My (Ongoing) Struggle With Ovarian Cysts

I posted a video on my Instagram teasing about a possible pregnancy some weeks ago. After a flurry of messages in my inbox, I came clean. I wasn’t (am not) pregnant at all. I’m under some duress from baby fever, but no, not pregnant.

Then ladies wanted to know why I looked like I was. My belly was still larger than a food baby. At one point during the day, my sister almost freaked out at how fast My abdomen was distending.

Though I didn’t bother with a doctor’s visit that time around, the now familiar symptoms were enough to indicate what the issue was, an ovarian cyst. This was early July and to be honest, this half written blog has been sitting in my drafts since July 5, unsure of its future. Well, last Monday night I got a very rude awakening!

The Beginning

My ordeal began three years ago. Unexpectedly and inexplicably, I found myself in unbearable stabbing pain while sitting on the toilet. At that moment, I was relieving my bladder following intercourse. Of course, my husband and I were concerned and made the trip to see a doctor, well, mostly he carried/helped me along.

I endured an extremely painful vaginal examination that revealed nothing, except the absence of blood. I was prescribed some pain medication with the passive assumption I might have torn something during sex. The ache, throbbing pain and bloating lasted about three or four days, . I went on and basically forgot all about it.

Until four months later.

Strike Two

This time, during sex, pain caused me to curl into a ball and ended with hubby rushing me to A&E. Just my luck to run into the very same doctor there, who was again puzzled at my condition. I remember going quite stiff and informing hubby we weren’t going to repeat that exam. After talking to us for a bit, the tentative diagnosis was a ruptured cyst, and I did an ultrasound to confirm.

I was shown the fluid and informed that the only treatment option was pain meds and waiting a few days for the pain to subside. Concerned, I asked the radiologist conducting the ultrasound if such a thing would affect fertility. After being assured that wasn’t the case and being monitored for a little while, I went home. Honestly, I still worried (irrationally) that I was now as barren as the Alaskan Tundra. (I’m dramatic, I know.)

Thankfully though, that wasn’t the case. Three months or so after, I found out I was pregnant. I went about my life happily, completely forgetting all about these encounters. Unfortunately, when Siobhán was about eleven months old, I had another episode. This time was the first time that it happened that it was unprovoked (no sex). It lasted only a few minutes and to be fair, was much milder than the previous occurrences. I took pain meds, rested and moved on.

Wake Up Call

Then one night several months ago, it happened again. Crippling pain after sex and that had me curling into a ball and my husband looking like he wouldn’t touch me again without treating me like I was the gingerbread man. You see, from his perspective, if we weren’t so… robust in our sexual activities, perhaps it would happen less frequently. I wasn’t having it. I went to my Ob/Gyn who ordered an ultrasound and sure enough, a leaking cysts was the source of my pain. Of course cysts leaking/rupturing willy nilly isn’t the norm, right? Nevertheless, we bickered a bit about the suggested explorative course of treatment to look for a cause; and truthfully have yet to take any actions regarding that. So in early July when I had some dull cramps, tenderness and a lot of bloating, it was really not that big of a deal. Until last Monday night.

The Big Leagues

Fresh from the shower and a tryst with my lover, the cramps literally started the minute we finished. I figured I could bear it, and made a show of getting up immediately to blow dry my wet hair. I figured if I kept moving, I wouldn’t have to tell Boobles about it. I didn’t want to stress him out or have the ‘rough stuff’ conversation, so I went on as if nothing was amiss. I figured it would peak and I would lie down and that would be it. Ha!

It took me about ten (10) to fifteen (15) minutes to dry my hair and during that time, the pain steadily and rapidly increased. Still, I figured I could manage. I sat down on the toilet and casually texted a friend, trying to distract myself with jokes about a ‘pum pum buffing brush’ spurred by a post we saw on Instagram about a facial (or perhaps more fitting a ‘labiacial’ 🤣) for your vagina. Though heavily invested in the conversation, it didn’t work as a distraction. Within another ten minutes or so, I knew I lost the fight and would have to tell my husband I was in pain. For one thing, the pain was so bad I couldn’t get up from the toilet. I wasn’t going anywhere without assistance and by this time, it was so bad, I had to move. Sitting still was no longer an option.

