Entry 15

5/23/2017

I’m supposed to be organizing the bookshelf as my after supper job.

It's a mess. Maybe if I make the kids take care of their own books and stop looking at it, it will magically clean itself up?

“Aaanniieeee!!!?!” I yell.

“Guys!” Bridget wails, her tone rising in pitch. “Help!”

“What is it?” I ask.

“There’s a daddy-long-leg on my wall!” She says.

“Oh good grief, just get rid of it.” I say, annoyed.

“I can’t!” She whines

“Then find someone else who will!”

She shudders. “Beeeckyyyyy??!?”

“Bridget, I let daddy-long-legs crawl on me arm!” Rachel informs her. “I let tarantulas- well, not tarantulas. But I let bugs crawl on my arm!”

“I’m not you!” Bridget protests.

I go back to the bookshelf. It's still a mess.

I'll do it later.

I go to my bed to finish math instead.

“I remember Abi never liked spiders.” Peter says, passing through. “It was the only thing I could do to scare her.” He laughs. Then: “Hey where’s the mosquito stuff? I just had it out!”

I shrug and return to decimals.

Ew.

Decimals were invented by bored old men who used to be presidents.

They wanted to leave calling cards for their unwilling successors to remember them by.

Except no one remembers them now because decimals are so complicated and boring everyone is too busy sleeping or banging their heads on trees to pay attention.

And thus the Society of Concerned Tree Lovers was born and all math abolished until the end of time,

The End.

“Oh yeah the mosquito stuff is in the window sill!” I yell at Peter.

“Which one?”

“The one closest to the kitchen I think!”

“Oh yeah, I see it.”

“Sorry for losing your charger.” Isaac exclaims in a moderate tone.

Ish.

“You didn’t lose it, it was upstairs!”

Isaac opens his mouth and eyes wide. He actually looks cute

BUT DON’T YOU DARE TELL HIM I SAID THAT.

“I don't know how it got up there. I didn't do it,”

“I didn't do it either!” He exclaims.

“I know. And thanks, Izy” (pronounced eye-zee) “for letting me beat you up! It was the highlight of my day.” (don't worry, I didn't actually beat him up. mostly. I'll let you figure it out)

He lean against the bed with an air of self-importance.

“You're welcome.” He says.

(The following is a snippet of conversation from my siblings. If you can understand it, you have earned my undying respect.)

“Ask you may I please. Okay I did it!” Isaac whines.

“Can you ask me to waeheaha!”

“Werherherherheeeeeer!” Isaac whinily exclaims.

“Can you ask me to waeheaha?” Bridget says.

It goes on like this for a looong day.

“Ophelia you are a skug! You know how to escape from our legs now.” Rachel says.

“Yeah Cyrano is a skug too!” Exclaims Isaac.

“You kitty-cat! She’s falling asleep!” She pulls the cat into a standing position with her paws. “Believe! I know it sounds like a kitty poster, but it’s true.” She says

I literally LOL.

“What?” Rachel demands.

“You actually quoted that.” I laugh.

Something hard bumps my arm and flies into the yellow bowl.

Cyrano promptly tries to eat it, and it flies away.

It bumps around the room quite a bit before landing on Becky's arm and Peter notices it.

He kills it.

“Peter, can we play the Peter Game?” Isaac asks (in exclamation).

“No.”

“Hey Esther, can we play the Esther game?” He ask.

“Nuh uh.”

“Its called the Womans Game.” Bridget says.

“Hey Esther can we play-”

“You mean the Daddy Game?” I ask.

“Yeah!”

“Women can’t play the Daddy Game, only Daddy’s.”

“Then play the extended version!” Bridget yells brightly.

“No.”

“How about the Game Esther Plays With the Twerps?!”

“No.”

“Anne what are you doing?” Peter asks.

“Getting ready the movie mom said we could watch.” Anne replies.

“Are you grumpy?” He asks

“No,” Anne says, in a normal voice.

“Are they done talking yet?”

“No.” She says in a grumpy voice. “I didn’t hear everything they were talking about. Why does this top one not work?!”

