Dear Aila,

It's September 1st, 2017, you're exactly 20 weeks and 1 day old and we're currently 30,000 ft above ground on a transatlantic flight to our new home in Istanbul, Turkey. In your short 20 week life thus far, you've been all over the map. I figured it was only right you baked this way to prepare you for the nomadic lifestyle you've got ahead of ya. You were conceived 5 months ago, in the beautiful town of Santiago de Compostela, Spain (I'll spare you the details of that one). From there you spent a perfect month in Lithuania, where the news of your conception made your grandparents and great-grandparents the happiest people on Earth. You even did a weekend trip to London to tell your uncle  Pat, in person, that he had a new big role to fill. Your next 3 months were soaked up in Sunny South Florida where you already began to be spoiled by your "MoMo" and tons of other loving friends and family members.  Now, in the blink of an eye, we're moving on to our next adventure.

Eleven and a half hours on this Turkish Airlines flight separate us from your dad who's spent the past two weeks at training camp in Slovenia and is now waiting for us in our new apartment in Istanbul. I had to forgo my usual pre-flight ritual of 2 glasses of Pinot Noir and a Tylenol PM, I'll try not to hold this against you. Your Puppy Brother is sitting comfortably, alternating laps between mine and the Ukranian Mobster's to my left. I'm finally starting to calm down after getting into a hysterical fight with the man I paid $20 to to carry my luggage for me (who decided he'd rather dump my three suitcases when I wasn't looking and leave me on my own to carry them). Hormones raging, I spent the entirety of the security line bawling like a lunatic while strangers looked on in fear. Again, I won't hold this against you. (By the way- your moms a total G usually, these pregnancy hormones just have me messed up, I don't want you to get the wrong first impression here).

We're headed into our sixth season (and 6th country) of living overseas, where your daddy pays the bills by playing professional basketball. It'll be a pretty cool story for you to tell the kids at school some day. Crazy to think this will be my last flight solo, I've really gotten the hang of this whole packing up my life every summer and starting somewhere new thing, but I'm excited for you to be my road dog.

Let's back up a second though, how did I get here? Seems like just yesterday we were finishing up our season in Spain, clueless to the idea that we were about to become a family of 3 (sorry Tucker, I mean 4).

Another season ended, (a great one at that), and we were on a late night flight to Lithuania to start our Summer.  We arrived to our flat in Vilnius late Thursday evening to a dining room of flowers and a fridge full of our favorite Lithuanian beer, courtesy of your Auntie Kamile. Little did I know it would be the last drink I'd have for quite some time.

I woke up the next day and opened up my iPhone's calendar. 4 days late. Hmm.. well my body could just be confused from all the traveling. Or, maybe she could've been right...

After lunch with Kamile, I insisted your dad take me to a drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. For some odd reason, in Lithuania, it's common to find drugstores in the mall. We drove to the biggest mall in the city and I ran to the pregnancy test aisle. To my surprise there was a man at the end of the embarrassing-shit-you-never-want-to-be-seen-buying-aisle with a massive news camera filming the unlucky customers shopping up and down it. I have no idea what he was doing there but figured the only day of my life thus far that I needed to purchase a pregnancy test was the perfect day for a local news station to film a piece on shopping for pregnancy tests. Thank God. Now I wouldn't say we're celebrities in Lithuania, but I think we're well known enough that my face on the local news station comparing Clear Blue Tests would cause a little bit of an uproar. Also, not exactly how I wanted your grandparents to find out about you,  and besides, I didn't even know what the results would be yet!

Your dad was apparently 100x more embarrassed than me and bolted to the opposite side of the store as soon as he laid eyes on the camera man. I've never seen him so passionate about hair gel and toothpicks, but boy did he spend some serious time stalling comparing them! After threatening your father's life, he finally boxed out the camera man for me so that I could pick a pregnancy test and get the hell out of there.

