***critical addition***

One day on the island, Aaron saved a horse’s life. We were on the scooter, just he and I, heading North or South down the road when I saw a foal tangled up in a line. I asked A to please stop so we could help it. There were multiple horses tied to a metal fence alongside the road, just out there eating that free grass and breathing exhaust. Foals are usually left untethered next to their mothers, since they stay close. This guy (whoever owned these horses) tied them to the fence using some sort of telephone wire and ropes. One of the foals had gotten the black wire wrapped around her neck and legs. Nobody I asked knew who the owner was and they all kinda looked at me like, “Oh, that poor soft-hearted chela thinks she’s gonna save that horse.” And I wanted to. But see, I had Chaco flip-flops on so I made the wise decision to send Aaron in my place. Besides, animals know he’s a good one and he’s got compassion like Jesus has, even though he’ll tell you that nothing happens after you die–no reincarnating into brooms or going to heaven or floating off to light; just the end of whatever life you made happen. So we get off the scooter and walk over to the horses. Aaron tries multiple times to untangle the wires, but the horse kept jerking back and pulling the wire even more tightly around its neck. I was being incredibly helpful over on the sidewalk, making concerned sighs and shifting my weight. Meanwhile, the mama horse doesn’t seem concerned at all and maintains a strong nonreactive demeanor. Before Aaron could unwrap the wire from around its neck, the horse jumped up and one of its hooves landed right on top of Aaron’s foot. The fact that he was also wearing Chacos hadn’t seemed to register for me until just then. And his poor pinky toe was bleeding and got kinda poofy. He reminded me later that he’s actually not the biggest fan of horses, as in they’re way stronger than us and sometimes scary. I will say, I was really grateful that Aaron was able to untangle the line and free the foal to live another day alongside a Nicaraguan roadside. I do wish I had been a more effective part of the project though. Good thing my boyfriend is a badass at basically, well, anything. Even in sandals.

***end of addition***

The Corn Islands (one Big, one Little) are just under 50 miles off the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua. So still Nicaraguan, but with an English/Spanish creole and Miskito spoken, plátanos maduros (por fin), and that clear blue Caribbean water. If I were to stay there for more than a week, I’d need to learn to listen without so much intent and to use the absolute minimum amount of energy necessary… and then take that down three clicks. I’d do just one thing a day, and whenever that doesn’t work out, I just won’t. But I’d definitely find those hammerheads. Pretty sure that if I ever tried to dive, though, I would use all that oxygen up in ten seconds and self-sabotage my way through it…only to attract all the sharks and deadly jellyfish, since they can sense fear, ya know, not just blood. Eeesh. So maybe staring down from inside the boat. But what about the shipwrecks? I’d have to figure that out. Maybe if I did enough yoga and made sure that Sylvan made it to two and that Raines Wilder really was okay on his own with that machete, and that Aaron would keep up the love for what we’ve started for our life.

The night Aaron and I set the kids free and went to another hotel down the island a bit, we met a guy whose mother had passed away just two days beforehand. He took a cigarette and shared our bottle of rum, and then he told us that no, he didn’t go to the funeral; he’d lost his mom and that was everything to him. Money’s not the problem, he said, when I asked what he did for work. “Nothing’s the problem.” Except his mother had just gone. Except that (I added this in my head, but he never said it, apart from the way his head and shoulders hung). Oh, and Aaron and I were able to stay in that dreamy spot, looking out over choppy, white waves at the Southernmost tip of the island, because of Kylie. Kylie loves sweetly and sincerely, and my boys know it. She had offered to give us a night away and handle the tigrillos until morning. Kevin kept Brave in their room, and when people asked, Aaron and I just told them that we left our kids back at the hotel with their machete–they’re resourceful and we’re working on increasing their independence. Not entirely a lie, but.

Aaron and Raines had a great day bumping down nonroad roads, finding baby pyramids and beached boats along their way. I probably should’ve warned them that the pyramid they were looking for wasn’t exactly like the ones we saw in Mexico, ahem. The monument on the island marks one of the eight points connecting the globe. The Soul of the World, they call it. Anyway, it’s about the journey, right, baby? And who wouldn’t wanna ride around a tiny Caribbean island with Raines Wilder + machete?

Before I round down this trip, I should touch lightly on emotions. As much as I tried to say no, no, no to them after Haylie died, they have proven resilient through these years and I’m now working on a more professional discourse about it all. Okay, so the weeks before Aaron got to Nicaragua, I was feeling intensely isolated and vulnerable in my downheartedness. Every day and every night I worked to unclasp my hands, which were subserviently clinging to my fear. My determination ran out of energy before midday usually, and then I would work on focusing on the little joyful happenings, such as Sylvan’s smile and Raines’ forward kindness. I was really concerned that the backwash from the throes of my dispiritedness was making its way under my bedroom door and out to Kylie, Kevin, and Brave.

