After only two wrong turns and a few bumpy lanes of construction, we made it to our destination. The hotel is a paved wonder of flowers, gigantic morph butterfiles, and bubbling volcanic rivers.

My daughter claimed the biggest bed and the keenest end table. She unpacked her suitcase by throwing two items on the shelf and the rest on the floor. My son skimmed his legs back and forth on the cool ceramic tile after a long ride in the car.

Before suiting up to swim in hot pools of mineral baths fed from volcanic waters, my son proceeded to poop the moment we put on his swimsuit (notice I didn’t say diaper). The poop got on Coco’s swimsuit and that no-longer-clean ceramic floor. For some reason the smell drove my daughter to vomit. She ran from the little bathroom to the couch on her toes while her stomach lurched forth her lunch, which I just paid more than I cared for.

So, things were in order. Now that we’ve settled in after the traditional vomiting and passing of bowels all over the floor, we can dig in and really enjoy ourselves.

This is living.

Excuse Us for a Moment for This Important Message:

The Empty Nest has tagged motherjungle.com for a "meme."
Here is how is was described by Thoughts-0-Dave, the person who tagged Moonbeam:
The Empty Nest has tagged me for one of those "meme" thingies. They’re the bloggers’ form of forwards, or like those email chain letters. Or pyramid schemes.

To work it: you have to come up with seven “facts” about self and post these rules:
1) Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Seven Secrets about Susan @ MotherJungle.com ……..Are You Sure You Want to Know This?
1. I watch Oprah when nobody’s looking.

2. I cry at puppy and kitty commercials.

3. I always smell the clean laundry before folding it.

4. When I get the calling, I walk around the house in a dog nose with fake glasses.

5. I love Prince.

6. I fed Prince.

7. I can eat a bag of M & M’s in a single bound.

Please Tune Again for More of the Same. Thanks for Listening.

opentoeshoes

womazzle

homemom3

a little bit of everythingg

secret to fun limited prosperity

esplanade

mommyness is happiness

99% wife and mom…1% everything else

I just read a good question: what thing pulls you most often into "trouble?" That thing, that thing could be the huge stumbling block to eternal happiness because that thing takes us over to the wrong side of the tracks too often enough.

The author suggested that if we resist that pull, temptation, error, or insane behavior, we open the door to all the good things just waiting to pour into our life. Spending all our time on these distracting addictions lead us down the misery over and over and over again.

I thought about that thing; what is that thing I do that makes me miserable but I just can’t resist it? I can’t figure this one out. I’m not an alcoholic or any other kind of "ic." I’m certainly not a saint. I’ve had a few "ics" in my past, but over the years, I couldn’t keep up and let them fall by the wayside due to pain, exhaustion or occasional light bulb moments. I"ve overdosed on chocolate chip cookies and M&M’s; I’ve drank too much; I’ve watched too much television; I’ve picked the wrong men; I’ve picked the wrong job; I’ve picked the wrong hobbies….hey maybe that’s it! Maybe it’s all in the picking.

So, if I learn to pick right, sit up straight and pay attention all the best will come my way. It’s supposed to be guaranteed. What have I got to loose? After too many years of harvesting crop after crop of problems, I’m up for the all the best cherries in the bunch.

The end of the school year in Costa Rica is the beginning of December. Thus cometh November, we parents bringeth thy children all over the place. We’ve got to be everyplace at once….end of the year ballet receiptal;several theater productions; gymanstic’s holiday show; tests; grades; first communions, graduations, and on and on it goes.

I pack snacks; drive; wait; drive; empty snack packs and repeat.

My kids are exhausted, and so am I. I wonder if all this running around amounts to anything other than bags under our eyes. The problem is the hook. What’s the hook?

I laugh at the plays. I cry at the ballet performance. I’m a sucker for anyone, or anything, giving it “their all.” My eyes well up the moment I see the effort; the moment performers - ballerina, thespians, dolphins, volleyball players - take to the stage, field, or course.

It’s like that great shot in golf. The entire game may suck, but then on that one hole, you step up and whack….it’s a perfect shot…and you’re hooked. You return to play again despite it all.

When anybody gives it their best shot, reel me in because I’m hooked.

I struggled for hours over what to wear…What to wear….What does one wear when confronting the demons within and without?

I settled on black.

I just got back from a five hour rehearsal for Coco’s end-of -the-year ballet show. She’s in the show for about 10 minutes in the beginning and eight minutes at the end. Needless to say, it was a long, long morning. I shoved clips in hair; ribbons on buns; wiped up spills on leotards; matched tutus to names; and spent several hours distracting a wiggly group of girls from a dead mouse backstage.

And the boys? The entire ballet school is girls. How on earth do any men make it on stage? Society stacks up against boys loving dance. Girls dance together on stage, at weddings, in clubs and parties because most men are afraid to dance that little dance inside of them - the one that was crushed so long ago from the powers that be. I’ve hung with a few guys that love to dance, and it was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

As Coco and her class practiced the finale, a few professional dancers, including men, arrived to prepare for another show. Where did they come from? Somehow, the few of the proud and the brave make it to the stage.

