Everything that happens in a life can be traced to one thing: ourselves.

We have the power to create anything we want, if we have the power to live it; know it is true.

So, I know the sun is coming up tomorrow; I know the world will turn.

See how easy this is?

Ok, I know there’s a few more steps, and the scope is sometimes boggling to try to apply to our daily, rushed, crazy lives. But, if we can know as certain that what we want - all those joys, desires, blisses (the good heart ones, not the burn and crash ones) - are already true - the world spins delightfully, like a belly dance.

I’m the first to practice what I preach. Tomorrow I know I will be at the beach, soaking in the sun, listening to monkeys howl, and sipping coconuts.

I know I will think of you. And, I know I will be grateful.

Two girls, ages six and five, ride in the back seat of a car. This is what they said:

Girl 1: We’re best friends.

Girl 2: Yeah, best friends.

Girl 1: But we can’t be married.

Girl 2: No, we’re two girls.

Girl 1: Then we’d both being having babies at the same time.

Girl 2: We can’t be married if we’re both guys either.

Girl 1: Not unless one likes to wear dresses.

Girl 2: Yeah.

Girl 1: But then he’d have a beard.

Girl 2: Yeah, a beard.

Most YouTube films get hundreds, usually thousands of hits. Mine? Of the two films I’ve made, one got 20 hits (that’s up from and the other got 88.

This is not a call for millions to log on and watch my films, rather, I am just fascinated at what we watch and what we’ll spend time filming. AND – that someone else will spend time – the finite time he/she has on this planet – watching all of this.

91,361 people viewed: How to fold your bra.

Magic? Think Again got 85667 hits. It’s about water and whiskey trading places in a glass.

T-shirt folding got 171,448 hits.

Joshy, a boy with Down Syndrome got 9615 hits.

Mookie and Sam (EP2) got 1,204,040 hits.

I can apply logic to the films and guess to some extent why people choose to watch a women with big breasts take off her shirt and then fold her bra, but why T-Shirt folding? Why the millions of other films?

Though I don’t spend a lot of time on YouTube. I love it. I love that it exists and that each and every film is there. Someone spent the time creating. And, that’s enough for me.

We the people, not guys in a board room, are putting life and humor and sentiment and information in front of the world to see – accessible to make, accessible to see.

This morning I chased around small rodents in hopes of getting a little footage for our next film here at MotherJungle.

Between the poop, screaming baby, and unruly six-year old, there may just be something there that someone will want to see.

I took pause this morning on a walk to mourn a life, a life that passed right before my eyes.

It’s been awhile since I’ve walked outside my little neighborhood. A few times around my block is what I’ve been able to handle on top of sleepless nights. But, my son’s sleeping! And thriving, doubling in growth and happiness due to his sound hours in slumber. And…that means so am I!

I put my iPod on this gorgeous 16th century-folk music and walked. The nature in front of me played like a music video. Life!

I got to a busy street and this thought flashed through me: Do we get a message - that ½ second we’re going to die – like a subliminal flash in our brain. And because the message is fast, no one has ever been able to communicate it?

These thoughts are not reckless, wacky ideas because in Costa Rica pedestrians get killed a lot on the roads. And, I’m afraid; this small country has a terrible, terrible record of deaths every year due to motor vehicles. So, my eyes and ears and senses – all six of them – are quite alert when I have to cross the street, any street.

The music video continued and up ahead I saw these two dogs playing and running after each other with such joy, I couldn’t help but catch the energy waves from where I stood.

Their tongues hung out in that “it-just-can’t-get-any-better-than-this-if-you’re-a-dog” kind of panting.

I began to worry though because they played on the boulevard and crossed the street without a doggy, dog thought. Well, I thought, this isn’t a busy street, and I am amazed at how adroit dogs are around cars in this country. Yes, some do get hit, but considering the estimated 600,000 strays on the streets, many make it much longer than you’d think. These creatures have come to accept that cars are predators and learn at a young age to walk along the highway. I’ve even seen a dog stop at a red light, and then cross on green.