“Because it's cheap and terrible like everything in Nicaragua.” Peter jokes. “Including this family. Just kidding.”

He and Anne laugh.

Entry 13

5/19/2017

(Note: No animals or ears were harmed in the writing of this entry…

Mostly…)

(also, this is more of a collection of random events from the day instead of a story)

I frantically write down the story idea I just got from my dream.

“I’m Jess, pleased to meet you.” He says, sticking out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you too.” Alisha says, and smiles slightly. His hand is cool, he has a firm grip. His fingers are long- just like the rest of his limbs. Heavens he’s tall.

Mira smiles sweetly,

“Well, I think-” her phone starts ringing. It's the theme song from Poldark. “Sorry guys.” She says and then walks a few feet away and starts talking into her phone.

“Hey Brody! I-”

Jess clears his throat, and Alisha turns her gaze up up up to his face, letting Mira fade into the background.

Alisha pushes her bangs behind her ear and hopes this isn’t as awkward for Jess as it is for her. She bites her bottom lip and makes her eyes go wide and loop around the room just for something to do.

Jess laughs outright.

“I know, right?” He says genially. “I don't know what to say either.”

I am just getting back to my prayer time when I look up at Annie on her bunk bed. She is grabbing Ophelia by the scruff of her neck.

“Anne!” I yell, “Be nice to Ophelia!”

She looks at me and says,

“She needs to know that we- that us- that the Eckstine's are bosses, not cats.” She leans in close to Ophelia’s face.

“We’re the boss!” She says. “Okay, Ophelia? We’re the bosses!”

“Anne, it's like Fin: ‘I'm in charge now! I'm in charge, Phasma, I'm in charge!’” I laugh.

She shakes Ophelia gently,

“Yeah Ophelia, I'm in charge now!” Then she sets her down on the barstool by the bed on the floor.

As Anne passes gets down and passes me, I hold my breath and pretend to be dead.

She doesn't notice.

“Anne! I was being dead over here and you didn't he notice!”

“Oh.” She says over her shoulder. “Woops.”

“I do that a lot. I just pretend to be dead. If I really died just randomly you guys wouldn't notice for 24 hours.” I observe somewhat blithely.

“I know!” Anne says.

“No, nachamama! Nachamama, Ophelia! Hey, will you be still, or do  have to hold you and kiss you. And call you Ophelia?”

Ophelia mews.

“Okay! I guess I have to hold you and kiss you and call you Ophelia.” I hear exaggerated kissing sounds.

“Oh look a cockroach.” Anne says.

“Where?” Becky says, looking down from her bunk bed.

“Is it alive or dead?” Mum asks from the kitchen.

Isaac comes in to exclaim and get rid of it.

“Aw Anne look!” Becky says, “She's being so cute! Get up here and look! She's just laying in my hands! Ophelia, are you tired now? Tired from all that running around? And sleeping in the morning?! Bazooka Jane would never do that.”

Ophelia mews in protest.

“Say please. Say please Ophelia.” Then to Anne: “I make her meow and then I put her down.” She then sets Ophelia down.

“There’s only a slight malfunction.” Bridget says in her fake British accent.

Oh goody.

Playing Star Wars yet again.

Not that that is a bad thing.

It is Star Wars after all.

Peter comes up to Meg on the top bunk, growling and roaring.

“Noooo!!!! Petehl you're scawing me!”

“Oh I'm sorry.” he says.

“Yo sowy?”

“Yes, for scaring you.”

“Fo scawing me?”

“Yeah.”

She leans down and hugs Peter around his neck.

“I wuv yo!” She says and then answers herself. “I wuv yo too!  Can I kiss yo fowhead?”

“Sure.”

I glance over just in time to see her pucker her lips and kiss Peter's forehead.

I nearly died of adorableness overload.

I go to the living room where greetings are thrown this way and that in proper spanglish fashion.

“Morning!”

“Morning.”

“Buenos dias!”

“Buenos dias.”

“Hey!”

“Buenas.”

“Cywano! Do not escape!” Meg say sternly.

“Run for your life!” I call

“Quick Cyrano, bite ‘er then run!” Peter says.

