A Disclaimer
Sometimes I feel things go without saying, but other times I feel like things need to be stated. For the sake of clarity.
I write this blog for myself. In no way is anything presented here intended to be delivered in the form of advice. Nor am I intending to participate in the my-way-of-parenting-is-better-than-your-way-of-parenting nonsense.
Rather, I share what’s important to me and what resonates with me; Ah-ha moments of motherhood, if you will. The process of evolution and change has always meant something to me, on a deeper level, and I enjoy documenting here so I can remain humble about my journey.
If you happen to read a post where it sounds like I’m speaking to you, please be reminded that I’m only speaking to myself. I don’t write or share with any sort of audience in mind.
On the flip side, if you find yourself coming back here because something I’ve shared has resonated with you, then that’s just the icing on the cake; because we all like to know we’re not alone.
Okay, I feel better now.
The Dominican Republic
I’ve mentioned it here several times in the past, but prior to having kids – or getting married – I did a lot of traveling. Sure I loved seeing new places, but a large part of my motivation was to photograph; it’s always been something that called to me.
So you can imagine my excitement when Willy’s work flipped the bill for us to go to the Dominican Republic. Given the fact the trip was a work function, it was by no means in tune with how I would typically travel and I found it hard not to roll my eyes at certain aspects of the trip.
Like the all-inclusive resort.
In our backpacking days, we used to glance over at the all-inclusive resorts like they were some sort of slice of heaven we were not privy too; with comforts we longed for… like showers that presumably consisted of more than the mere PVC pipe that trickled water over our heads.
Having now stayed at an all-inclusive resort, I can now say with certainty that it’s not something I’d do again and here’s why: the food was horrible. Willy and I had backpacked throughout the Dominican years ago (it’s where he proposed to me, actually) and the food is one of the things we raved about. I’m not an adventurous eater by any means so when I travel I opt for safe things like buttered pasta, but even there simple pastas were out of this world delicious. At the all-inclusive resort, we walked out after taking a mere bite of several meals. I had to spit out the one bite of a hamburger I ate. It was horrible.
The grounds were too big. So big, in fact, that you had to wait for the trolley to come around just to take you to one of the 13 pools (talk about overkill) or the beach. There was a sign on the beach that warned you against walking off the grounds because once you pass the rope you are no longer ‘supervised’. That made me roll my eyes.
The music at the pool belonged in the club. I found it hard to read my “Homegrown” parenting book with Ludacris blaring in my ears.
Out of boredom, we ventured to the ‘theatre’ to watch a Michael Jackson impersonator perform. Watching him made me feel sad; the lip singing was off, the dancing sub par, and the smell of the fog machine made me think I was at a Middle School dance formal.
Forget sunscreen? Don’t worry, the all-inclusive resort has everything you need… everything you need at a price… and a steep one at that. It’s like they know you’re stranded and they take full advantage. We paid $20 for a bottle of sunscreen. All-inclusive, minus sunscreen.
The location did not lend to any local experiences. We were completely secluded and not in the off-the-beaten path kinda way, but more in the behind-the-gate kinda way. Walking off the multi-acre resort was not an option. We paid the steep cab fare of $70 to go to a town 20 minutes away.
I did not take a single photo at the resort because I found it grossly uninspiring. Not one.
There were highlights, of course. Like the fact the door to our room came draped with a sash that read “Feliz Cumpleanos” despite the fact it was neither of our birthdays. And, well, not having kids around provided us the opportunity to truly relax and have adult conversations, so that was nice too. And there was a casino, which doesn’t really tickle my fancy, but Willy made out playing poker and had a new stranger coming up to him each day to remind him how well he did at the tables the night before. And we got to return to the town where we stayed when Willy proposed (Bayahibe), so that was special. I dug up this old post recapping our previous trip to the Dominican, from a ‘Meet Your Parents’ series I used to write…
All in all, as a lover of traveling and experiencing different cultures, it makes me sad to think of all of the thousands of people who were staying at that resort and went home with the belief that they went to the Dominican Republic. Geographically, sure. But in all other components not so much.
In any event, it’s hard to complain about a more-or-less free trip. So I’ll end by saying that the Dominican Republic is really and truly a beautiful country with lively people and terrific food. Just don’t stay at an all-inclusive resort.
