On Being Adopted

It has been on my heart to write about my youngest and only adopted daughter, Soleil. We adopted her from Guatemala when she was 7 months old. She turned 10 in May. For those of you who don't "know" me, we have 3 older biological kids as well. Soleil went through a tender patch when she was seven when it suddenly dawned on her exactly how devastating it is to have been given up for adoption. It had actually started when she was just five. Evie, my then 8 year old, was asking me if she had ever been to New York City. I said, "Well, technically, no. But you were in my belly when we were there last if that counts for anything." As soon as I said it I saw the wheels start turning in Soli's head. "Was I in your belly, Mama?" We have always referred to Soli's birth/adoption story with as much candor as was appropriate for her age. So I said, "Remember you didn't grow in Mama's belly. You grew in your birthmother, Claudia's, belly. When you were born Foster Mary picked you up from the hospital and took care of you until you were 7 months old. Then Mama and Daddy went to Guatemala to pick you up and you have been with us ever since." She chewed on that for a minute, and then her little chin started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears as she leaned into me on the couch and whispered, "That's sad. They must miss me. I miss them, too." I expected that at some point the sadness of being adopted (or more accurately the sadness of having been given up for adoption) would hit her. But in my ignorance, I expected it to be...later. I expected the anguish to come during her tweenage years. I expected anger to come after that. At 5 years old I didn't think she would be able to wrap her baby brain around it. But she did. At least part of it. She felt the loss of both her birth mother and her foster mother profoundly. And it astonished me.

Fast forward a couple of years. Soleil was 7+ years old. She experienced a couple of months of heavy grieving. She was SO sad as she began to piece her life's puzzle together. The idea that she was born to a woman that didn't keep her was devastating to her. We had many heart to heart conversations during those months where she would crawl into bed with me and cry. She would say, "But why didn't she want me? Why didn't they keep me? Don't they miss me?" It was a helpless, heartbreaking realization to come to -- that I couldn't rescue my daughter from her pain. All I could do was hold her hand as she walked her path of grief. And I suppose that's the truth in parenting. We can't rescue our children from their paths. If we are lucky they will allow us to hold their hands as they navigate their own bumpy paths of life.

I was as gentle as possible saying, "I'm sure they miss you and think of you every day. In fact, Claudia might be thinking of you this minute and missing you as much as you're missing her. She was very brave to let you live with a family that could take care of you. She knew that she wouldn't be able to give you enough food and clothes and shoes."

"I wouldn't mind having no shoes if I could be in Guatemala with my birth family that matches me."

She was able to describe to me that she imagined her birth family in Guatemala complete with a brown mom and dad and a brown baby brother. All that was missing was her.

We have always spoken to Soleil with the utmost reverence for her birth country and respect for her birthmother, honoring her as a brave and selfless person. In doing so, I realized that we had inadvertently painted a perfect picture of life in Guatemala. And to a 7 year old adoptee that didn't make sense. If life in Guatemala is so rosy and my birthmother is so perfect then why couldn't I stay there? I understood that the time had come to introduce some of the harsh realities of life in Guatemala. I was delicate but clear as I described children eating from trash cans, sleeping alone and shivering in drainage ditches, begging and abandoned on the streets of Guatemala City. Things I had seen with my own eyes that had inspired me to adopt a child from Guatemala in the first place. I explained that Claudia did not want her to be alone and scared or eating from trash cans. So she made a brave and very hard but good decision to let her be adopted so that she would never be hungry, or cold, or scared, or alone. I could see that it hit home and the tears began to flow again.

Sometime later she wrote me a note. It said, "Dear Mom. I love you and our family. I don't ever want to leave." Initially, I thought she was worried that she had hurt my feelings by saying that she wanted to live in Guatemala with her birth family. So later I asked her, "Honey, what did you mean when you said you don't ever want to leave?" Her big brown eyes turned to liquid and she said, "What if they want to come take me away? I don't ever want to leave you." She crumbled into my arms. It dawned on me that although she will always mourn the loss of a birth family that she will likely never know, some of the torment that she felt during that time was the result of thinking that someone could show up at our house in the middle of the night and take her away from us. How terrifying to a little girl.

"Honey, no one can take you away from us. Even if you wanted to go, we wouldn't let you. You're our daughter and you belong with us."

"But what if they changed their minds and came to our house to take me away?"

"Even if they came to our house they can't take you away. No one can ever take you away just like they can't take Evie or Emerson or Cole. You are legally our daughter." (That word legally is so abstract to a 7 year old.) "We have the paperwork that says so."

Her eyes lit up. "You have paperwork?" (Aside - Soli LOVES paperwork. She can often be found sifting through the recycling bin by Dave's desk, rescuing bills and payment stubs and envelopes to add to the clipboard that she carries around to take "notes".)

"Yes. We have the paperwork. From Guatemala. That says no one can ever take you away."

"Can I see it?"

"Yes. And I can even make you a copy that you can have for your clipboard."

"Thanks, Mom."