The sound of a vehicle rumbled a few blocks in the distance. I saw the big black dog - tongue a’drooping - on the grass taking a break. Whew, they knew better. But where was his friend?

The bus approached in the distance, a big one with huge tires.

Then, as if on cue, the small dog darted into the street with as much joy as he did a few moments early. His joy knew no bounds; he played as if there was no tomorrow.

He almost cleared the bottom of the bus. If it hadn’t been for the bounce in his step, he probably wouldn’t have smashed his head into the axel.

There was one last yip, and he lay on the asphalt. He’d see no tomorrow.

I held on to the fence as the music played on in my ears. Now the melody was a hymn good-bye to this life that had spent only a little while here. I approached the body, though I knew he was dead. I decided it was right to see if there was any chance. There wasn’t.

I bowed and gave a moment of thanks for his life, for his joy.

We all know it can only take a moment. But do we really understand that?

I walked home and saw hundreds and hundreds of seeds blooming in the cracks along the street. Theses seeds belonged to the large Guanacaste tree. Every bloom would eventually be “weed-wacked” by the gardener with all the best intentions.

I picked up a few seeds. My daughter and I will plant them in the park in honor of this life that left us today – this life that gave it his all.

My nephew is a curly headed beauty. We share a life only through photos since he lives in Europe. I’ve yet to meet him or even his sister. Travel has been put on hold due to issues with my son’s health.

This is not a bad thing, staying home has grounded me and given me a chance to spread my wings at projects under my roof. In fact, there’s a fantastic podcast, SunStruck Radio, an hour magazine show coming soon about the wonders of life and the interesting happens around Costa Rica and the world, which sprouted due to my “at-home-ness.”

I digress….

This cutie nephew of mine was born six months after Addison. The latest photo shows him standing tall with his sister at his side. The photos are adorable.

There’s this twinge that pokes at the back of my skull when ever Addison is surpassed in gross motor skills by his peers, and then his younger peers. My son is such a great gift in my life, and what a lesson he gives me everyday.

Who’s to say mom who’s normal? What’s normal mom? Let it go mom. We’re not so much different, you and I.

We all think we’re different, but most of us are lucky (or possibly unlucky) because we get to hide our differences inside. Insecurities…addictions…fear of commitment…hidden candy bars in the underwear drawer….

Now, Addison, his difference is right out there. When we walk into a room, I get those stares:

Is there something wrong with him? Is that kid a little off? I can tell people are trying to figure out what to say, how to act.

And, after that scratchy feeling dissipates from my skull, its all o.k. I saunter with my kid with pride because he’s taught me how to bring out those differences, show them, flaunt them, and then, after the dust settles tuck away in the underwear drawer because I don’t need them anymore.

There are times when it is settling to tell the truth and remind your husband that as long as we have our families, our health, good food, and a roof over our heads, what does it matter that the dog just chewed the custom made seat cushion.

And then - there are other times - when the second cushion in two weeks gets chewed up, and I hide the torn fabric and battered seat under the guest bed and pick up the little pieces of foam now strewn through every part of the living room. And, when the cushion is noticed, missing, I mention - as a sidebar - that I’m mending a rip in the fabric.

Which one is real? Could it be both?

I have all the faith in the world that our dog will test this theory again.

On the way home from theater practice, my daughter’s friend threw up in the car. The cake I’d made for class now sat on her skirt; and the booster chair; and the car floor. There was no place to pullover; we had a few miles left to wind down the mountain road.

I fished for wipees as we all choked back the gagging feeling in our throats.

The next morning, with the vomit episode fresh in her mind, my daughter was informed she’d be “going to the beach” with her father. Since he travels a lot, it was a good chance for them to spend some hours together between a business engagement and the hours waiting around. The pair would leave in the morning in our little cargo van.

Coco was torn:
Time with Papi VS the fresh image of her friend blowing chunks in the car ( and of course leaving Mami).

Since Coco could relate with her friend (she’s also thrown up on many-a-mountain roads), she was terrified she’d throw-up in the van. The wailing began the night before the trip. She cried her discontent until sleep overtook her. I figured she wouldn’t be going, and I’d be with the child once again.