I couldn’t compartmentalize this shit. And while I generally mind confrontation 100 times less than passive aggression, explaining some of my internal blech to Kylie and Kevin made every single one of my crimson-red vulnerability flags fly up and whip me on my cheek. I care for their family, and was sure that I could make good things happen on this trip–for all six of us. And we did; we really had so many wonderful, golden (Kylie 😉 ) moments, days, evenings, moto rides. And all thanks to rum…jk jk, mainly. But in a big way, I felt so trashed emotionally by the end of the first week that I couldn’t even figure out how to pray (except about tarantulas. I could do that super well). I excelled as a defeatist during the second week. I mean, somebody should really give me a fucking giant gold star for those days. Ugh. Those guys may have a difficult time remembering why we decided to romp around Nicaragua for four weeks in a group of three adults and three baby leprechauns. I’m frustrated that I wasn’t able to lift my head above my own standards and handle things better. I am evermore grateful for the grace and mercy of God, which I somehow ignore until I need it like blood in my veins and skin on my bones. Please guard the hearts of my children from being charred or even scratched by the fruit of my weakness, I pray. Please protect the hearts of others who find themselves around me and could be negatively affected by this shifting grey cloud above my head. I do not cry in hopelessness, but in anger, which means I still have much to do. I know this is not my forever, and it may not even be my tomorrow. So I’ll drink a cup of coffee, make of list of good from my day, and maybe smoke a cigarette every once in a while. And draw near to Him, near to the one who knows well my broken places and will never hold my failures over my heart. Well, yes, these things were difficult, so we prayed and took a shot of moonshine. And then Aaron got to me, and I could feel my hands release their guarded tension and my body stood up with more ease. Oh, and Raines and Sylvan started eating food again, so add that to the pro list.

Um, okay, I’ll jump to our last night in Nicaragua. We flew back to Managua from Big Corn Island, where we stayed at Casa Lucía. Claudia and his mother run a bed and breakfast (found them on Airbnb, fyi) and instead of ending up in sketchlandia as I had thought probable, we enjoyed clean rooms, incredible kindness, breakfast, and peace. The kids all seemed so comfortable there and Kevin felt so good that he got a tattoo. I really wish he had gone with something more like Nicaragua Forever or the national bird or something, but he decided on something more premeditated. So. It’s good though, seriously.

Well, we got back to Casa Lucía just before 6:00 p.m., and I checked with our driver about taking me to Granada that night. It was my last chance, before leaving the following morning to head back to the States. Michael Peters (hmm…) said yeah, he could take me at 7:00. See, Granada is about an hour from Managua, and I had already yawned like five times before 3:00 that day. But we did it. We got to Granada just after 8:00 and we started walking the colonial blocks around the main square, looking for a painting on a wall in a restaurant. “We’re looking for a painting of William Walker’s death,” I would say, and then I said it probably twenty-five more times in various bars and restaurants just off the square. Most people really tried to help, but had no idea where it was. One man, sitting in his rocking chair in his hotel told me, “You will find no paintings of him here. And you are incorrect to say that he was assassinated; he was executed in a just act of war.” Ajusticiamiento. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Maybe you’ve never heard of William Walker. So you probably don’t know that he went down to Nicaragua in the mid-1800s and named himself President of Nicaragua. Uh…well, then he burned Granada down–twice. Eventually he was executed by a firing squad, at least, but it’s kind of a bummer that they killed him in Honduras instead of Nicaragua. Oh, and he’s from Nashville. Go try to find him in your history books and see what happens. Dead, white filibuster from Nashville, TN. He might say he was only trying to keep slavery alive, so if you wanna join in the celebrations of his defeat and death, Nicaragua welcomes you. And KB, we found the plaque but couldn’t find that painting. I wrote your letter while seated at the bar that supposedly used to be part of Walker’s house–more specifically, the jail he kept prisoners in. If you make it there and find that letter, I left you enough Córdobas for a couple beers. Worth a trip, right?

And then we woke up at 5:00 a.m., went to the airport, flew away home to Nashville, TN. Mom and Tío Roddy surprised us at the airport, which was the best, and we all went to eat dinner at Coco’s–even G-Pa! Raines freaked out and melted down while trying to communicate that he wanted to sleep with both of his big knives.

Dale pues y hasta la próxima vez

Enter a caption

BNA-HOME

We never did throw up. That ferry ride from San Jorge to Ometepe Island had Kylie and I in a terribly trippy state, no matter how fixed our eyes stayed on the horizon. Small, sketch ferry on the way there and then we decided on the big ferry for the trip back, which had telenovelas and took the waves like she knew how. I still felt weird and kinda bummed that I wouldn’t make the best sailor, or even be allowed to try. But we got there, nobody fell off the plank with a baby or a backpack, so we could go find a taxi to drive us where we thought we wanted to go. $25 they all said, and then we were all walking to pick out the coolest ride. $17 won us a ride in a white microbus, and even though my leg kinda got shut in the door it worked and we made it to the beginning of the twenty-minute hike up to where we would sleep for the next two nights. This is all more than an hour and a half after we got off that boat.