We met Soleil's birth family in Guatemala for the first time in October of 2015. Soli was 9 years old. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful reunion of the likes I am certain I will never experience again. I was stunned and amazed by her grace and poise and her ability to give and receive love unconditionally. And I was equally amazed that her vision of having a brown family, all matching her, was absolutely accurate. Her birth father and birth mother are still together. And she has not one baby brother, but two (100% biological siblings), as well as two older half brothers. One is also adopted to the States and the other is still living with the family in Guatemala. After meeting them, I watched a very visceral peace come over Soleil. It's as if she now has all of the pieces to the puzzle of her life and can put them together and see the beautiful image of Self take shape in her mind's eye.

Recently, while cleaning out her room, we came upon the clipboard. We looked at each other and smiled. And she said, "I don't need that anymore, Mom. Will you save it for me in my baby book?"

For sure.

Teenagers Over Toddlers

I woke up this morning with a pit in my stomach at the realization that my babies suddenly (like overnight!) seem totally grown up. I wrote down their ages the other day (19, 16, 13, & 10) and I sorta wanted to barf. Everyone's in double digits and pretty soon I'm gonna have a twenty-something?!? WT%? Now, don't get me wrong. I love teenagers. I LOVE them. In all of their pimply, first kissing, driving-themselves-to-school, going-to-parties, awkward, gangly, glory; I love them. I always say that I will totally take a teenager over a toddler, and I mean it. But I think my heartache today is coming from the realization that I've missed my window of opportunity to do some specific activities with them. Like taking them to Bonfante Gardens (is it still even called that?). I've been meaning to do that for several years now, but, alas, it's too late. They don't want to go and play in the splash zone! And just the other day we were all talking about when our next Disneyland trip might be and 3 out of the 4 (4 out of 5, if you count Dave) totally gave Disneyland the "hard pass". Thankfully, Evie still wants to go with me. But, seriously! How did that happen? And when? 

I must be hitting a transition time in life. I've been here before and I struggle with transition sometimes. I think what has happened (although I hardly noticed it happening) is that all my babes have graduated out of "kid-hood" and into some level of "teenage-hood". I remember when they graduated from "baby-hood" (with very little pomp and circumstance and absolutely no raise for me, btw) and suddenly I had no babies! Everyone was solidly in "kid-hood". I remember the very day it happened. Soli must have been about 4 or 5, and I looked out my front window and noticed one of those irritatingly adorable groups of darling young moms and babes across the street at the park with their Lulu Lemon jogging pants and their jogging strollers. You remember the ones? Anyway, I thought to myself, "That looks fun! I've been meaning to join one of those. I'm sure they're not as irritating once you get to know them. Good thing I didn't let Dave get rid of my jogging stroller last year! I'm so smart." But then I realized that I had absolutely no baby to go in my jogging stroller. I had had a baby for so many years at that point that it hadn't dawned on me that one day I would wake up, and I wouldn't have one. And there would be no more "Mommy and Me" playgroups for me in this lifetime! Shocking. Uttering shocking to my sensibilities. For 15 years and the entirety of my adult life, my world had revolved around Mommy and Me and suddenly it was over. Just like that! And I was not invited back in the club. Where was my certificate of completion? Or my cash prize? Or a medal or a standing ovation or something? And I feel like I am hitting another one of those milestone transitions - where suddenly no one wants to play with the play kitchen or the American Girl dolls; no one is bringing me "tea" in the little pink tea set for me to pretend to drink; and the Star Wars action figures are covered in a fine layer of dust. Oh my aching heart. How did it happen? 

I do know from experience that the closing of one chapter leads to the opening of another (hear me trying to convince myself?). And although the next chapter of parenting teenagers and young adults may not involve a trip to Bonfante or little pink tea sets (or a raise), it will bring tons and tons of goodness, as long as I let it. For example, Cole may not want to go with me to Disneyland, but he did say yes to my invitation to go on a hike the other day, just the two of us. And although Emerson no longer plays with Star Wars action figures, a mini light saber dangles from his key chain as he drives to meet me for lunch, which he loves to do. Evie still loves to hang out with me so long as we're going to the mall or the beach or Starbucks. I can live with that. And my baby girl, Soleil, may not pretend to take my vitals or my medical history anymore (she used to love to play nurse), but she told me just last night that I should download "Tree World" so we can play together. I'm totally down. 

And, dusty as they may be, I'm saving the Star Wars Actions Figures for my grandkids. Amen.

P.S. Even if they let me back in the club, I would never go back. Forty something moms are smarter, sexier and generally more bad ass than we ever were in our twenties. They can keep their Lulu Lemons. High Five, Ladies.

To My Darling Husband on his Birthday

I love you with every beat of my heart, every cell of my body, and every sparkle of my soul. Thanks for the adventures. 
I love you. ~H

Brown is Beautiful

We were on our sailing trip in Central America in 2012, and out of the blue Soleil said to me, "Mama, I wish I was beautiful like you."

"What?! Honey, you are gorgeous. What do you mean?"

"I wish I had pink skin like you guys."

Uhhhh. My worst nightmare. My absolute worst nightmare. There's no dancing around this topic with a child in a mixed race family. ESPECIALLY, when she is the ONLY one! I tried to convince her that it's not the color of your skin that matters but who you are on the inside that counts. She didn't buy that for a second. With the look on her face she said to me, Mom, seriously. That is SO cliche. Next I tried to convince her that we all have different color skin. We lined up our arms. See? Mine is quite pasty, Daddy's is more tan, Cole's is quite pink, Evie and Emerson are a little yellowish, and yours is a beautiful shade of chocolate-mocha-latte-brown. But she and I both knew that was a bunch of crap, too. You are all pink and I am brown, she said.

