Release the Hounds

Nicaragua bound, Jaya, Magdalena, Sage, Augustus, and Anna.  Five beautiful children, at the beginning of a five week journey to Nicaragua and into ourselves.  Let me explain.  My dearest darlingest friend, Kimberly Waugh - you can check her out here, and if you just want pure juice, check out her school in action here, was offered a 30 day intensive yoga teacher training gig in paradise.  Why yes, I did say paradise.  Paradise with a paradox, more on that later.   Anyhoo, she has three glorious children (los rubios), and one Sol baby, and we were talking about her childcare options and I remember commenting, something like, wow Kimberly, what a gift!  What an opportunity!  I wonder how I'll ever put something like that together for my children, you must go!  The gears turned, she crunched numbers, and offered a 30 day intensive family gig for me and my two children and It.Was.On., like donkey kong.  

Post-dated post

(I found this unfinished post in my draft folder, written last February when I was trying to blog regularly again.  It stands.)

One day recently my mom stops by my house and comes in and says something along the lines of  'oh, you're all wet" and I say "I'm HOT" and my son Augustus who is five years old explains "She means sweaty hot Abuela, not sexy hot." (pronounced "saxy")

I'm sorry, what did you just say?  Seriously, what?  WTF mate.  Not so recently, one day when I was talking to my dear friend Jessica whose family is not as media-centric as ours is asked me, after I explained to her that our current favorite song was Kanye West's "Golddigger" because it has a seriously bad-to-the-bone beat and crazy good samples, asked me if I thought my at times unadulterated exposure of musical media was going to bite me in the ass.  Consider myself bitten.

In my own defense, or maybe I should say I have no defense because I don't think Augustus learned "hot" from the media, I think he got that from me.  I think my husband is hot.  Super hot.  And I like to tell him so.  And I have been known to ogle, more women than men, but that's only because I happen to think women are pretty spectacular as far as beauty goes.  Hhmmmm...no wonder where my son gets it.

Anyway, my point is this, I have dropped the ball by my own standards of protecting my children's innocence and exposed them to far more media/screen time than I thought I would.  Which happens to be considerably less than the average family, but I'm not ascribing to "average".  I'll take eccentric, weird, odd, different any day.

Transformation.

Transformation.  It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?  Transformation.  Nice to say.  Roll it around a few times...mmmm...trrrrraaaannnnsssssforrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmaaaaaaaaassshhhhhuuuuuunnnnnnnnn.
Now, if I write it beautifully, on unlined artisan rice paper, and sleep on it, the question is, will I transform?  Will - through the power of wishful thinking and osmosis - I transform?

That is a question for the ages.  And tonight, we test it.

At least I know I can transform the form of my blog, my sweet post fb neglected blog.  Ah sweet blog, let's transform juntos.*




*Juntos is Spanish for "together", a little hint at what is soon to follow.  A little bit of together, a little bit of Spanish language reinvigorated after a stay in a Spanish speaking country, and a lot 'a bit of transformation.  Ahhhh...there it is again.  Transformation.  Such a good word.