m leaving way too much out, such as how wine keeps landing on my daily list of things I’m grateful for (I love ending sentences in a preposition–so much). Also, we finally found a pocket knife (actually two knives in one!) for Peter Pan Ninja Raines. There are many concerns coming from all directions, so that’s good. We really can’t go through this month trying to keep everyone calm–it just won’t work for us. So I’m sure we’ll move up to a machete at some point, maybe for Sylvan and Brave to share. Okay and finally, we got clean sheets yesterday, and they are so much better than yours. You will understand when you see the photo. I’ll talk about the goodness of Kylie Dailey next time I get to sit down with my BMX notebook and my laptop. Until then, you can picture me and Kylie sitting in the breeze of Nicaragua, thinking about the most confusing parts of the pluperfect subjunctive (me) and how to conjugate -ar verbs (Kylie). And dirt-covered children with sticks and knives. And bright red flowers with too many names. And reasons why not to live with a bunch of parrots. And mustache-covered Kevin with his guitar. And how I should always have an extra hair tie on my wrist, for when Sylvan just needs one so badly right away, please. Dale pués.

Just cool enough to wear my beloved Banning Bouldin sweater. + egg in a basket.

Raines Wilder working with his teacher Claudia

Short walk from the school

Los salvajes

Road trip to Masaya

Evening view from the living room

Microbooos

These are a few of my favorite things

Sheets of our dreams

VINO

Morning view

Raines Wilder learning to sharpen his knife

Sylvie was given this chocobanano because he is such a cute baby leprechaun

I’ll start off selfishly and tell you that today I shaved my armpits for the first time in about four months. My ankles too. Now to move on to something better, perhaps how I’m sure I’ve been weirding out my grammar teacher Moises with the hairs sticking out of the bottom of my pants. No, no, kidding, kidding. K, anyway, this place: la hermosura de este lugar. Fucking beautiful (just cover up your eyes if you’re disquieted by exciting words.

So it’s me, Raines Wilder, Sylvan, Kylie (wonderful), Kevin (wonderful), and Brave (spirited). Kylie and Kevin are married and love and like each other. Brave is their almost-three-year-old boy, who let me wipe his face down with a wipe today. We all believe in Jesus… and that He’s God. We all (yeah, kids too, but, you know, responsibility in moderation) like wine and beer and whiskey and rum and Kevin brought his guitar. We are different, too, and will not be bored over these next twenty-six days.

We flew away from Nashville on Tuesday, stopping in Miami for some uncharacteristically terrible food (poor Miami airport). I mean, all I wanted was a damn smoothie (This sounds so bratty, I know, like I wanted to do yoga and find a pour-over coffee bar somewhere in there, but…no, just a smoothie.). All I had was this piece of pizza and mac & chz with confusing crunchy stuff in it. K+K+B took another route and had GMO burgers with fries–tan delicioso, ¿no? Then we got to sit in our airplane on the tarmac for forty-five minutes while Cuban airspace agents decided to open our route, ya know, because it’s a big decision and all. Definite and proven dynamic times with three small kids in super comfortable seats, breathing and rebreathing air. Anyway, we made it to Managua and then we made it to La Concepción, where we’re going to this lovely school for a bit.

I’mma have to stop here for now and finish this chela before it’s the same temperature as my blood. So here are some fotos para ti:

Oh, also also…before I never remember it again: I’m walking to the school from La Reserva (where we stay in an amazing straw and adobe cabin) and this kid, somewhere between fifteen and no way he was older than twenty, stops me and delivers the most polite offer to sell me weed. I mean, Sylvan and Raines were staring at some dog on the sidewalk and I went on to explain that, no, generally, I don’t buy weed when I’m traveling with kids, but does he have anything cooler… ? Um, actually, all I said was thanks so much and no problem for offering, but my hands were full at the moment. And off to school we went.

Keeping kids alive at the Miami airport

Siestacita

Dreaming about dinosaurs or pechos

Just outside our doors

Mi equipo

Los Hermanos Andersen

Los Cheles

Sylvan sleeping in the arms of his teacher, Luis

sleep so you can wake to another view of the jungle

Mi otro independiente

Brave likes chips and juice and animals and sticks and wants to sit by himself on the microbus.

Sylvan en la tinita

Raines Wilder sharpening his dagger

Our beautiful home on La Reserva