I decided to change tacks. Cole had been given the equivalent of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition from Latin America. The women were stunning. And they all had varying shades of chocolate brown skin. The pictures were very tasteful and exquisite. I showed it to her and asked her about the women, "Do you think she's beautiful?"

"Yes."
"What color is her skin?"
"Brown."
"What about her? Do you think she is beautiful?"
"Yes."
"What color is her skin?"
"Brown."
"What color is your skin?"
"Brown."
"Brown skin is beautiful. YOU are beautiful. Brown is beautiful."

Cole gave her that magazine and for the next few months she would thumb through the pages and admire the beautiful brown women. "Brown is Beautiful" became our favorite family saying as we traveled through Central America. Everywhere we went we made a point to notice beautiful brown people and whisper to each other, "Brown is beautiful".

A turning point came one day on the boat when I was downloading pictures to my computer. I came across one that I had taken of Soleil on the beach. The setting sun on her face was stunning. I called her to me and said, "Look at this girl." She stared at herself for a long moment and said, "Brown is beautiful, Mama."

It sure is, my sweet girl.

Soleil - Sayulita December 2011

The Day We Accidentally Eloped

This past summer we took the kids to Montana for our annual summer visit. We visited the Madison County Courthouse in Virginia City where Dave and I were married in 1996, almost 18 years ago. (Sheesh! How did that happen??). As I recounted the tail of our nuptials for the kids I realized that it was a story worth sharing and documenting for the great grandkids. (Yes, I fully expect that the great grandkids will enjoy GG's blog!!).

Here's the story...

It was the summer of 1996. I was 20 and Dave was 26. We were planning to be married on the Madison River in Montana. We had planned an ultra groovy ceremony perfect for our river-side-dog-friendly-shoe-optional-locale. Our ceremony would be complete with bare feet, Enya, and an ivy covered trellis, hand made by Dave. It would be my dream wedding (and my husband-to-be conceded to my every whimsical desire. Thanks, Honey.). One detail that we both agreed upon was that we didn't want an officiator. We didn't feel the necessity for the state's permission in our unity. At least not in the ceremony of our unity. We agreed that we wanted to spend our lives together, and why did we need the blessing of the state to make it so? We felt that all we needed was our life long commitment to each other, the blessing of our families and a ceremony to be witnessed by our dearest friends and family. (Aside - Now, almost 20 years later - March 2014, in light of the recent denial of marriage equality by so many states, I am proud to have foregone the blessing of the state in my own ceremony.)

But back to June of '96 - So there we were planning our groovy ceremony, and we realized that even though we didn't want an officiator to be a part of our ceremony, we did want to come out of our "wedding" as legal husband and wife. We realized we would have to go to the Madison County Courthouse beforehand to get a marriage license, which we assumed was how you made a marriage legally binding. So about a week before our nuptials we made the 45 minute drive to Virginia City, adding to our "To Do in Town" list: file marriage license. We figured filing our marriage license would be as simple as getting a license for our dog: fill out an application, pay a fee, and file it with Bundy, the county clerk. You filed everything with Bundy in our tiny county: dog licenses, car registration, property tax, and, we figured, marriage licenses. So we arrived at the county clerk's window, wearing our usual errand running attire of the 90's: Levi's and hiking boots and told Bundy we were there to get our marriage license. We explained to her that we were planning a groovy wedding ceremony and we wouldn't have an officiator but that we wanted to be sure that we were legally married when it was all said and done. She tilted her head and looked at us through the readers on the tip of her nose, assessing whether or not we were serious. Once satisfied she said, "Ok. Then you two will need to go see Judge O'Malley." Great. We thanked her and inquired as to where we could find Judge O'Malley.

"I'll have her meet you upstairs in the courtroom. Did you bring a witness?" she asked as she glanced down at our matching flannels and hiking boots. We looked at each other.

"A witness for what?"

She smiled and said, "Never mind. I'll send someone up."

So up to the courtroom we went figuring that was where the applications for the marriage licenses would be found.

The courtroom of the second floor of the 150 year old, brick Virginia City Courthouse was empty and cold and slightly creepy with the 20 foot ceilings, heavy red velvet drapes and rows of wooden pews that had surely seen all varieties of atrocities since the 1860's. We sat in the front row and waited. Eventually, Judge O'Malley arrived wearing a long black robe. She was trailed by two women in business suits and sneakers. I recognized them from downstairs. Smiling, she said, "You two ready?"

We were slightly confused. Ready for what? To pay our fee? To sign our application? But we didn't want to seem like the ignorant, barely twenty-somethings that we were so we hopped up from our pew and said, "Yes, ma'am." We approached her where she stood in front of her heavy oak desk with the name plate that read Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley. She asked us to face each other while the other two women shuffled around and stood behind us. "You can join hands." We looked at each. Weird. But it wasn't until Judge MaryAnn O'Malley said,

"Welcome everyone. We are gathered here today..."

that we finally understood.

"...to witness the joining of these two people in matrimony. Do you, Dave, take Heather to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love and to cherish her, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Holy $#@%! We were getting married!! Right then and there. In our Levi's and our hiking boots. At the Virginia City Courthouse. In Madison County, Montana. And we hadn't even planned it!! Honestly.