“Stawp escaping!” Meg says.

“Hey Cyrano! Password!” Peter grins and Cyrano promptly licks Meg’s leg.

“There Margaret, now you have to put him down. He did the password.”

Meg doesn't answer us and gets off her chair holding the bunny. She puts the furry animal on the chair and picks up the chair and carries it away.

“Meg, he's gonna escape.” I tell her.

Then Cyrano escapes.

Meg chases him around for a while and gets extremely annoyed when he goes behind a chair.

“Cywano!” She cries.

“Be nice to that bunny.” dad says.

Peter and Becky laugh quietly as they watch Rachel play with Ophelia. Mum listens as Paul talks about a priest in a nearby town. Bridget lounges and frowns as if thinking very hard about something. Dad is getting his praise and worship songs ready for prayers. Meg sits with Cyrano, Isaac is playing something in the corner. Paul and Ms. Bing sit with their baby in a stroller, Douglas and Ninoska share a couch, and I sit in this corner, rocking and writing this all.

I see Ezekiel going to Isaac with a scorpion.

“Isaac!” He says it like ee-sack.

I swat at a fly by my head.

“Look he has a scorpion!!” Guess Who exclaims.

“Isaac, anything he does is not cool, just because he does it.” Peter says drily and we laugh.

“Hey Isaac, make it bite him!” I tease.

“It can't sting it can only bite.”

“I know, that's why I said bite not sting.”

Just now Meg runs up.

“Petehl! Thews a scohpian!!”

Peter gasps in mock astonishment.

“Its ginowmus!”

“That big??”

“Yeah!”

Then she tells me almost the same thing. I add a few screams to make it scarier. Then she keeps walking slowly to me and whispering “scorpion” while I flourish a new scream at the end of each.

“Esthew!! We found a fwog!”

I scream.

“Do you wike baby fwogs?” She ask,

“No!” I yell.

She walks off, as if I’m a lost cause.

Probably am.

Peter and Rachel are gutting and scaling fish.

“I don't want to get cwoser to dose scawy eyes.” Meg says.

“Are you gonna do a fish?” Rachel asks.

“Dunno. I’m gonna have to cook ‘em so hopefully not.”

“You?” Rachel and Peter ask incredulously.

“Well I am lunch person. Aaand I’m a perfecook. Rachel sighs, partly annoyed and partly amused.

5/20/2017

We’re watching the Lego Movie- MY FAVORITE MOVIE EVER BTW.

For some reason my siblings don’t see t as that great.

“Come with me if you wanna not die!”

(just had to add this tiny entry. BECAUSE THE LEGO MOVIE HELLO.)

Entry 5

4/22/2017
Entry 5

This one is a bit long, sorry!

The dogs are all at my heels growling and whining good naturedly for food. Jasper the cat sits sedately, his tail wrapped around his legs, his eyes blinking lazily.

Cats.

Mum runs up to the car to remind dad to get toilet paper, eggs and milk.

Dad tells Douglas we will get cerveza (beer) and he chuckles in his deep easy way.

Dad is now speaking in Spanish to them and they are talking back and I am going to read.

Later…

(Note: if you are squeamish about grossness and blood and muddy toes, you might want to skip this section)

We go down some steps into a large area, covered in various places-wherever the stands are.

A woman yells out

“Naca tamale!” By way of greeting.

The stands themselves are watched by men and women boys and girls their wares all set out and mingling among each other. They sell fruits and vegetables, eggs, toys, shirts, shoes, kitchen supplies, anything from tomatoes to tajatadoras.

The ground is dirt and mud with the occasional lettuce leaf and other various items of interest.

Aka garbage.

I have a bag on my shoulder with a girl on a bike decorated on it. It's quite pretty.

Dad buys the various vegetables and then hands them to me and I carry them in the bag.

Douglas and Ninoska walk off to get their produce and dad and I go around from place to place comparing prices, stock and…. Just wait a second the word will come to me…. Not variety… not produce… QUALITY! That's it.

Yes, quality.

We buy tomatoes, carrots, garlic, onions, potatoes, cabbage, a pineapple, a watermelon, some bananas and toilet paper.