We arrived back to our apartment and I immediately took the test and waited the longest, most painful 3-5 minutes of my life. A faint double line, what does that mean?! I'd never taken a pregnancy test before and took this as a sign that I just needed to take another. So I did. Same results. "It says right here if you see any sort of second line, it mean's your pregnant", your dad told me. Again, I wasn't buying it. I then made him take me to a clinic to get my blood work done. If it wasn't for my subpar Lithuanian skills, I easily would've asked the nurse doing my blood work "So you've done enough of these, what's your gut telling you here. Am I pregnant or not?" I think your Dad was grateful I wasn't fully able to communicate with her. They told us they'd email us the results in a few hours. How could I possibly wait that long?!

Come to find out, pregnancy is the weirdest thing ever. It's like as soon as you even smell that you may be pregnant, you immediately start feeling some symptoms. In true pregnant fashion, I fell asleep on the couch, making your dad promise to wake me up when the results came in. I woke up an hour later, looked at him next to me with a huge grin on his face and I already knew what the answer was.  I cried, we hugged, and then I went into complete and utter shock, walking around like a robot for the next week or so.

Luckily we had dinner plans with your Auntie Kamile and Uncle Paulius so I didn't have to keep the secret for too long. We had a beautiful dinner outside and talked all about you and how excited we were. After Dinner, the man sitting at the table next to us walked over and told your Daddy he was a huge fan of his- he recited all of his stats from the previous season and even commented on his recent hairstyle change. I was over the moon excited that this random super-fan who happened to be sitting next to us heard of my pregnancy via eavesdrop before my own family and friends did. Go figure.

Another weird thing about pregnancy is that the second you find out you're pregnant, everyone loves to take guesses on what the gender will be. Growing up with two older brothers, I always imagined having a boy first, but as soon as I found out I was pregnant, I couldn't have cared less what you were, I was just so excited you were on your way!

Now that I know you're a girl, it's pretty clear once I look back at the signs.  I just read a quote in Vogue by Serena Williams, where she said "I have a strong suspicion that it's a girl....Two weeks after we found out, I played in the Australian Open. I told Alexis it has to be a girl because there I was playing in 100-degree weather, and that baby never gave me any trouble. Ride or die. Women are tough that way". She's right and I have to credit my extremely easy pregnancy (thus far) to the fact that you're a badass female, a true ride or die. Your timing is impeccable, by the way, and I can't help but think you planned your arrival to coincide with the pregnancy of some of my favorite females: five of my best friends: Madison, Stevi, Indre, Brittney and Ashley and my best friends who don't know it yet: Beyonce, Ciara, and Serena (okay they've all had their babies by now but at least we overlapped for a little bit there!)

If we're being honest, there's a tiny detail I've left out. The truth is, I shouldn't have been too shocked about my pregnancy, as someone actually told me I was pregnant with you months ago. Let me explain. So your "MoMo" scheduled me an appointment to meet with an Angel Card Reader. I know what your'e thinking here and again, don't get the wrong impression of me! I'm not into magic, Tarot Cards or Astrology. In fact, I never even read my horoscope because I don't think it ever accurately describes me. However, this women came highly recommended. She uses "Angel Cards", oracle cards with various words on them,  to help guide you in your life choices. You can mentally ask her specific questions you want the answers to, or tell her you just want an open reading. She is also somewhat of a Medium and can attempt to connect with anyone you love who has passed on. Why not, I thought. I'd give it a go.

Anyways, I was home for a friend's wedding at the end of April and MoMo scheduled me an appointment with the Angel Card Reader. I stepped into her home and she stopped me at her door. "I'm sorry but I can't even begin this reading until I let you know there is a baby, your angels are sending you a baby and it's here".  Knowing that your dad and I had just made the decision to start a family a few months prior, and that we actually started trying only a week ago, I took this as good news that she saw a baby sometime in our near future. She even told me that she saw a little girl and that the angels were sending her visuals of you with your dad, and that the two of you would have an amazing father-daughter bond right from the start. (I have to admit I'm a little jealous but I can't blame you, he's pretty awesome).  This woman knew nothing about me, had no idea I was married or even what point in my life I was at, but she knew you were here. I took her news with a grain of salt. There was no way we could've gotten pregnant on our first try but I found comfort in knowing you were somewhere in the future. Come to find out, you couldn't have been but a week old at this point and the Angel Card Reader's voice stayed in the back of my head on that long Lithuanian Day when I finally found out you were here.