At this point, it’s sometime after 9pm and Siobhán is asleep, so I called Kem (on the phone). He came in, I told him what was wrong and he disappeared again, returning a few moments later with some Baralgin (painkillers) and a glass of water. I swallowed them without hesitation because much to my disbelief and horror the pain had yet to plateau. In fact, it continued to heighten, and not gradually either. Each time I thought it couldn’t possibly hurt any more, it did. Since the bathroom I was in at the time is not the one in our bedroom, it was quite the ordeal to get there (to the bedroom). By this time, my pain was still spiking, I was nauseous and nothing was comfortable. I couldn’t stand, couldn’t kneel, couldn’t lay down. Every single movement had devastating results. Kem was there trying to hold me up, helping me on and off the bed, blocking my attempts to lay on the floor. As my pain continued to become more than I could bear, I felt sure I was going to die. Right there, stark naked on the bedroom floor.

By this point my efforts to remain quiet and not wake the baby are out the window. She wakes up, is pissed off at being woken up ( she’s crabby when she wakes up now)?and is stressed because I’m crying. She starts to cry too. My stress levels go through the roof because now I’m stressing my baby out and can’t do anything because even as I thought I was dying, the pain was sttiiiillll increasing. Kem was talking to me, mostly telling me I wasn’t breathing but when I tried to take deep breaths like he was telling and showing me, it just felt like in addition to the pain I wasn’t getting enough air, which made it all the worse.

Oh, Gosh! He was starting to feel like he was fighting me and boy I was getting pissed. I wanted to punch his face so bad! My nerves were shot. Eventually I convinced him to tend Sio instead, and they both retreated to the living room while I shifted around on the bed. After a while I found a position that didn’t increase my pain. Kemoi came in and asked if I felt better. I said no. He said “U do feel better.”

I presume it was from the fact that I laid limply and unmoving. For the second time in less than an hour, I wanted to punch my husband’s face. I stressfully told him no, it was just that it stopped getting worse in that position. He disappeared again. At some point, my pain started reducing, I was able to peek into the living room and saw they had fallen asleep on the sofa, Sio on his chest. I don’t know when, but my pain reduced enough for me to fall asleep. I woke up the next morning with aches, but in retrospect, negligible in comparison to the night before.

I never knew pain could be that bad. I swear. The whole thing lasted about an hour and the only thing I can say is, that has to be what childbirth feels like. Anything worse than that can only be death itself. I know for sure that I need to find the root cause, because no one in life should feel pain like that. Here’s to hoping it’s resolved soon!

Xoxo 😘

Journey To Authorship

Hey there! I know I’ve been off the radar on my blog, but I’m just busy. I keep saying I should wait until I no longer am, but in all honesty, there’s not really an end in sight for that. Between my (almost) two year old putting me to work, general wifely (adulting) duties, working on the book (the book may be finished but the work isn’t) and a list of client projects stretching into October as of now, please believe me when I say, I can’t even remember if I’m wearing underwear today.

So what’s been going on?

Months ago I mentioned in the briefest form that I was writing a book. Then, a few months ago let you guys know what I was working on and the book cover has been making the rounds on my social media pages. Since then,  The Dangerous Business of Pleasure debuted on August 9, 2018, and can be found on Amazon (All marketplaces + Kindle). It goes without saying that I am humbly seeking your support, right? If not, then consider it sought.

I get asked questions about the book a lot (Find a few questions on Goodreads). More than a few people have asked me what inspired the book, so here we go.


I started the book in September of 2017. It was the beginning of another story when I realized, it was quite lengthy and more of an introduction, despite being over two thousand words. So when I showed it to my sister in law and she assumed it was a book, I went along with the idea. I worked on the story deliberately, but the overall book passively. There were weeks when I would write a little every day and others when weeks or more would go by and I didn’t touch it.