The girls finished and I took the bows out of their hair. Coco and I decided to grab something quick to eat as we were really hungry. She ate slowly as the television aired above our heads. A group of boys, sat and hovered around each other at the table next to us. They were fresh faced, gawky, dressed similarly, stubbly hair poked out of their chin and a few donned braces. Did any of them dance? I eyed the bags hung around a few of their shoulders and imagined leotards and black dance shoes tucked in behind notebooks. Men, they’re everywhere. But which one of them will say: I’m a dancer! And shout it from the rooftops so all can hear.

And if you’ve ever watched ballet you will know, it is us who’ll benefit the most.

Bananas are every where in Costa Rica. I mean, we grow them here. Drive out to the coast and you’ll get to see fields of banana trees plump with fruit waiting to ripen and be sent to far away lands to decorate an ice cream sundae or moisten quick breads.

Turns out Addison is allergic to them. To the best of our knowledge, that harmless looking yellow fruit landed me in the hospital with Addison limp, white, full of a dotty red rash, and that after a couple hours of stomach pain, enemas (I’ll save the torrid details) and vomit.

This is my second trip in two months to the emergency room. I’ve gotten to know this hospital too well. So well, I never get lost in the freakishly similar hallways; the doctors know Addison on a first name basis. And since he was born, I’ve spent more time giving thanks to modern Western medicine than I thought possible for an all-natural-organic-whole-food-alternative-medicine girl like me.

It turns out the chamomile enema and vomiting actually were the best things for him. In the hospital we just took some x-rays to be sure nothing was stuck in there like one of our guinea pigs or plastic toy cow. The doctor wanted Addison to eat some applesauce before we left to be sure he didn’t vomit again (because then it could be something worse than an allergy). After he slurped up the food, he scooted around the halls chatting to everyone. He had captured everyone’s heart, and I had regained mine.

My daughter is ga ga over Christmas. In some ways, it feels like it molded out of thin air. I’ve never "over-done" it for Christmas. In fact it took my awhile to get back into after a few years of actually hating it. So then comes the kids. How can it be avoided? Especially here where 90% of the population is Catholic. There’s no Thanksgiving to divert the public’s attention from the glittery (and I have to admit cute) diversions Christmas delivers: shiny balls, nutcrackers, stockings, fake green and red sticks of leaves or fake green and red anything.

Luckily, if I stay lucid, I know that simplicity is really all the kids need. I could buy so many things. The stores here in Costa Rica are already jammed so tight with Christmas trinkets, one can’t even get the cart down the isle (which I keep meaning to tell the manager infringes on the whole buying experience). Anyway….

My son, since he’s two, has no concept of what Christmas is. My daughter, as mentioned earlier, is crazy for the stuff. I now face a month and a half of reading Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer or some other holiday book. (Not to mention singing Rudolph…!)I got a little nervous thinking of my little brood, the three of us alone, for the holidays. But if I keep going back to that balance thing (check out the blog a few nights ago), I feel calm, happy, and even prepared for all that glitters and is gold.

The new always mixes with the old. Sometimes the past pokes at my senses and I miss it: the guinea pigs and dogs now gone; the smells of my old backyard; the dreams of a life that turned out to be an illusion; the nob on the bathroom door missing a lock; the stove that didn’t work; the green couches; and the walk around the block.

There is this great Tom Petty tune called The Apartment Song. It’s a song about how he misses his old life. He doesn’t want it back, but it just happens that this one night, he’s a bit lonely.

Oh yeah I’m alright
I just feel a little lonely tonight
I’m okay, most of the time
I just feel a little lonely tonight.

And sometimes that’s just it. A night where melloncally sets in. I want this shiny, new life, but it is possible to feel two things at once. In fact, is there any other way?

I got ahold of a Feng Shui book. For the last five houses I’ve lived in, I’ve plotted plants and red flowers and windchimes (hollow ones of course), and positioned mirrors and crystals all in the name of bettering my good luck Chi. Just in this one book, there are about five theories of Feng Shui that make me want to shut the book and weep. Move my front door? Relocate a toilet? How will I ever cover that "unfortunate structural pillar" with the sharp edges? And for goodness sakes! I sleep right under wooden beams! Raise my desk to 33 inches? My life could be easily classified as hell in a hand basket if I took it all too seriously.

But, there’s something that draws me in, and I can’t tell you what it is. It is like the soft carpet the neighbors just installed: I just want to sample it a little bit with my shoes off. It’s like all the shiny Christmas decorations jammed into the store: I don’t want all of them, and don’t need all of them for a happy Christmas, but maybe a little box of those glittery gold ones will do.

So I flip again through the book and try to figure out my "auspicious" numbers, corners, and elements. I drop all the theories and go with just a few things I can manage: a few plants placed in front of poison arrows; my desk faces Northeast; a globe sits in the lucky corner of my daughter’s room; and I’m searching for a horse and a red plant to place in the Southwest corner, which really isn’t a corner, it ’s more like a wall.

The author of the book I tote around says:

The practice of Feng Shui can be as simple or as complex as your own attitudes and your own good sense dictate. Feng Shui is neither spiritual nor religious. It is an ancient Chinese science that can be easily and effectively adapted to the modern living environment. Feng Shui is not magic and it cannot bring you overnight success. But it can enhance your periods of good fortune, just as it can mitigate your times of misfortune.

Sounds pretty practical when she puts it that way. Balance. A life in balance. That’s the direction for me.