"I do."

"And do you, Heather, take Dave to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and to cherish him, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Holy $#@%!

"I do."

"Do you have a ring?"

"Uhhh." I took off the ring that Dave and I had chosen to symbolize our groovy commitment to each other and that I already wore on the ring finger of my left hand and gave it back to him. The ladies shuffled in their sneakers.

"Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed." And he put it back on my finger.

Dave took off the ring that I had picked out for him and gave it back to me.

"Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed." And I put his ring back on the ring finger of his left hand. I daresay, we both trembled a little.

"By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Holy $#&%! We just got married!! We had just eloped!!! And we didn't even mean to. Our parents didn't even know!! Our siblings didn't know! Holy $#&%! We looked at each other and we could hardly contain ourselves. We laughed right out loud. Right there in the Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley's courtroom we laughed. And we kissed. And we laughed again. And we hugged. We were married. Just like that.

"Congratulations!" The two women said, clapping their hands.

"Congratulations," said MaryAnn O'Malley.

And we all went back downstairs to sign our marriage license, pay our fee, and file it with Bundy.

Dave and Heather in front of the Madison County Courthouse in Virginia City, MT, June 24, 1996 - right after we got married without knowing it. Four years later to the day, our second son, Emerson, would be born. 

A visit to the courthouse in 2003.

A visit to the courthouse in 2013. 

Virginia City, MT 2013

 In our Levi's and hiking boots with the Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley in 2013. 

Halloween 2013

At the Pumpkin Patch with my honey.

I'm always really excited when the kids will humor me by partaking in the pumpkin patch tradition. 

Cole as "Shaggy".

Emerson as "Waldo".

Soleil as a squaw.

Evie as "Alice" (again).

Me as "Marie Antoinette". 

I LOVE fall! It's my very favorite time of year. Sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes and leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves. This time of year always inspires me to blog. 

I hope you're enjoying the beauty of the season, too.

Hugs, Heather

One Groovy Birthday

Here's a funny story that you'll appreciate.

Last summer Emerson turned twelve. We had a really fun bonfire at Carmel Beach to celebrate. We had arrived early with Emerson and a few of his pals to get set up and get the fire going before the throngs arrived. (He'd invited the entire 7th grade.) Just a few minutes before "go time" I looked up from the fire to see Em's friend, we'll call him Will, pick something up out of the sand. He held it up to get a better look and I could see that it was a clear plastic container the size and shape of a film canister. Inside there were two...well I couldn't tell what they were. So I said, "Will. Bring that over here."

"What is it, Mrs. Stewart?" he asked as he handed it over.
"I don't know," I lied as he scampered back to join his pals in the ice plant.

Well, I didn't know for sure what it was, but I felt fairly certain that the clear plastic canister with the two dried herbaceous looking "flowers" inside was not something I wanted in my hand just when I was expecting a bunch of parents to be dropping off their 7th graders in my charge.

I looked around quickly for a place to get rid of my stash. I though about burying it in the sand, but I wasn't keen on the idea of another 12 year old finding it again in the future.

I thought about stashing it in my purse. But then I realized that I was likely to forget about it entirely for months until I was about to go through security at the San Francisco International when I would wonder if I had any nail clippers in my purse that would be confiscated. Gulp. Yikes! Bad Idea. Do not put it in your purse. Mucho bad idea.

But what was I supposed to do with it?! I was starting to panic! Parents were going to be arriving any second!

Then I had a brilliant idea. I would burn the evidence. It would burn to oblivion and no one would ever have to know. Yes. Perfect. Brilliant. Do it fast. Before any parents get here. But don't burn the plastic. Imagine the toxins and there are kids around! Yes. Good. Take off the top and dump it in the flames.

So anyone who has any experience with such things will know that this was NOT a brilliant idea. And I knew it too just a split second after the buds hit the flames. That was one groovy bonfire. And for about 20 minutes Dave had to stand guard at the bottom of the stairs, upwind of our fire, to cut parents off at the pass.

My Poor Neglected Blog...

I know I've been shamefully neglecting my blog so I thought I would post these videos - the last few from our sailing trip to the Caribbean last year. You haven't seen them yet. Enjoy! Hugs, H

"Sail on the Wild Side" Chapter 8 - Belize City & Inland

"Sail on the Wild Side" Chapter 9 - Southern Belize

"Sail on the Wild Side" Chapter 10 - Long Way Home

"Sail on the Wild Side" Chapter 11 - San Blas Islands, Panama


"Sail on the Wild Side" Chapters 1-7

'Twas Two Weeks After Christmas

'Twas two weeks after Christmas when all through the house,
Not a twinkle light twinkled to the joy of my spouse.
The stockings were nestled all back in their crates
Along with the snow globes and fancy red plates.

The ham, long since finished, the soup from it, too.
The yams were delicious, but those days are through.
The fire'd gone cold, having not one more log.
And the fridge was entirely void of egg nog.

The paper 'twas crinkled and thrown in the trash.
The bows piled high for the children to smash.
A plain silver tack was all that remained
In the place on the wall 'twhere the mistletoe hanged.

The poinsettia was dropping one leaf at a time.
It's depressing to see it as bare as a vine.
So to the back porch that plant had to go,
In hopes that no neighbor would see it like so.