By the time I heard about the Kingston Book Festival and decided to go, the story was only a fraction of the finished product and still very nameless. I wrote a book proposal and took it to the festival, but didn’t submit it to any of the publishers. It didn’t feel right, and unfortunately, none of them seemed to be a fit for the product. That same day, a friend of mine had a talk with me about my intentions (or a lack thereof) for the book. He pretty much hyped me up, told me to research self-publishing and that he would invest his time to design my cover. We didn’t waste any time. One night when Boobles was on-call (overnight) at the hospital he came by and we worked all night (literally) on it. Boy, I never knew it was so much stress to carry out a vision. It was one big yawn and coffee fest, to say the least. My friend and his girlfriend didn’t make it back home till six or seven am the next day, despite them living a minute’s drive from me.

Now What?

After that, the ads and mockups were easier to design (for him, anyway) and I told everyone I was writing a book. I continued to write, and somewhere along the line, the idea of writing a prequel as a marketing tool embedded itself in my brain. So, I wrote one and offered it to subscribers of my mailing list. It did well, with hundreds of signups and access to the file. When I finished the book, I thought it would be a shame for readers not to have the benefit of the depth of character that the prequel provided and included it in the novel as the prologue.

You would think the hard part was writing the book, but it’s not. Holy cow, it’s not! Have you ever tried to edit fifty thousand (50,000) words of something you wrote? It’s maddening. If you want my advice, nuh dweet! Save yourself!


Despite a few other hiccups along the way, the euphoria of seeing the finished product and watching others enjoy your work is exhilarating. However, the work is just beginning as the time has come for marketing my baby. Plus, I’ve already started some work on my next project. (If you purchased the Kindle version and finished it, you’ve seen it.

Here’s to Twenty Nine!

So here’s to celebrating my 29th birthday with my first book, a self-published fiction novel. It’s been an illuminating experience and the ride is not over yet.

Talk to you guys soon and don’t forget to get your book HERE. When you’ve read, drop your reviews on Facebook, Amazon and Goodreads! 😊

I Was Almost Kidnapped

This blog post is a mite different from anything I’ve shared on here. It’s darker, a piece of me I still actively sometimes struggle with. The other day I mentioned the effect a past experience had on me to a friend. She asked me a crucial question, during our conversation and I truly wanted to laugh. Not that the experience or the question was in any way humorous. It’s just that the question highlighted how little value the Jamaican culture places on mental health and well being. As a whole, the average Jamaican isn’t counselled following a traumatic experience. We simply ‘move on’ or learn to cope. Invariably, some of us better than others.

Why Now?

So why share my experience now? In highlight of the above-mentioned. That ‘average Jamaican’ who wasn’t counselled after an experience that not only left me racked with fear, but spearheaded decisions made thereafter and continue to plague me today. I walk around with an ingrained fear for my daughter and my sisters, and though I casually discuss these fears in relation to crime ever so often, it remains a part of my everyday life. I often wish I did have someone to talk to. I’m about to celebrate my twenty-ninth birthday in a month and this experience occurred thirteen years ago. While I have moved on from it, I’m not over it. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

The Back Story

I lived with my mother and three younger sisters in a community in Linstead, St. Catherine. While my dad lived a few minutes away, he was ever-present in our lives. He was never farther than the end of a phone call. We saw him a few times a week even though he worked in Kingston, heading out before dawn lit the morning sky and returning only around dusk.

That Night…

I was sixteen, having started fifth form about a month before. My mother was out that night, not yet back the market, where she sold goods. As I contended with some family issues, the need arose to venture into a neighbouring neighbourhood to the shop.

I remember that I was angry, and annoyed at the situation and at having to go. I felt it was avoidable, and left on my shoulders. I never particularly liked the community I was venturing into, certainly didn’t appreciate the distance. So, I called a friend to accompany me. I should mention said male friend was twice my age, and more or less, tongues wagged as they usually did that we were intimately involved. We weren’t.

But the closer we got the more people talked, and if you know Shandean, then and now, you know I didn’t well care what anyone thought. When I asked him to come with, he came, only asking briefly my reason for needing to go. On the way to, I vented. He listened. That’s all I needed. On our way out of the community, we ran into my mother coming in. I told her where I was going we continued in opposite directions. She too was okay with my friend going with me.

We got to the shop, made the purchase and began the trek back to my house. We’d fallen silent by this time, and walking into the ‘lane’ on either side of the fairly narrow road. It was bare except for us. It wasn’t unusual, it didn’t bother me. People had their doors open. You could hear chatter and televisions blaring as you walked by. In the distance, you could hear that it was busier the farther you walked.