Oh and some pig fat so mum can make lard.

For a short while my introverted soul is drowned in the happiness of being with dad and seeing the Jinotepe mercado for the first time. I smile at people, and even think about talking to the vendors.

Just think about it, mind you. I don't actually do it.

And then we go into the slightly lower part of the market, where the meat is sold.

And I'm not squeamish about meat at all. But the… delicious smell of raw meat and soap and fish… is enough to make the hardest stomach turn.

The first three seconds were fine.

The next five minutes were me reminding myself to stop breathing through my nose!! And NOT thinking about the fact that I haven't had breakfast yet.

I could really go for a chocolate mousse right about now.

Then Ninoska says something about sangre (blood) and arroz (rice) and all thoughts of chocolate pudding are replaced with a memory of a friend thinking a certain blood pudding was chocolate pudding.

Ahem.

Well I did warn you.

We leave the lovely blood market. Douglas nearly trips over a scruffy looking nerf herder- er, that is, a dog. And I notice how much better fed they look than the greater population of scroungy mangy dogs around these parts.

Which is no great surprise, seeing as they spend all day in a meat market.

We pass a little girl in a pink shirt and jeans who is glaring at the sun in her eyes.

I put my bag over my pocket with my phone in it, in case someone should take a liking to it and it should vacate my pocket by means of picking.

My introverted self is taking over my brain and suddenly everyone is a possible thief and everyone seems to be glaring at me and so. many. people. Send! Immediate!! Help!!!

I remind myself of what a fun entry this would make and try to remember everything so I can write it down later. I let my muse loose and immediately a million stories pound inside my head begging to be written down.

I am a little better now. I try to stay in the present and stop thinking of how I'm going to word this entry and what pithy sayings and marvelously sarcastic lines I will throw in.

It's hard, believe it or not.

I don't succeed very well.

The market smells of dirt and food and slightly of various soaps. The early morning sun is light and kind to the early birds and people aren't very loud. There are occasional hustling out of the way for a bike or a cart or a larger person.

A girl in a blue skirt sells something in a drink dispenser which I find out later is coffee. After a trip to the truck to unload and situate food, dad and I return and help Ninoska and Douglas get their groceries.

We pass a little stand where a woman grabs a light colored dough from a huge hunk on a table. It covers half the table easily and looks about half gone. She takes a handful and pounds it out onto a thin circle of colored plastic. Then she slaps it down onto a pile of similar things. These will eventually be cooked on a griddle over a small fire and then sold as fresh tortillas for three cordobas.

Nothing of consequence happens after this. We leave eventually, dad buys a fresh coconut, and I almost break the eggs but nothing else happens.

Douglas and Ninoska are dropped off at a house and they start to cut up and get ready for… something? I don't know what.

I'm sure I'll learn eventually.

And now on the way home, I am reading comfortably when who should make an appearance but my empty stomach growling for all it's worth and screaming at me to stop bumping around on this road.

I think about barfing all over my lap and maybe out the window in an outraged answer, but I calm myself with deep breaths instead.

My stomach is very touchy about any motion.

I almost barfed after swinging, and don't get me started on car rides.

Fortunately, airplanes are not too much of a hazard on my delicate stomach.

Later…

(Note: the gore has passed, you of the squirmy stomachs can again read in peace)

After breakfast I read Princess Academy and finished it. THAT'S A GOOD BOOK RIGHT THERE. DON'T LET THE TITLE DECEIVE YOU.

I downloaded some music and books to read and then did some accounting after lunch.

While I was hard at it, dad took some of the kids back to Douglas and Ninoska's stand. After a few hours they came back with the news that they were out of food and needed to buy more to sell.

We listened to Adventures in Odyssey for a while, and I carried out a few buckets to mum, who was washing laundry.

Then I considered doing a blog post, and decided against it. How have I managed to be so uninspired???

Don't ask me, I'm not the one reading about the misadventures of a random stranger!!

That what I write about.

Gosh.

I made salad for supper, and mum made chicken (a treat indeed), and dad melted the cheese in a saucepan.