The tree, it was gone, and the ornaments, too.
The needles turned brown, not much I could do.
With one kid in tears it was dragged to the curb,
"To cut down a tree for a month is absurd!"

The children were sent back to school on Tuesday, 

The toys, long forgotten. The bill, on the way. 

Their rooms are still messy with nowhere to sit

With all those new toys like that model car kit. 

My house now feels empty and quiet and cold.
"You should be happy." To myself, I do scold.
But, alas, I'm all misty and just have to say
A year 'til next Christmas seems a long way away.

Happy New Year

The Best of 2012

“ A Series of Interviews and Interpretations”

Me: “Honey, I’m writing our Christmas letter. What was your favorite part of 2012?”

Dave: “Ummmm. I’ll give you one guess.” 

My Interpretation: “Peach, you know my favorite part of every year is being married to you. And after 16 years, I’m still head over heels for you. You’re an amazing wife and mom, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Me: “Cole, Christmas letter. What were your highlights of 2012?”

Cole: “Mom, ugh! Seriously? That’s so lame.”

Mom’s Interpretation: “Jolly good, Mom. Highlights of 2012 were getting my driver’s permit in July and torturing you with my mad driving skills. Oh, and having a girlfriend and being MVP on my JV water polo team.Thanks for writing the Christmas Letter again this year, Mom. You’re the best.”

Me: “Em, tell me your favorite thing from 2012 for the Christmas Letter.”

Em: “Coming home from our sailing trip and going back to school and seeing my friends. And put something in there about water polo.”

Mom’s Interpretation: “Wow. Our 5 month sailing trip aboard ‘Balance’ was such an enriching experience, Mom. It was a real highlight of my year. I really grew as a person and learned a lot. You and Dad are amazing (although a little crazy) to take us on such fun adventures. I was glad to come home to the 7th grade and see my pals. And I’m pretty proud of my stellar backhand shot in water polo. I love you, Mom.”

Me: “Evie, girl. Tell me the best part of 2012.”

Evie: “Black Friday.”

Mom’s Interpretation: “Well, I’m really excited to be turning double digits soon, Mom, and I’m feeling entirely grown up now that I’m almost 10.  And I can’t wait to get my ears pierced because you and Daddy promised I could get my ears pierced when I’m 10. And I’ll be 10 on Christmas Eve, Mom. Don’t forget. And I love it when you let me wear make-up on the weekends sometimes, Mom. And I love spending special time with you, Mom. Like when we went shopping together on Black Friday. You’re my favorite person to hang out with, Mom. You’re my BFF!”

Me: “Soleil Mia, tell Mama your best, favorite thing from this year.”

Soleil: “I don’t know. Going to Evie’s birthday party?”

Eve (from the kitchen): “You better not put that in the letter, Mom!”

Me: “Shoosh. It’s not your turn. Go ahead Soli.”

Soleil: “Mom, that’s all. I’m playing Webkinz right now.”

Mom’s Interpretation: “Gee, Mom. Let me think. Well, you know I’m a pretty easy going kid being the youngest of four and all. I pretty much have fun tagging along after all the Sibs. And I do enjoy the first grade so. Especially when you make me sit still and practice my sight words. It’s fantastic. So fun. I love it. And you know I love to carry around our new black kitty and not set her down for an hour straight sometimes until she finally scratches me because she has to go potty. That’s fun. But that’s all I can think of right now, Mom, because I’m working on my computer literacy. Thanks for asking! You’re the best mom in the whole world!”

I hope your silver lining is as shiny as ours. (It’s all a matter of interpretation.) 

Happy Holidays, 

The Stewarts

Dave & Heather 

Cole (16 in January), Emerson (12 1/2), Eve (almost 10), & Soleil (6 1/2)

Heartbroken

I can't stop crying this morning. I'm so very sad today, this first school day since the tragedy in Connecticut. I'm so sad for the moms and dads that are waking up this morning with no babies to take to school. No little piggy tails to tie, no lunches to make, no little hands to hold on the way to school. No sloppy wet kisses on the front steps. No "I love you, Mama". No jammies left on the floor by the heater.

Heartbreaking.

So devastatingly heartbreaking.

Dear Earth Mother,
Please help them find peace.

To Do This Christmas

SPEND less ..... money. 

SPEND more .... time having "California Snow Ball" Fights with the kids. 

MAKE less .... lists.

MAKE more .... merry. 

DO less .... shopping. 

DO more .... baking with kids. 

HAVE less .... stress.

HAVE more .... singing. 

WATCH .... more Christmas movies with my kids.

WATCH .... less calories. 

BE Scrooge .... less. 

BE-lieve .... more. 

Wishing you a stress-free, merry-filled Christmas!

Hugs,

Heather

You know you're a busy mom when...

...you return home after a long day of running errands and try to unlock your front door using the keyless entry fob for your SUV.

...you pick up your iPhone, unlock it with your passcode, and then put it to your ear as if you've called someone. You do that regularly.

...you leave your house to find that your car has been stolen right out of your driveway. Before you push send on the 911 call you remember that the last time you saw it was when you parked it at school to pick up the kids...yesterday. And then you'd walked home.