In addition to her, multiple people had contacted me in the beginning of my pregnancy telling me they had dreams I was pregnant. In fact, people I barely knew (my best friend's co-workers, actually), had the same dreams! What can I say girlfriend, you aren't even here yet and you're already making quite the impression.

I'm halfway to meeting you and I couldn't be more excited. There are so many things I worry about. Will I be a good parent? How will I deal with X, Y or Z? At the end of the day, I just hope you know your worth: that you're a strong, powerful, female who can do absolutely anything in the world she wants to do. Here's to the next 20 weeks together, exploring a new country, in one of the biggest cities on Earth, and being my ride or die, no matter where we end up! I love you.

My Refugee Story

Today I wish to share with you a chapter from the book I'm writing about my time overseas. As the granddaughter of an Irish immigrant who came to America to find work at the age of 17, and the wife of a man who left his home in Lithuania at the same age, to move to a foreign country to pursue his dream of playing basketball, without knowing a soul, I know first hand there is nothing more beautiful, and more sacred to the core values of America than the hope of the American Dream. 

With that said, I don't remember a time in recent history that my heart has been filled with more sadness than is today. The mortification I feel having our President implement such a horrific law is only outweighed by the shame of seeing so many of my fellow countrymen not stand up for what's right because it simply doesn't affect them personally. Although I doubt this article will have any bearing on the beliefs of the opposite side, I need to share it for myself today as a reminder to not keep silent and to always speak up for those who can't.

It was my yearly ritual as soon as I made it to my new cities. Operation 1: Find the nearest Zara (even if it’s a plane ride away). Operation 2: Locate the best grocery store. Operation 3: Join a gym. Over the years my gym experiences have never lacked their share of comedic anecdotes. Whether it was the underground basement in Vilnius,  my amazing meathead personal trainer in Poland, or watching the women in full burkas on the elliptical in Bursa, joining a gym overseas has always provided some comedy. 

The first day usually includes me trying to convert kilograms into pounds, kilometers per hour into miles per hour and so on (and being gravely disappointed when the end number is NOT what I had in mind). My first day at my new gym in Giresun, Turkey was no different. Mid hating-my-life-two-minutes-into-the-treadmill, I was approached by the gym’s trainer. He asked to speak with me when I was done with my workout. FML, I thought. This has happened before. In every gym there’s always a trainer who comes up to me asking if I want to sign up for personal training lessons (because, come in, what fits the basketball wife cliche more than demanding a personal trainer). The rest of my workout, I brainstormed ideas of how to reject his offer. The truth is, I hate personal trainers. With a few rare exceptions, I’ve always had terrible experiences. The gym is a place I like to go to escape, not to make small talk while I’m struggling breathing. I’d tell him I’d think about it, that I’d get back to him… Or maybe the truth, that my best friend was a trainer and I liked to do her workouts on my own. 

After my workout I found him in the front desk on my way out. I waved, hoping he had forgotten about his plan to lure me into his training program. He stood right up and walked over to me. Shit. He introduced himself as “Mustafa”, a name that immediately  brought me to a smirk while reminiscing of “The Lion King”. “Nice to meet you, Mustafa”. He asked me where I was from and seemed excited when I told him America. “I’m a UN refugee from Iraq, I was wondering if you had any connections with someone in America that could help get me there”. I was immediately thrown off. I'd never met a refugee or an asylum seeker,  I wanted to just hug him and try to help.

Never have I felt like a bigger narcissistic asshole. Here I am worrying about rejecting his non-existent offer to train me, and turns out the guy is a UN refugee, fleeing persecution in his home country. I could really use someone to punch me in the face right about now. 