My house was perched at the top of a small but steep hill. Just before the hill started, the road split into two. The tangent hill was small too, but a steeper. When the white Corolla appeared, I noticed it was unfamiliar and wondered passively why it was so heavily tinted. It slowly made its way towards the exit, towards us. The speed wasn’t unusual. The rough terrain of the road required vehicles to move in a similar fashion. I simply removed myself from the way.

My friend had by this time ventured a meter or two ahead, still on the opposite side of the road. The car inched its way past me. When the back door reached me, I heard it.

The tires screeched, noisily bring the car to a halt. In a huff of marl dust, the back door of the car swung open and a man, with his face covered with a black handkerchief, alighted quickly and rushed to me.

I started screaming immediately and uncontrollably. Instinct caused me to recoil from his grasp retreat hastily, except it was into the arms of the driver. He wrapped his arm across my upper body and began to pull me. In flight mode my body went rigid, refusing to be pulled inside. Cold metal pressed against my face as he let go my body in favour of my arm, threatening to hit me in the face with the gun if I didn’t stop screaming.

I wanted to.

I tried to.

I couldn’t.

This happened in seconds.

Although I was occupied, I didn’t fail to notice that my friend started running at the sound of the screeching tires. Two men gave half interested chase. It was over before it started. He got a small distance from us when he realized I hadn’t moved. He stopped and turned back.

Vaguely, I registered the two men who held me panicking at my screaming. At around 8pm on a Friday, I assumed they knew someone must be watching. One man seemed to grasp the fullness of the situation when he tried to explain to the driver with the gun that it appeared I had “ago” and wasn’t in control of the screaming.

As I faced my own struggle, the driver turned to my friend, calling him over to where we were. I was able to hear a small bit of the conversation going on meters away from us. They were telling my friend to run. Run fast or the would kill him. It dawned on me that they hadn’t as yet attempted to rob either of us and if they were telling him to leave me, it only meant one thing.

My life flashed before my eyes and a fresh wave of fright gripped me. I counted four men, and in that moment, as a sixteen-year-old girl, I had one thought.

“Why the fuck was I still a virgin?! Now I was going to be raped painfully and killed by four men!”

It was that specific thought that caused me to lose control of my bladder. I tried desperately to form a sentence, to inform my friend that I had peed myself. But somehow the words wouldn’t form, no matter how hard I tried.

This entire time my friend talked to the men who held onto him calmly. Agreeing and attempting to placate them, asking what they wanted. Again, they encouraged him to run. He stood there calmly responding that he wouldn’t do that. At this point, he handed over his two cellphones and some cash, encouraging them to take them and go. The two men who held me then called their friends and my friend over, telling him to come “shut me up”.

He talked me down just enough to make out my words. When he finally got wind of what I said, he looked down. The men also looked down. As if I was now tainted, the driver let me go, while another chuckled.

Within seconds, they retreated. The driver squeezed my butt and discovered my phone there. He took it before each of them entered the car and sped off.

When they left, my friend said something about calling the police and dashed into a neighbour’s yard, calling out to them. I know they heard him, still, it took them a while to respond.

As if automated, I simply climbed the hill and within a minute, entered my house. I said nothing to anyone. I simply retreated to the bathroom, changed my clothes and slid into bed. A few minutes later, I heard my friend knocking up my mother, asking her where I was.

Confused she told him I went to bed. They talked a bit about what happened, and then about the fact that I simply walked in as if nothing happened. My friend was furious. Apparently, his call to the police station ended with the police saying they couldn’t come immediately. They also wanted to know what kind of guns the criminals had. I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep.

By the way, the police never bothered to show up.

I don’t remember if I actually slept that night. What I remembered clearly was that the following morning I erupted in a fit of uncontrollable laughter that frightened my mother and sisters.

Monday morning I went to school and word spread among classmates about the ordeal. One guy saw it fit to comment ” Next time if they’re gonna rape you just set good.” Others laughed and he continued about how much it would be wise to not fight off someone if they were raping you. As the day wore on, and the news passed around, another bit of news was also passed.