...your nine year old exclaims, "Mom! I lost another tooth!" And you hear yourself reply,"Awesome! Now go get a dollar out of my wallet and put it under your pillow."

How do you know you're a busy mom?

The Comforts of Home

We've so been enjoying the comforts of home. Namely:

cold milk

produce

health care

Costco (the napping opportunities are spectacular)

How to Make a Boat a Home

In a large mixing boat combine the following:

A Whole 38’ Admiral Catamaran

2 Hulls for added stability, speed and space

4 cabins - (2 forward and 2 aft)

A tasty galley (I like mine with an oven)

The spice of one salon and dinette with seating for 10

2 bathrooms for added seasoning 

A freshly cut head sail and main sail (most people prefer the white meat - we occasional enjoy the aged black variety)

The splash of 2 forward trampolines (cocktail quality - not the cheap stuff) 

A briny cockpit

The zest of 4 kids (vary to taste)

Throw in a pinch of Mayan pillows for added color (I like mine imported from Guatemala.)

*Optional: A Belizean kitty adds a lovely homey flavor if so desired 

Shake vigorously in 6-8 foot seas.

Bake for 4-5 months in the tropical sun. 

Cool. 

Sprinkle with stars.

Serve with a side of sunrise. 

Delicious. 

I've been meaning to share these interior pics of Balance so you can have a visual of the boat we were on. It was the perfect size for our family and so wonderfully cozy. We came to love it.

Salon with dinette. Galley in the background.  

 Looking to starboard. Control panel and VHF on the right. See my herb garden? 

 Galley and looking forward down the port breezeway to the girls' Vberth cabin. 

Starboard breezeway and the boys' Vberth. The door in the bottom right hand corner is the starboard head (bathroom). 

Port Aft Cabin. There's another one identical on Starboard.

Companionway (stairs) to the Starboard breezeway and Aft Cabin. 

Starboard head. There's a toilet opposite the sink and the sink faucet becomes a shower head when necessary. 

*Since we lost our steering and were stalled out in Honduras for weather we have had not a lick of internet. I apologize profusely if you thought for a second that we had sunk to the bottom of the Caribbean. Not at all. In fact, we were able to leave Honduras during the predicted weather window and made incredible time to San Andres. There Capitan discovered a broken chain plate on port which connects the shroud to the top of the mast and is partly responsible for holding the mast up. Ugh! I almost barfed when I heard that we could have lost our mast. But we didn't. That's lucky. And Dave and Bill were able to remove the broken piece and take it across town to yet another welder to have it fixed.

So once again we patched our boat back together with duck tape and hose clamps and headed out into the great blue yonder. We had a lovely sail with the winds in our favor and were able to consistently make 8-9 knots! (Believe it or not, that's fast. ~10-11 mph.) On the way, a bright orange U.S. Coast Guard helicopter snuck up behind us, flying low and trying to be all stealth by coming in down wind (and as Dave says - on our "six"). Of course, they were looking for any kind of illegal behavior, but we just felt like they were coming by to say hi. So we all rushed up on deck, jumping up and down, blowing kisses and waving profusely. They gave up on being stealth and saddled right up on our "nine". They were so close that we could see the co-pilot smile! I'm sure we were a sight. Then they tipped their "wing" in salute, waved, circled the boat, waved again, and flew off. It was magical. And knowing that our U.S. Coast Guard was out there patrolling those waters, near enough should we need them was so absolutely reassuring. I won't lie. I got a little teary eyed.

The rest of that crossing was relatively uneventful except for that GINORMOUS container ship coming from the Panama Canal that crossed just a short distance in front of us. Sheesh. Sketchy. We nearly felt their wake. There are stories of big huge freighters like that running down sailboats like ours and not realizing it until they get to port in Japan or wherever. Yikes. But we didn't end up as a hood ornament. That's lucky. And we made such good time that we arrived in the San Blas Islands 8 hours ahead of schedule. You'd think that would be a good thing except that when you're planning a 50 hour crossing you try to plan it so you arrive at your destination in daylight. Daylight is especially helpful when your destination is wrought with hidden coral heads and shoals that appear out of nowhere. As we were coming into the anchorage at midnight Dave called me up on deck for bow watch. I was just getting out of the shower, but I could tell he needed me urgently. So I threw on my foul weather gear (glorified rain coat), grabbed a mag light and hurried to the bow. I heard the breaking waves before I saw them. You don't ever want to see breaking waves from the bow of your boat within the scope of your mag light. Not ever. Breaking waves are bad. I tried not to sound panicked as I spun around in my raincoat and said to Dave, "Breaking waves dead ahead!" I felt like a pirate. At about the same time our keel found the sandy bottom and we heard the unmistakable crunching sound of fiberglass on sand. Not a sound you want to hear. Not ever. Dave threw both engines into reverse and we got the heck off that shoal. No harm, no foul. Never happened. Besides, Dave said it was all worthwhile to see me running around the bow in nothing but a rain coat. I'm sure.