In the morning Coco came to the table.

Mami, did you pack my snack?

This is something I so admire in this girl. She feels everything. But….and this may be the key could all learn a thing or two about…..she turns it around. Coco felt the fear of vomiting, missing her mother, her brother, and whatever else was creeping around her psyche; dove in; felt it; faced it; and now she was moving on.

That didn’t mean there weren’t a few more tears as she searched for her teddy bear and shoes.

I said goodbye to the pair. Coco sat in the car seat. Her face looked like someone had stamped red ink all over her face. Tears trailed down her cheeks.

I’m going to miss you! I miss Addison!

The van pulled out of the driveway. I could still hear her wailing at the top of her lungs as the garage door shut. My husband said the crying lasted to the corner…..and she arrived without all her stomach juices safely intact.

Almost every foreigner that I have come to know has at one time or another tried to help a suffering dog or cat. Even before coming to Costa Rica, I rescued animals on the streets. I have rambled across intersections and down boat docks after stray dogs. When I lived downtown San José, five zaguates (mutts) lived across the street in a falling down house with a tree growing through the roof.The house was surrounded by a 10-foot high cyclone fence, topped with ribbons of barbed wire. Two dogs lived in the front yard, and three were caged along the side that I rarely saw, but usually heard. The owner of the rickety house told me he rescued the dogs from the streets.My husband and I named one dog Gabby, for his goatee, and the other we called Blue, for his one blue eye. Gabby and Blue’s owner would disappear for months at a time. Though I do not officially speak DOG, I do have a basic understanding of the language. My heart ached as I listened to the lonely barks; the howls even when there was no moon. Night after night, I couldn’t sleep.A woman did appear several times a week. When her raggedy green car pulled alongside the house, the dogs were crazed with joy. The woman unlocked the gate; stomped her foot to shoo the dogs; filled the bowls with food; poured water into a soup pot and left. Once in my feeble Spanish, I complained about the poor treatment of the dogs (she pick up right away on the fact that I wasn’t a native Spanish speaker) and told me (in English) that her boyfriend would be back soon. Then, she left.About once a week, Gabby or Blue escaped. While the one dog galloped through the streets, the other barked nonstop until his return. In order to end the incessant barking, we had to return the escapee back into the yard. We called the woman who visited the dogs and filled the soup pot, but the phone was disconnected. Soon, my husband and/or I could deposit one/or both dogs back into the yard in about 10 minutes. (This included dragging the ladder from the garage, finding rocks to close up the newly dug escape routes, and depositing one and/or both dogs back into the muddy, feces ridden yard.)Every time Blue and Gabby escaped, I did not want to return them to their life. Who would adopt these dogs at the overstressed animal shelter? Didn’t they have a home already? Many dogs were worse off than Blue and Gabby. I questioned whether I could save the world, even a little part of it.Since many dogs live outside in Costa Rica, neighborhoods acclimate to the sounds of barking dogs. Coco often goes to sleep (and wakes up) with the sound of dogs yapping. I, on the other hand, feel extremely tense if a dog barks more than two minutes. One night, Gabby escaped at 11 p.m – the third time in one week. Blue barked. And barked. At 1 a.m., I kicked off my covers, walked outside and stood under the street light. Gabby ran up and down the street. I lured him close with a biscuit and grabbed the rough of his neck. Unable to find the escape route, I placed Gabby in my yard. Now, both dogs barked.I gathered towels, leashes, rope and put on pointy tennis shoes. I spotted an opening on top of the fence free of barbed wire. I inserted my toe into the links of the fence and climbed. I dropped the last ten feet into the weedy yard. Blue bounced as if to say: Some to love! Someone to love! He jumped at my shirt and ripped a hole in it. I wrapped Blue in towels, securing his brisket and belly in ropes and leashes, and fastened him to my stomach like a backpack. Holding Blue, I felt his muscles melt under my caress. We stood, Blue and I, under the clear night, and I rocked him for a minute and told him what an attractive, beautiful, and wonderful dog he was. I walked up and down the fence that seemed much higher than 10 feet. Gabby, back in my yard, screeched and yelped. It was time to leave.The weight of Blue pressed on my stomach. The fence looked a lot taller from the inside out. I paced up and down and doubted if I could finish my mission successfully, when I spotted a hole I had missed. I unwrapped Blue and set him down. He bounced a circle around me and bit another hole in my shirt. I promised him I would return. I climbed back over the fence; coaxed Blue to the hole with a biscuit; pulled on his paws; and tugged at his body until he popped out the other side. I reunited Gabby and Blue in my back yard and gave them food, water and towels to sleep on. I would have bruised and sore muscles in the morning, but this night, I would finally sleep.I bathed the dogs the next morning and debated what to do. Call the animal shelter? Find them a home? I knew that our neighbor would only replace these dogs with new ones. Gabby and Blue had escaped before, but they had always returned to the house that was falling down – it was their home. They had food, water, a fenced in yard, and they had each other. I had failed to make the world run according to my plans, but maybe Gabby and Blue knew of something I did not. “All knowledge, the totality of all questions and answers, is contained in the dog,” wrote Kafka. As long as we lived across from the falling down house, I waved to Gabby and Blue and brought them a biscuit and gave what I could to a small, falling-down corner of the world.