He didn't initially share his personal story, but we eventually learned of it through another basketball wife, who was an attorney and would do what she could to help him. He worked in his family’s convenience store in Baghdad when a terrorist group (who he now believes was the early stages of ISIS) came in, robbed him, and threatened to kill his entire family. The next day they were all on planes out of the country. His sister ended up in Denmark, and he had come to Turkey, in hopes that it would be a waiting place until he could reach the USA. 

I spent the remainder of my gym days in Giresun getting to know Mustafa and wishing there was more I could do for him. I eventually learned he was just 23, much younger than he looked, and my heart sank that there was nothing I could do.  There couldn’t be a worse time to be a UN refugee amidst the current climate where ISIS using the UN refugee path as a way to harbor terrorists had created a culture of immigrant hysteria in America. Our attorney friend knew it was in his best interest to suggest he find a backup plan. She was realistic and honest in saying that although he had officially been granted UN Refugee status, there was no way he would make it to America, he'd need to look elsewhere. She was right.

As our time in Giresun came to an end, all of us girls loved Mustafa and felt devastated that we couldn't help him. I often find myself thinking about him and wondering how he's doing. He was the first person I thought of when I read of Trump's Immigration Ban, which included his homeland of Iraq and I would be both embarrassed and ashamed if I had to face him today.

I'm not sure how so many can turn a blind eye to those who need it most. When did American pride outweigh having a conscience for those suffering in the rest of the world? I feel LUCKY to have been born in America, but I also realize this was never a choice I made, rather a luxury I was given. These poor children in Syria never asked to be born in the heart of a war-stricken nation, must they suffer because they were not granted the same luxury of being born American? 

 I hope as a nation we can open our hearts to feel compassion for those of different backgrounds, races, and religions than our own. I know there are many more Mustafas out there who need us and I for one refuse to be silent for them. 

Not So Basic: Kale Salad With Blackened Salmon

With each new year and new city overseas, the ultimate question always remains: which of my normal American groceries will I not be able to find? In Turkey, there were several, while in Italy and Lithuania I could find almost anything. However, grocery shopping in Spain has been beyond my wildest dreams. I knew the stars were aligning in the produce aisle for me this year when I could find one of my favorite ingredients that I yearn for every season abroad: kale. I know, this is disappointing to most, as the majority of expats I know miss things like ranch and bbq sauce. I love kale and use it in so many recipes. Here is my absolute favorite salad, the only one my husband will specifically request. Weekly. I usually serve it with a piece of blackened salmon, but we often eat it alone as well. 

Consider this a double whammy, because not only is this the best kale salad you'll ever eat, this is the best piece of salmon you'll ever make as well. Do you ever go out to eat and wonder why your salmon at home isn't as good as in the restaurants? Butter. There's no avoiding it, the only way to a crispy outside and moist (when will we come up with a new word for this?!) inside is using a little butter. When used in moderation (I'm lookin at you Paula Dean), butter actually has health benefits so don't worry, this isn't going to set back your New Year's resolution. 

Ingredients: 

For the Salad:
One bag of kale ribbons (or cut your own)
1 Mango, diced
1 Red onion, thinly cliced
1 Avocado, diced
1/2 Cucumber, peeled and diced
1 Handful Cherry tomatoes

For the Dressing:
5 Tablespoons Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Garlic clove, minced
1 Tablespoon Dijon Mustard
1 Lemon, juiced

For the Salmon:
2 Salmon Filets
2 Tablespoons Butter
1 Bunch Cilantro, chopped
1 Garlic clove, minced
1/2 Lemon, juiced
Blackening Seasoning (homemade or store bought)

To make the dressing: whisk together all ingredients until thickened. Add salt & pepper.