In the San Blas we met up with Dave's brothers and their families and had a lovely family reunion in the islands. From there Dave and the kids and I did our last 11 hour crossing to the marina at Shelter Bay near Colon, Panama. It was such a beautiful crossing to end our trip. Not a ripple on the water and the Panama coastline was gorgeous. We had a whirlwind 36 hours at the marina detaching ourselves from the boat and getting it hauled out for body work and repairs. I cried like a baby leaving the boat. So many emotions. I was so thankful to the boat for carrying our family safely through the Caribbean. And so relieved to have completed our adventure relatively unscathed. Then it was back to Panama City for a glorious night of luxury at the Trump Ocean Resort. We flew home on Tuesday and have been holed up in our darling little house wearing our pajamas, wasting copious amounts of hot water, and flushing the toilet unnecessarily since then. I cannot even tell you how great it is to be home.
We may never leave.

Thanks for keeping track of us. And now I'm going to bed to sleep for four days straight. Good night. 

"Dave, We Just Lost Steering."

These are not the words any captain (or first "mate") want to hear an hour into the first watch of the first night of the first crossing between the Bay Islands and Panama. Nosirreebob.

So when Connie popped her head into the aft cabin with this disastrous, debilitating news, and Dave jumped out of our bunk and into his shorts in one single maneuver, I knew we were in trouble. We had left Roatan 9 hours earlier and we were roughly located...in the middle of the ocean. Just us and the full moon against 6-8 foot seas (those are big) and 25 knots (that’s a lot) of wind on the nose. At least, it had been on the nose until we lost steering and couldn’t maintain our course. Then the seas were coming at us from all directions, snarling and snapping like hungry wolves. Surrounding us. Baring their teeth in the moonlight, shackles raised. Smelling vulnerability on the wind and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Terrifying. In the dark. With no steering. 9 hours away from Roatan. Nowhere to run. Surrounded by snarling, slobbering waves. 

This is NOT how you want to start a 50 hour crossing. No it’s not. 

Cole did his best at the helm to fend off the encroaching waves while Dave and Bill wrestled with the steering mechanism below. Connie and I took turns exchanging "this-could-be-really-bad" glances. 

As it turned out, the starboard rudder linkage (a 1/2" stainless steel rod which connects the helm to the starboard rudder) had snapped at the site of a piss poor welding job done in ’06. (If I ever get my hands on that pumpernickel...) Luckily, Dave and Bill were able to disconnect the disabled rudder from the helm which allowed for steering with the port rudder. But as we learned during our “three hour tour” one engine (or, in this case, one rudder) is not as good as two. But with a reefed jib and Dave at the helm, it proved to be good enough. And by the grace of Neptune and the light of the full moon, we were able to zig zag down wind toward the lights that we could see on the not so distant shore of mainland Honduras. I have never seen more beautiful lights; complete with a lighthouse beckoning to us like a friend in the night, guiding us into the safety of the mainland, not far from Cabo Gracias a Dios (Thank God Cape). Indeed. 

We dropped our hook at about 10:30 PM smack dab into the middle of a fisherman’s net. As luck would have it that fisherman, George, happened to be out fishing by the full moon and he came by our boat to tell us we had just busted his net. He was quite friendly and after Dave dove our anchor to untangle his net (it’s a thankless job, captain) he gave us directions to the little town of Castilla where we would find a welder. Gracias a Dios. (P.S. What are the chances of seeing anyone fishing at 10:30 PM off the coast of anywhere, let alone a fisherman from a nearby town with a welder? Slim.)

The next morning, Dave and I headed into Castilla where we did indeed find a welder. Jesus. A’ course the welding had to be done on the boat and, a’ course one has to have 220 volts to run an arch welder. We BARELY have 110 on our boat. Bugger. So Jesus recommended that we check with the nearby Honduran Navy to see if they would let us tie up to their dock with 220. 

Let me take a break here and paint a picture. Have you seen the movie “Romancing the Stone?” Remember the scene where Jack and Joan Wilder stumble into the little Columbian village all haggard and filthy, looking for a car? That was me and Dave in this little pueblo that rarely, if ever, sees a tourist. Dave with no shoes and his salty cut offs, shirt unbuttoned to his waist. Me trying to smooth the wrinkles out of my skirt (hadn't worn that in awhile) and clutching my dry bag protectively. With locals peeking around doorways to get a glimpse of the gringos that had washed up on their shore (bad news travels fast in a little pueblo) we asked around for a taxi to take us to the Naval Base. There are no taxi's in town they tell us and only one car. We whisper to each other “Pepe? The Lil’ Mule?” The bell maker* turned out to be Luis, a 19 year old boy with a dodge sedan (I don’t think he called it Pepe). He happily taught us all sorts of bad words in Spanish on the 5 minute drive to the Naval Base. Unfortunately, the Comandante gave us the disappointing news that he no longer had 220 on his dock. Bugger. So he sent us to the nearby Dole shipping port to see if they could help us. 


Gracias a Dios, the shipping port didn’t have any big ships on the dock that day and they gave us permission to tie up to their HUGE bulk head with 220 available on a nearby power pole. (Seriously, HUGE. Like built-for-gigantic-container-ships-heading-to-the-Panama-Canal-to-deliver-pineapples-to-California huge.) Balance looked like a toy boat - say that 10 times fast - tied up to its fire hydrant sized cleats. So we arranged for Jesus, the welder, to meet us there. A’ course, by the time we had docked Balance (the fenders were as big as washing machines) and the welder had arrived, the electricity was out. That happens often in these parts. Bugger. So we waited. With kids and grandparents taking turns keeping our boat from wedging itself under the washing machine sized fenders, we waited. For almost two hours. But then, Gracias a Dios, the power came back on. And Jesus (being a small Honduran man) was able to curl himself into a washing machine size space aft of the starboard engine and weld the linkage back together. Gracias a Dios. 