One day, my son flung a glob of chicken - chicken was our best guess - on the wall. In less than ten minutes, streams of the itty-bitty ants emerged from some crevasse in the wall and began to attack. As an experiment, we left it. It took two full days for these ants to dissemble the glob and take it to their nest.

Millions, and I don’t think I am exaggerating, of itty-bitty ants have made themselves known in my house. Once content to stay in the depths of the cement walls, they now scurry up and down my walls and attack any drop of food left on the counter top, floor, or behind the baby’s highchair.

Every year, a nest would be discovered under some space like the bottom of a seldom used toy. But in the past few months, they haven’t gone away and seem to come out in every room of the house. They love my daughter’s toothpaste, and I’m not sure what they like in my bathroom (though they used to go crazy for a drop of breast milk), but they form an orderly line back and forth to some unseen sent or dribble.

As I type, one paces back and forth in front of my keyboard. These are the tiny, tiny ants. I don’t think they even bite because I’ve had hoards of them racing up and down my arms. It feels like a lone hair that’s fallen on my arm that I can’t get off.

I guess they don’t have to search for their existence, for the reason “why” they exist. They don’t have to worry about sorting out their destiny. For these ants, it’s about that little bit, that little drop, and when they find it, all falls into place. They tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on….the circle of life continues for the ant.

Really, if you think about it, these creatures are quite magnificent. Their noses search out what they need – and they find it in what would be miles and miles for us. As an experiment, I put a drop of honey on the counter. The kitchen was spotless. In the morning, it was gone - without a trace.

When I meet other mothers, I have this compulsion to tell this person - often someone I may not know very well - all the things I do "to" and "for" my children. I do this with my Addison as much, and maybe more, than with my daughter.

Swimming therapy…..

Yoga…….

Massage…..

Physical therapy……

Not to mention the organic food, the natural this, the attachment parenting…..but why do I feel compelled to tell even complete strangers this?

Maybe it’s because as a society, we check in on one another to see if we are treating our children well. This is the next generation, the genes thriving to survive and multiply, and I think we all feel the need to let "society" know we’re running our darned-fooled-heads off to accomplish all we can for our kids.

I am tested quite a bit with the fact that Addison still cannot walk, in fact, he doesn’t even really crawl. He has the very inventive way of rolling this way and that and we can’t seem to break him of the habit. He’s quite content with it. It’s hard not to try and explain away the fact that he isn’t walking yet. All the charts put him on the "low" end. This is hard to swallow when my Down Syndrome kid was going to be super boy, regardless of some old extra gene.

So, we practice all of the above, and I walk into
the gym and smile contently at my little guy
rolling around in a large, plastic turtle filled
with balls.

He’s so funny, so animated, even I’d say -
witty.

He makes every one laugh. And, oooooooooh,
you should see his temper.

Genes, shmeans…this guy is brilliant and all I
have to do is stand there and keep my mouth
shut because he knows how to say it all.