The smells like eight dogs went through a carwash with their socks on (from last year) and then laid in the sweltering sun for three and a half hours before calmly reminding me that they have a sewage appointment in an hour and they intend to be there.

Oh and they brought the pet canary with them.

In other words it smells like heaven.

And the name in Spanish is translated to 'stinky foot cheese’.

And it is surprisingly pretty good.

If you happen to be that salt monster from Star Trek.

(You know, that thing with the suction cuppy things all over that could shift-shape and it ate salt like the willies?)

Then we drove back here to the stand.

Which is more like a porch attached to someone's house, which happens to be exactly what it is.

I think they know the person.

We sat around for a while and then went to look at the actual stands. Right  below ours on street level- okay fine it was like three feet below ours. Work with me here- is a tent with expensive looking jewelry. Next to it is a stand that sells caramel apples, french fries and something else I couldn't quite determine the substance of.

There were booths with shirts, with baby dresses, with baby shoes. Booths with hats and necklaces, rosaries and bracelets. Booths with food and booths with carved shells.

Quite a few little statues of penguins, elephants, geese, and piggy banks.

(As I repeatedly pointed out to Rachel as “piggy bonks” in a nasally voice. She didn't find it as amusing as I did.

I don't know why)

These were disgustingly colored and annoyingly ugly.

I plastered a fake grin to my face and told Anne how gorgeous I found them.

She also did not find me as amusing as I really am.

Weirdo.

We came back and I begged Meg to let me hold her, insisting that

“I've hardly seen you all day!!” To which Peter said that he too had hardly seen her.

To which she hugged his neck and he said

“I'm glad you're my sister.”

And though I was annoyed at being deprived this hug, I nearly cried out

“AWWWWW!!!” And whipped out a camera for proof for future years.

Now, as I sit here and write this, I feel as though I've missed a lot of things but it is hard to remember every detail.

I end the night rotting my brain cells out by watching Flight of Fancy with my family.

It was….

Bad.

Ridiculous.

Almost funny at parts??

Never watching again.

Oh yeah and a scorpion almost bit me, but Rachel saw it moving in the dark so I was saved a possible swelling of the tongue, armpits, and a fever for a couple of days.

Nice!

Entry 4

4/20/2017

Meg is crying and clinging to the dustpan long handle. Rebekah has the firmer grip and has wrenched it from the little girl's grasp.

“You have to let me carry it Margaret!” She says, “you'll just fall and drop it!”

I come over to inspect the scene. The dustpan has dirt and pebbles and old coconut husks in it. Rebekah promptly goes downstairs to put it away and Meg slaps the bookshelf. I pick up Margaret and bring her over to my chair.

“I didn't swap Becky!” she tells me.

“I know, but you still slapped the bookshelf. The point is you don't need to hit anything just because you're mad.” She doesn't look at me. I situate her more comfortably on my lap.

“Do you know why she wouldn't let you carry that downstairs?” She still doesn't look at me. “Meg. Do you know why?”

She looks up.

“Why?”

“Because if you brought it downstairs, you might fall and those stairs are cement and you would get hurt very bad.”

“But she wouldn't wet me bwing it downstairs!” She says, her two year old mind unable to comprehend anything but the injustice done her.

“I know, but she did it because she is bigger and she won't fall. You might. She did it because she loves you.”

“Onwy a teensie bit of kids don't wuv me.” She informs me seriously.

“What? Who doesn't love you?” I ask, straightening her t-shirt on her shoulders.

“Well Isaac- I said dat Isaac can't wuv me for a wittle bit.”

I try hard not to smile.

“You said Isaac can't love you?”

“Yeah.” She sees my smile and smiles at me, trying to make me laugh.

“Who else?”

She grins “Petehl and Estheh can't wuv me either!” She leans forward to bonk my forehead.

“I can't love you?! But Meg!” I bonk her forehead gently and then kiss the top of her head.

“Nope. But Petehl can.”

“Why?” I ask her in an agonized tone.

“I wanna go to da powech.” She says and climbs off my lap, obviously assuming the conversation is over.

“I wuv yo!” I yell after her.

“Me too!” She yells back.

Little children these days.