Less than 24 hours after "Dave, we just lost steering" and following a series of small miracles starting with those heavenly lights and concluding with a commercial dock with 220, our boat is once again sea worthy. We were incredibly lucky. Usually when the $#*! hits the fan at sea there is NO land in sight. Let alone land with lights. Let alone land with lights and a welder. Let alone land with lights and a welder and a dock with 220. Fogetabatit. Get out the oars. And good luck against that 25 knot head wind.

Even though our boat has fully recovered from the ordeal, our crew, being twice shy, has not. So here we sit anchored just off of Castilla, our favorite little pueblo of miracles, and wait for Neptune to call off the slobbering waves. 


It looks like Monday might give us the weather window we need. 

Three cheers to Castilla,

~The Twice Shy Crew of Balance


*In "Romancing the Stone" the bell maker is the guy in town with the only car. You should watch it again...

Homeward Bound

As it were, we've come to the last chapter of our Caribbean adventure. We fly home from Panama City in just under 3 weeks. It's been an incredible adventure and I'm trying not to take a moment of the time we have left for granted, but between you, me, and the mast - I am homesick. I miss my house. And dirt. And my nephew. And my chickens. (Although since we've been gone Zona ate two of them and one of my silkies kicked the bucket while sitting on her nest. That leaves only one. Hmmm.)

We're in Roatan about to throw the mooring line and slog to weather* for the better part of the next 50 hours. Joy. I won't lie; I'm not looking forward to it. The good news is the Miami Grandparents are here in all their infinite maritime wisdom, enduring patience and extensive experience slogging to weather. Thanks for coming out to help us get back to Panama, guys. The other good news is I'm smarter now and I've already administered the scopolamine patch to the back of my ear. Hopefully, that will render me at least halfway useful over the next two days. If not, Gramma Connie is here to make sure that everyone is drinking water and wearing their life jackets. Plus the tuna is made and stashed in a tupperware, the ginger ale is chilling in the cockpit cooler, and the barf bucket is conveniently located for all to use. Please send a plea to Neptune on our behalf for calm seas and favorable winds (less than 20 knots, if you please). Next stop is the Vivarillos Islands with a lovely beach and great fishing but absolutely no facilities and even less internet. After that we'll press on to the Columbian island of San Andres where we'll spoil ourselves rotten with cold showers at Nene's, pizza and shameful quantities of ice cream. From there we'll have another big crossing to the San Blas Islands of Panama. Then it's smooth sailing and party time with the cousins in the islands. One night and a birthday dinner for Grandpa and Emerson in Panama City and then we're on a flight home. Oh heavenly airplanes. What a delightful way to travel.

Thanks for coming on this adventure with us. It's been fun having you along. Signing out 'til San Andres. We'll meet you there.

Long live scopolamine,
Heather

*Slogging to weather: Sailing (read: motoring) against wind, waves and currents in a generally miserable "up stream" grind. Barf.

Sail on the Wild Side

I may have mentioned that Dave has started making "movies" of our adventure on iMovie. They are so enjoyable to watch and I thought maybe you all would enjoy them as much as we do. (It's embarrassing. We watch them over and over.) Here are the links:

Em's trailer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

My New Favorite Swimsuit

I've recently become an affiliate for the company that makes my new favorite swimsuits. I have two. One in black and the one pictured below: mango. My favorite. The top is the triangle style and the bottoms are the European brief cut. No, not that European. If you don't know what an affiliate is....I'm not sure how well I can explain it. But I'll try. I put a link on my blog and if you click on it and then order a suit from their website they give me a commission. And I'm about to order two new suits from them (I'm thinking the french mulberry and the ocean), so I figure I might as well make a commission on my own order, right? Anyway, they are not only super cute suits but they come in the best colors and are very sporty. In other words: supportive. The bottoms have a draw sting and the top has the cutest criss cross back with a tie. Which means that if you're a swimmer (occasionally I fancy myself a swimmer) you can synch everything up and do laps without equipment malfunction and without an atrocious one piece with built in shelf bra. Barf. My girlfriend Amy wears hers while surfing. She likes the scooped brief bottoms and the vent top.

" Honeeeeey? I think I'm about to jibe the genoaaaaaa......"

"Uh-oh. Hard a port! I'm givin' 'er all she's got Cap'n!" (name that movie)

So if you're in the market for a super cute new suit check THESE out....

Tell them Heather sent you. Just kidding. They'll know...

Snorkeling at the Blue Hole

The Blue Hole at Lighthouse Reef Atoll (an atoll is a sunken island - but on our boat it has come to mean...well, it has other meanings) was created when an underwater cavern sunk into itself. It makes a near perfect circle about 1000 feet across and 400 feet deep. It is a popular dive destination here in Belize with boats shuttling divers regularly from the mainland and the barrier islands. When we visited we were unbelievably lucky to have it completely to ourselves. It was magnificently eery to snorkel the reef that lines the perimeter of the hole. The reef itself is in shallow water but the depth plunges dramatically into darkness just a few feet away. The underwater pictures below are from our snorkel.