Hawaii, Part II
Hawaii, part I
Things we did while in Maui: Listened to a local sing “going to California” and “fast car” (two of my favorites), after the rain led us into a saloon that’s now on our list of favorites, saw several sea turtles both from the shore as well as from in the water, spent a windy day at the aquarium, bought shell necklaces from a local maker; one went missing immediately and two days later the other broke, ate cream puffs and apple pie from a bakery the locals rave about, put extra sunscreen on burned butt cracks, potty trained Van albeit the time he peed on the car’s wheel in the parking lot and in the tide pools too because, well, when you gotta go you gotta go, ate off of paper plates to avoid dishes, gave the boys one shower that probably led the neighbors to believe we practice Chinese torture (both boys hate showers) and one bath… In two weeks (and no, we didn’t spend a lot of time – or much of any for that matter – in the pool), saw an Elvis impersonator perform poolside for all the retired folk (many of which snapped pictures with him afterwards), witnessed my first selfie stick and I have loads to say about it (namely, what happened to asking the stranger next you to take your photo?), laughed at my horrible English / Australian / anything other than American accent, walked out of Mama’s Fish House just as soon as we sat down and noticed that the kid’s meals were $20 a pop and that macaroni, chicken tenders, and hamburgers were not listed as options, watched Hooper catch his first crab, also watched him cry tears of sympathy when he came upon a dead gecko, packed more clothing than we needed and just barely enough sunscreen, and got on the plane feeling well rested, grateful, and sad to leave.
Smoothies & Resqueeze
When Hooper was a baby, I was all about the purees. It’d give me great pleasure to see what I could get away with in terms of sneaking vegetables and other healthy foods into his purees. Willy and I giggle now when reminiscing about my salmon and strawberry concoction. Poor kid.
I eventually gave up on the purees and succumbed to doing all sorts of the ridiculous tricks parents do to try to get their kids to eat vegetables. And overtime, I’ve simply accepted the fact that the only vegetables my kids will eat are corn, peas, and carrots. Van is a slightly more adventurous, but not by much in the veggie department.
I hate veggies, so it’s hard for me to bitch about how my kids eat. I started making myself smoothies recently which consist of the same ingredients every time: vanilla yogurt, lots of spinach, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, ground flax seed, and chia seeds.
That’s when it dawned on me that I can reintroduce purees as smoothies. And so, I did.
There have been more hits than misses, though it’s still frustrating when one day they eat the entire thing and then the next they don’t touch it at all. The other issue, for us, was finding a proper way to serve it. A simple cup proved messy and a cup with a straw required me to water it down to make it smooth enough to flow through the straw.
Both boys love the applesauce and puree mixtures that come in the squeeze pouches, so when Resqueeze reached out to me I was so thankful that someone has come up with a solution. 
Things we love about Resqueeze:
-the pouches are dishwater safe
-they come in two sizes (the larger is perfect for my kids)
-my kids like them
-the clear fill line allows you to see how much you’re pouring in
-the bottom ziplock closure is super durable
Resqueeze has been kind enough to offer a 4-pack to one lucky winner. Entering is as easy as doing any of the following and leaving an extra entry for each to increase your chance of winning:
-Visit Resqueeze’s recipe page and tell me which recipe you would like to try
-Follow Resqueeze on Facebook
-Follow Resqueeze on Instagram
Please remember to leave a separate comment for each entry. Good luck. 
Documentary Review: Surfwise
At least once a week, while sitting at my desk at my job, I think about giving up the conventional American Dream (or pursuit thereof) for something simpler, more fulfilling. Sometimes, my fantasies involve selling everything we own and moving to a foreign country where we can buy a house for $50,000. Sometimes, my fantasies involve buying a plot of land and building a tiny home, off the proverbial grid. I know I’m not alone in fantasies like this. Most of us stop and wonder how we really want to live. Some of us are courageous (or idiotic) enough to make huge changes; some of us just daydream.
Dorian “Doc” Paskowitz was courageous (or idiotic). He was a Stanford-educated doctor with a successful career. Well, outsiders would say it was successful. Doc described it as “the lowest point of my life.” He felt like a fraud. He was having insomnia, anxiety, and panic attacks. So, he gave it all up and went on what he calls “an odyssey.” He traveled to Israel and taught people in Tel Aviv to surf. After two failed, stifling marriages, he went on sexual adventures that he describes in a way that kind of made me cringe (My favorite quote of the film: “[Ellen] taught me to eat pussy, and that changed my life a great deal.”).