I wanna be clear about one thing before I say something else: Ometepe is awesome. The spot where we ended up for our last few nights brought us great peace and settled us down nicely. Casa Istiám, if you ever head that way. Our room had big flowers painted on the walls and then this perfect view to the beach. Brave, Sylvan, and Raines would probably point out that the glass case full of snacks, wine, and sunscreen was the main reason you would wanna stay there. So anyway, we get to the island and get dropped off at the bottom of this haven for people who really like the idea of self-care and all that goes with taking care of your own, well, self, and then yoga and then tiny pathways that go up and up and then wind because getting lost is a necessary part of finding yourself, right? I mean, sans niños and the fucking ridiculous amounts of stuff we brought, I could see myself enjoying 1/2 a day up there just to see the views, walk the paths, and observe reactions when you ask for help with something. But that night when Kevin and I took our last trip up the hill to carry all the stuff we need so much (i.e. Raines Wilder’s piñata that he never wants to destroy) back down to then load it all on a scooter and then on top of Robin on a scooter (he got $10 to help us move), well, that night was a night of good decision making. I hope all my run-on sentences are your favorite…I wouldn’t be able to handle editing this, so I don’t.

So adiós, hippy mountain. Now we get to chill (um, fyi this doesn’t at all mean what it used to for me) on the best beach of the island and watch the boys turn into water tigers in las aguas dulces of Lake Nicaragua. Quick, cool moments include but are in no way limited to: Brave finding the moto helmet of his dreams, which he now gets to take home with him thanks to loving parents; Finding our own (for the morning) rocky cove, where the boys collected rocks and stared at the volcano until vultures started getting closer and closer and closer; Smoking hash with Lorenzo, an Italian guy at El Zopilote who takes care of himself and is maybe happy or maybe just up there enjoying his back tattoo; Meeting Lucas, a kind 30-year-old German who told me that Raines and Sylvan reminded him of him and his brother; ¡MOTOS! Babies strapped to our backs on motos and long rides around the island; El Ojo de Agua: these natural pools were incredibly beautiful and refreshing. I only did the Tarzan swing once and my swimsuit top hung on alright.

We ran into Craig on Ometepe (He was at La Mariposa, too, and was staying at Casa Istiám) and he told us to go to the best restaurant he’d ever been to: Café Campestre. So we went. It was super-mega-ultra delicioso. They make their own pasta, coffee (with a roaster and in the traditional way, in a clay pot over a wood fire), and pretty much everything is sourced from the island. If you wanna cup of their coffee that’s harvested from the volcano and roasted over a fire, come see me in our camper soon.

One morning Kevin hung back on the beach with Brave and Sylvan while Kylie, Raines, and I went horseback riding down the beach. Ron Plata, Tequila, and Flor de Caña–our horses. Ron Plata and Flor de Caña realized that they had two chelas on their backs and did their best to run us into the water, the beach banks, and each other. Meanwhile, Raines is asking the guide to go faster and faster. So we get all the way down the beach, buy chocolate cake, a smoothie, and juice, and then say we’re ready to head back. Ron Plata and Flor de Caña, pointed home, decide to run. So Kylie and I made it back down the beach in the fastest horseback ride of my life. We had reins, of course, but I quickly realized they were just there for a small psychological effect; we couldn’t have stopped those horses, and they were well aware of that. We got back and waited about 15 minutes for Raines to make it back. He did get a chance to run when the boy who was leading him down the beach hopped on the back of the horse and took them for a ride. While I was waiting for my boy to make it back, the owner of the horses explained to me that he has many women, and in fact, that’s how it is there: men have many women and many children. How do the women like this setup, I asked. They like it, yes, they like it, he said with a little smile. Interesting…I’d like to ask them. Before we said goodbye to our horses, Sylvie and Brave got to take a little ride and were very proud.

Now to our last bit on Ometepe. One day Raines had had enough of my mothering and began to communicate his disdain for my bossiness. He packed a bag, put his leaf hat on, and told me through tears that he was going to live somewhere where no one would tell him what to do. You and Papa can visit me there, he said. Yes, yes, we will, I told him, but it sounds like such a hard life and I really would miss him. That’s when Sylvan started packing his green plastic bag and following Raines around his circling path through the room. “Come on, Sylvan, we may never see Mama again.” Tears and tears and his little red undies–oh, my heart. So I hugged him and tried to explain my annoying decisions to him. He still loves me, he said. Mainly, I think they were just missing their Papa way. too. much. And I really had been super bossy lately.

All in all, good stop at Ometepe. It’s really too bad we haven’t figured out how to help Kevin out of his mustache situation yet. One day left, so there may be hope left for Tennessee. One complication is that, even if we get it off his face, he’s gonna have a mustache-shaped tan line there. Oh-la-la.

I’ve mentioned this somewhere, but we really should’ve been drinking moonshine and praying together every day. It would’ve fixed most of the hard things, I believe. Learning, always learning on these trips. My spirit’s been like the sunburned skin in the middle of my back: it’s felt fine, and then stung for days, and is now peeling off in flakes to start the process over. The Lord draws near to the weary. I have let this simmer inside my chest with a glass of rum in my hand more than once this trip.

Kylie letting me drink my coffee, Raines looking for stones, and Sylvan drinking the water he’s been told not to

Brave and his helmet

This boy and his mama and los caballos de Ometepe

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