About three hours after the attempt to take me they went to another community and come upon a boy and girl walking. This girl wasn’t as lucky as I was. The guy took a few hits to the face with a gun, and when they told him to run, he did. Her body was found the following morning. She’d been raped and her throat slashed.


The months that followed were terrible. I was fine during the day and kept it together. At night, my memories and thoughts tormented me. Nightmares plagued me. More often than not, I would call or text my friend between 1am and 3am. He became so used to it, he would wait by the phone for my message. Insomnia was the norm. But I forced myself to continue throughout the day as normal. Whenever I caught a glimpse of a car that looked like the car, I would feel frightened. My heart in the back of my throat.

Two years after the ordeal, I made the decision to have sex for the first time. I didn’t do it because of peer pressure. I didn’t think I was in love and going to be with the person forever. I just wanted two things. One, to not be a virgin anymore, and two so that I could stop feeling the fear that someone else would decide when or how for me. I wanted to stop holding my breath. I wanted it to be my choice before someone else took it.

I had amazing friends and wonderful support in them, but I never felt I could share this with them. It was my cross to bear and I felt like everyone else around me was over it, so I should be too, or at least pretend to be so as to not appear weak. But when I went home, my thoughts and nightmares filled the voids.

I’m sharing this now to increase awareness. Other than my friend that was there, not once, did anyone ask me if me I was okay, without meaning physically. Everyone simply assumed I was, so I felt compelled to be. I shudder to think of all the children and people who have had traumatic experiences and never even suggested professional help. As a whole, I don’t think we acknowledge the realness of mental illnesses, including the very real Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). A few months ago I came across a car in the likeness of the one from that night. I was afraid. I felt panicked and for a few weeks, my nightmares returned.

We assume that if the physical is unharmed or better, all is well. It’s not true. Please check on the persons around if you know they’ve been through a situation. For me, my parents didn’t know any better.


We can educate each other going forward.

Baby Reid No.2?

These last few weeks, watching Siobhán grow like a weed and immersing myself completely in the experience of being her mom, I’ve been hit with an unexpected conundrum, baby fever. I feel it wash through me everytime I look at my child, or see one younger than her. I look at her baby pictured wrought with nostalgia. More often than not, I look at my child playing alone and I think, ‘Oh lawd. She gonna grow alone? She nuh deserve that!’

Baby Siobhán

There is just one problem, I don’t WANT another child. At least, not just yet. This is unfamiliar territory, given I’ve always wanted children. In fact, I even planned they would be two years apart, so they could grow up to be friends and all that jazz.

Trouble is, when Siobhán was born  I was (am) more than satisfied with my ‘one pop’. The resident parrot keeps our hearts and hands full. I don’t feel as if I would miss out on anything if I don’t have another. None of this is to say I wouldn’t be happy if I fell pregnant a second time, I just know that it is something I prefer to decide on in a few years, rather than anytime soon.

I am enjoying my life, some painfully slooowly returning freedoms, my marriage and my body. More importantly, I want to enjoy my baby (Siobhán). I want her to enjoy us as her parents. Enjoy being the only one and having our attention all to herself as she grows through this crucial time as a young child before another enters the picture,

Additionally, Boobles, is more than happy with just Sio, so I don’t understand this itch under my skin. Further, my ovulation periods are punctuated by a raging sex drive. Now, I have the niggling thought that I wanted kids close in age (did a complete 180 on that when I got pregnant).

6-300x210I have taken care of business in the family planning department, BUT we all know that no birth control method is 100% safe. (Yes, yes, we all know abstinence is, but I’m a married woman at the height of my reproductive career. I think its safe to say mi naah abstain!) Babies are products of sex, period. Irrespective of how safe you’re being.

I don’t know what kind of games mother nature is trying to play, but I am not here for it. Stay jabbing folks, asking when number two coming. I’ve got six years before I decide I’m definitely not having another. I’m bout to enjoy it!

Hol’ yuh medz my team!


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Siobhán Update – 18 (20) Months Old

img_0431I cannot believe how fast this time is going! Then again, I can believe it. When I watch my once mild tempered child catch an attitude and lash out in 0.0001 seconds flat, I can believe it. She is not here to play bruh.