Assemble the Salad: I once read a kale salad recipe that required you to massage the kale ribbons for  a minute with your hands before assembling your salad. It's said to change the color of the leaves and take away the bitterness. I'm not sure if that's the reason or if it's just proper manners to give the kale a nice rub down on it's final seconds of life, but nonetheless I continue to massage the kale and suggest you do the same. When you notice the leaves getting greener, add the remaining ingredients and toss with the dressing.

Cook up that Salmon: Combine butter, garlic, cilantro, and lemon juice and roll butter into a log form. Wrap in aluminum foil and place in the fridge for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, season your salmon filets with blackening seasoning. I can't ever find this overseas so I make my own by sprinkling on the following: cayenne, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, thyme, salt and pepper. Heat your skillet to medium-high and when hot, add a sliver of your flavored butter. Place salmon in skillet, skin side up and cook for about 3.5-4 minutes depending on thickness and your preferences. Flip the salmon over and top each piece with a spoon full of the butter mixture. As the butter melts off the fish, take a spoon and continuously spoon the hot butter back on top of each piece of salmon. Cook for an additional 3.5-4 minutes, or longer for thicker pieces. Assemble on top of salad.

You can check the sides to see how much longer each piece will need

A Harry Potter Pilgrimage in Porto, Portugal

Portugal has long been on my list of places to visit, so I was pretty stoked to see we would be in driving distance this season. D had a bye-week last month so we decided to finally make the trip. 

A few days before leaving, he dropped the ultimate bomb on me. "You know there's some sort of connection with Porto and Harry Potter, right?" Um. No, I'm sorry. If I knew this, I would've obviously hitchhiked there on day 2 of moving to Spain. What could possibly connect the British superstar that is JK Rowling with Portugal's second city? I immediately googled it and found out that JK lived in Porto while writing the beginning of The Sorcerer's Stone. She drew a ton of her inspiration for the novel from the city.  I have already done one Harry Potter pilgrimage of sorts in Scotland where I got to see several cafe's JK frequented to write the series, so I wouldn't call myself a Harry Potter Pilgrimage Veteran, but actually, yes I am 100% that. 

The  nerd inside of me could not have been more thrilled. I immediately contacted fellow members of HP Nation, knowing only they would share my sheer jubilation and began obsessing over the trip.

D spent the entirety of the 2.5 hour trip to Porto listening to me read aloud every possible article I could find about Harry Potter and it's Porto connection. When we finally made it into the city, I was immediately blown away by how gorgeous and unique the buildings were. They were covered in the most beautiful, colorful tiles and looked like something out of a movie. For over 500 years, the Portuguese have used azulejos, or painted tiles, on the walls of their churches and buildings. You can see these throughout the city and it's a gorgeous tradition that makes you feel like shit that your house is painted in Benjamin Moore. 

Azulejos covering a Church

Okay, but can we make this a thing in America?

After living overseas for the past five years and doing my fair share of traveling, nothing is more sacred to me than cities that haven't been completely warped into tourist traps. You know, the ones that don't have Starbucks yet (gasp!).  Some of my favorite cities are ones that are not necessarily popular tourist destinations and really maintain their authenticity: Ljubljana, Slovenia and Vilnius, Lithuania, for example. Portugal's tourism market is growing at a rapid rate, with the capital, Lisbon being the main city for tourists. Porto is second in line, and on the rise, but still far from a tourist mecca. It feels real and rugged, and I absolutely love that. 

My favorite storefront!

Our first stop in the city was, as usual, to feed the beast. Food is often the only thing that keeps D going on our excursions and I fully use it to my advantage to get him to comply with my often odd and lengthy list of things to see. I read about Porto's famous sandwich, the Francesinha, and it sounded like the fattest thing I'd ever heard of, so naturally I knew D would go for it. This monstrosity of a sandwich is made up of ham, sausage, steak, and cheese, in between two pieces of bread and smothered with a tomato-beer sauce. I like to consider myself a pretty health-conscious eater so when I do have a cheat meal, I always evaluate whether something's worth the calories. This one did not pass my calorie to goodness ratio, but you should definitely give it a try if you're ever in Porto. 