He scored every woman he slept with and decided to stop his shenanigans when he met Juliette. Why? His words: “I was appalled at her score.” They moved into his Studebaker and started a vagabond lifestyle that would last for decades. At the time of the documentary, Doc is 84 and they are still ridiculously happy in their marriage.
Over the years, they had 9 (holy shit) children—8 boys, 1 girl. They all lived in one 24-foot camper (holy shit, again). They moved around a lot—often on the spur of the moment. They describe themselves as gypsies, although Juliette is quick to say, “But we were always clean” (they mention a rule about “clean assholes” that you have to hear for yourself). In their close quarters, the kids often saw their parents having sex. Nothing was private. Nothing.
Doc didn’t believe in them going to school. Their education was in the ocean, on a surfboard. Oldest son David says, “My dad was beaten down so hard by his previous life. He thought the world outside his core family to be dangerous.” So, in a way, they became like a little cult, living freely, never quite sure about their next meals or where they would wake up next. One son jokes that if it was his birthday and there were no gifts, Doc would take him to the ocean and say, “Son, I give you the sea.”
The Paskowitz family became known as “the first family of surfing” and started a surf camp in 1972. At the time of the documentary, the now-grown Paskowitz children still run the camp—some more involved than others. There’s friction about it—and that’s the interesting part of this film.
Doc and Juliette thought (and still think) that they gave their family the most idyllic, romantic existence. The kids don’t agree with this 100%. They are living the repercussions of never having a formal education. Abe, the third son, wanted to be a doctor, but realized it would take him until he was in his thirties to even catch up with basic education, let alone apply to medical schools. Navah, the only daughter, says that the lack of education would have been fine if they lived in the camper forever, but they had to go out in the world; they had to learn to function in a modern society that their father had shielded them from. Most of the children seem “normal” and well-adjusted, but it’s clear there are complicated feelings about their upbringing. David was estranged from the family for years because he tried to intervene in some legal issues with the surf camp.
I don’t think it’s as easy to give the finger to norms as daydreams make it out to be. There are always catches. That’s what I took away from this documentary. “Freedom” is hard to define. Doc thought freedom was shunning the “shoulds”; his kids, it seems, feel constrained by his refusal to embrace some conventions. Maybe it’s about balance, compromise—accepting some less-than-wonderful parts of our society in exchange for benefits of that society.
Doc Paskowitz passed away this past November, at 93. In the documentary, Juliette said he would probably want to have sex on his deathbed. I kind of wonder if that happened (and I cringe). No matter, I don’t think he lived or died with any regrets.
This post is written by: Kim Hooper | Writer
Childhood Unplugged
The Childhood Unplugged group posts once a month and most months I I have something to share without putting much thought or intention into it being for Childhood Unplugged; we unplug naturally and often, if you will. But this month was a different story and with all of our comings and goings as of late, I realized that we had not been out much… away a lot, yes, but not out… not taking in local nature…
Traveling is two sided in that sense; on one hand, it’s nice to explore new (or even already known) places and on the other hand, waiting for you to return is a long laundry list (pun intended) of things to catch up on. And that’s where we’ve been — trying to stay afloat the piles of dirty laundry, the overflowing trash bins, and the list of things around town we need to do… like register Hooper for transitional kindergarten, which brings with it it’s own scavenger list of ‘to-dos’.
So I shot this month’s Childhood Unplugged post with intent and, for me, last minute. We went down to the harbor and let the kids run and climb and toughen their bare feet.
The boys made quick friends with another little boy and together the three of them explored, had sword fights (of the urination variety), and ran as free as the breeze. We talked with the boy’s father who shared the loss of his wife (she died during childbirth) and it dawned on me that going out and talking to strangers is a lost art. People are so stuck in their own worlds. And yet we all have such important and interesting and captivating stories to tell. All of us.
I won’t be waiting until the end of next month like I did this go-around.
Please join me in supporting the other photographers participating in the Childhood Unplugged movement by clicking here to see all our submissions. You can also follow us on instagram (@childhoodunplugged) and be sure to use #childhoodunplugged for a chance to be featured on our Instagram feed. Please also tag your photos with #cu_mothers and #cu_fathers, as I’ll be taking the feed the weeks of Mother’s and Father’s day.