She is talking. Well, as clearly as a child of one year and eight months can manage. Besides the whole explanations and commentary we cannot understand for dear life, she is the resident parrot of the Reid household. She attempts to say everything you do.

Listen nuh man! I am convinced my child is going to cuss in public soon and shame me. I cuss. A lot.

Honestly, it’s something I decided to actively work on when I got pregnant. Now I ‘thought’ I was doing well, but, as you can imagine, the parrot has made clear the contrary. Apparently, I have a ways to go with dropping F-bombs and its been brought to my now consciousness that I use the word ‘shit’ waaay too often. (Surprisingly, I also learned this editing my book, lol).

20180218_112357Due to my lack of ability to adapt my language completely to the little person in my house, she now refers to her Dad as ‘Babe’ when it suits her to do so. Currently, ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’ are luxuries to hear. We are either ‘Babe’ and  Shan/ Shandean. I don’t even know how this child knows to call me Shandean. The people who do so are so few and far between.

On the note of talking, she says everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Whatever is not too clear, her royal subjects (Kem & I) must figure out what the babble or the grunt means.

Re: potty training, she says ‘Poo Poo’ for poop, I just need her to tell me before she starts and we should be good.

Patience grasshopper. (Seriously, I’m tired of smelly diapers. Toddler poo is FOUL!)


So I did the thing.

You know, the thing I said I didn’t want to do with my child? I did it. It’s kind of just happened. She is a screen baby. My sweet child loves her some screen time. And shamelessly, I don’t regret it. 7a1e07fe85c3730754dbe1155279d3c7.png

You see, the tablet and phones are hers to dominate. Taking pictures, watching videos and manoeuvring YouTube are daily pass times. See, if I am to get anything, (no seriously) anything at all done, she has to have a device on Dave and Ava.

First off, my kid refuses to entertain anything other than Dave & Ava. I have tried, she will not have it. No Paw 🐾 Patrol, no Peppa 🐷. I’m secretly glad, even if I wish she would at least give something else a chance.

But, there is an upside. With speech came, the ability to count to ten, say the alphabet (however haphazardly) and recognize sounds and animals, etc. Besides this, she had an avid and equal interest in books. So I’ve made sure she has counting and ABC books.

My glad bag buss. Problem with the books is, you need to be with her. So she can ‘read’ and point while you pronounce what she wants you to. But once there’s time, we read with her.


So, despite the hate screen time gets, I really can’t hate on it. Plus, there are playtime songs she likes a lot and she has plenty of space to run around the house and entertain herself.


She has been a late teether, her molars are finally coming in. She is grumpy at times, particularly intolerant, but other than the absolute catastrophic entry of them breaking gum a few months ago, she is handling it well. Some loose stool and grumpiness here and there, but it’s not too bad.

Oh, this past weekend, Hubby and I had a much needed weekend without the little lady. She fared better than I expected and wasn’t hostile upon our return like I feared. (Haha). It was a great time, much needed as a couple and as friends, but by the end, we were both more than ready to get back to ‘Tibby’.

All in all, she is so full of wonder. I want to cry when I see her sleeping and her limbs look extra long. Sigh! Guys, motherhood is everything I expected it to be and more. I love her so much! I can’t wait to talk to her and her what’s going on in her little head lol. (I know, I know, I may regret that). I’m still looking forward to it.


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Fancii Facial Spin Brush

I’ve been meaning to write a review for this face brush I decided to try, the Fancii Facial brush. Let’s start with the pros.



1. Packaging

The comes in a cute travel compact case. The brush is embedded along with the heads so it’s not bouncing around during transport.


2. Three (3) Heads

I’ve noticed some sets advertising four, but the set I ordered and received has three heads. They are separate with different functions; One for gentle cleaning (grey & white), one for daily exfoliating (black & white) and a silicone head for dry/sensitive skin. I find they each serve their functions well. All three brushes are firm, but soft and do not agitate my skin during use. The brushes are also very easily detached and reattached with a snap.


3. Two Speed

There are two-speed settings. The singular button on the brush starts a fairly vigorous clockwise rotation of the head. For a faster spin, the button should be pressed twice. A third press stops the brush.