Literally just gained 5 lbs while looking at this picture

After self-inducing ourself into a food coma, we wobbled our way over to the Livraria Lello Bookstore. It is said that JK Rowling used this bookstore and it's amazing windey staircase as inspiration for Hogwart's Grand Staircase. This gothic bookstore was built in 1906 and is the type of place that makes you want to cry when you realize that in today's world, not even Barnes & Nobles can stay in business and people read solely off of small electronic devices. I love bookstores, and this has to be one of the coolest ones I've ever been in.

No, I wasn't pretending I was walking up to my Gryffindor dormitory here, why would you assume that? 

After the bookstore, we crossed the street and headed towards the Clerigos Tower. This is the church tower of the Porto's first Baroque Church and was built in the 1700s. From the top, you have the most incredible view of Porto's Old Town.

From the tower, we checked out the Porto Train Station which is hands down the most gorgeous train station I've ever seen. Covered in blue and white tiles, you could easily miss your train connection while gazing at all the beauty in the lobby.

From there, we went to see the Porto Cathedral, another supposed inspiration site for JK Rowling. The cathedral's cloisters are also covered in azulejos and the gothic arches and vaults had me feeling like Hermoine could pop up behind me holding her "Defense Against the Dark Arts" textbook at any given moment.

That evening, I let D have a minor break from Harry Potter activities, and we booked a tour at one of the Port Wine Caves. I must preface this by saying I despise Port wine but felt it would be somewhat of a travesty to come all the way to Porto and not check out their most famous export. Unsurprisingly, the port wine is just as terrible in Porto as it is in America, but learning about the production was really neat. Watching a Portuguese live band play during the tasting also helped make it a bit more palatable, but I still couldn't help thinking I was drinking liquid migraine. 

After the cave tour, we had potentially one of the best meals of our lives at a small Tapas joint, Jimao Tapas & Vinhos. I cannot recommend this place enough if you ever find yourself in Porto.

The Harry Potter Pilgrimage continued on Day 2 where we visited Cafe Majestic, a stunning, regal cafe from the 1920s where JK Rowling used to frequent while writing Sorcerer's Stone. I'd highly recommend a stop-in for a coffee, but the high prices will make you feel like you should at least be entitled to breathe in some of JK's oxygen trapped in a mason jar. This service is unavailable and frankly, a missed business opportunity if you ask me. 

There was only one stop on my HP tour that I had yet to fulfill. Porto is home to the University of Porto where every student beyond their freshman year is required to wear a black cape as a uniform. JK Rowling modeled the Hogwart's uniform after the University of Porto students. I kept my eyes peeled all weekend for these students and was getting pretty anxious one hadn't turned up. As we were walking down a random street on our way out of town, D poked me and said "did you see her?!" I was clearly daydreaming and missed my chance at a caped student! Immediately I turned around and snapped this photo from the back. Probably for the best, as I would've 100% asked to pose in a picture with her and D would've died inside of sheer embarrassment. JK was clearly ahead of her time in the fashion world, as capes are now a chic wardrobe must have. I'll never forgive myself for not packing my black Zara cape and regardless of the weather the next time I visit, I promise you I won't take it off.

Besides it's incredible beauty and history, Porto has so much to offer. The entire city is like a living, walking, Etsy store. Streets are filled with the cutest shops selling unique, handcrafted goods. It was truly a hipster's paradise. 

Ready to move in effective immediately

Our last stop before heading back to Santiago was to Foz do Douro. Foz is the gorgeous seafront part of Porto lined with beautiful white pergulas and old, almost Victorian looking homes. The Florida girl in me can't help but love a good beach and I felt a little at home looking at the Atlantic Ocean from the other side.

Even if you aren't a Harry Potter loyalist (no judgement but this is a severe character defect), Porto should absolutely be on your must-visit list. This city is full of culture, history, beauty, great food.. and did I mention, Harry Potter?!

Porto by Night