The rotations are vigorous enough to clean, however, occasionally I prefer to use the brush manually for a more vigorous clean.


4. Battery Operated

That’s more convenient for me personally. If my batteries are good then I’m good to go. I prefer this option to charging.


5. Price

The set goes for $25.99 on Amazon. That’s fairly inexpensive for the quality.

Let’s go on to the cons. For me, there is just one.


One the dominant feature of the sales pitch is that the brush is waterproof. Let’s be clear, it is NOT. I tend to read reviews of products before I buy them. A few of the reviews warned (with pictures) that though the brush claims to be waterproof, it was damaged when the customer submerged it.So with that information, I bought it anyway. When I received it the first this I did was to check the battery compartment and it was instantly apparent that it was not sealed enough to be waterproof.

So I never submerged the entire thing nor used it in the shower. I’ve had no issues submerging the head, though thus far if I think the brush requires more than a few seconds underwater I detach it. Also, I dry the brush after each use. That means opening the battery compartment as well as to do a precautionary ‘pat dry’. It’s usually needed.




In conclusion, the brush is pretty good for the price point, but if you’re looking for something that you’ll be able to use in the shower, this is not it.


Until next time…

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Prequel To My Book AVAILABLE!

Hi, guys! If you have been following my social media, you’ve heard!

What Is It?

The prequel is NOT the/a book. It is a marketing tool, leading up to the book launch in August. It’s a teaser, providing background information essential to the story and giving depth and breadth to the antagonist(s) and protagonist(s) characters.

How Long Is It?

It’s in the vicinity of about three thousand (3000) words. It won’t take more than a few minutes. If you’re a fast reader,you’re looking at about five (5) minutes. If you’re slower, expect to spend maybe ten (10) to fifteen (15).

How Do I Get It?

If you’re subscribed to my blog via email, then you are already on the launch list and would have been sent an access email on June 1. Another was sent out on June 2, for some who’s email wasn’t opened. If you’re subscribed and believe you haven’t received it, check your social, promotions and junk boxes.Don’t worry, if you weren’t subscribed before June 1, you will still be sent your download in your welcome email (after you confirm your email).Guys, if you follow with your WordPress account, it’s not the same as following email. You would have to sign up manually HERE or using the subscription pop-up box on and Thanks to those who have read and provided feedback so far. I really appreciate it. Continue to send me your thoughts and pictures! 😁Also, stay tuned for the main event!

JAMAICA: Strawberry Fields Together

This little gem is a secluded hideaway in Robin’s Bay, St. Mary and I decided to make a trip of it with when my friend, Shawna (Colette) came to visit. We headed out on the Saturday before Mother’s Day.

It’s about an hour and a half drive from Ocho Rios. I wouldn’t say it was hard to find as one of my friends from the trip had been there before and Google Maps provided accurate directions. The entry fee was $500 per adult and we had both brought food in and ordered from their menu. The menu was very limited, chicken and fish done to order and was good. The exchange rate though, was atrocious JM$107-US$1. So if you’re a tourist, I strongly encourage that you take local cash with you to pay.

When we arrived at about one in the afternoon, there weren’t very many people there. We had a great time uninterrupted by noise or distractions. The waters were a little rough and it was very windy though hot. Siobhán and Jaxen were looking very tanned real quick, so if you are planning on taking your kiddos along, don’t forget the sunscreen! It is cool, but the sun was not playing. The water is clear and gorgeous, rivaling some Portland destinations.

The kids (both toddlers) had a blast splashing on the shore and playing in the sand. It’s definitely a scenic little hideaway from the hustle and bustle. The lawns though uneven, (actually, somewhat hilly) provided a nice little space for them to run about and play (under the watchful eyes of all five adults of course). We had brought blankets and towels to sit on, but we didn’t really need them. The grass is nice to sit on once you get over the prickly nature. It was very relaxing and worth the visit. I definitely recommend it for a family outing for the day. If you’re into a nice scenic picnic with the beach nearby, it’s also worth checking out as a date spot. It’s beautiful and they do have rooms available for guests should they wish to enjoy the place for a few days. Remember though,it’s very quiet and definitely not where you should go if you’re looking for ‘excitement’.