I had no idea that squirrels ate coconuts until one day I heard the scratching and gnawing outside my window when I was at the beach. I looked over at a bunch of coconuts and water - coconut water - was dribbling out of one. One of these little squirrels was eating a coconut. This is not easy work, for as you know coconuts are hard. Gnaw and gnaw and nibble. Finally the little fellow got a hole and ducked inside and started grasping the coconut meat.It turns out there was a pair that lived in this area. All the people in the area knew of them - they were famous. Once and awhile the squirrel would look at me, pause, and then chew on. I was polite and didn’t point. But I did know I was in the middle of a delicious treat.

Notice anything different? No it’s not the hair color. But MotherJungle’s gotten a little sexier, don’t you think? We’re spicing it up a bit and moving and shaking. It’s the best of of what we’ve got and the bold and the new. Look for great things to come.I’m so glad you’re here.

After living in Costa Rica for 10 years, I’ve had a maid - empleada - for most of those years and now I do not. Washing the dishes for the "umpteenth" time of the day, I often debate which one I prefer.

The benefits of a maid:

Floors are swept every day and sometimes twice a day.
This may seem odd, but living in Costa Rican is like living outside and my ceramic tile looks like the floor of a barn if not swept and mopped over once a day. Plus any "itty bitty" crumb will attract a storm of ants.

Dishes washed. My empleada was a Costa Rican, so she didn’t live in my home. She came for a regular work week and left at 3:30 every day. I faced those sticky, syrupy, slimy plates and pots and pans for dinner and on the weekends.

Laundry done. (And boy, did my maid know how to get out those stains!*)

Bed made.

Dusting.

Bathrooms cleaned.

Lunch cooked. (This ranked as one of my favorite items to have done for me.)There’s more, but in my home, the maid was swamped with keeping up with just this. Another great bonus with a maid is that I could run an errand and the maid could watch the children for an hour.

The cons of having a maid:

Pay. It’s affordable, but it costs. Plus, there’s insurance to pay and that thirteenth month bonus employers - patronatos - are responsible to pay at the first of December every year.

Things may not be done the way you like. If you are fond of having the picture of frame of the family tilted just so or the shower door still looks dirty after cleaning or bleach stains tend to appear on those black pants you just lost enough weight to fit into, get over it. Mistakes will be made; if you’re picky, you can spend a lot of time hovering over the small details of the job.

Theft. It happens. Domestic employees are strangers let into your home. And no matter how much you love their kids or feel like you are bonding like long-lost relatives you will never know the pressure this person may receive from the outside to "just take a little cash" or "slip a ring she never wears into your purse - she’ll never miss it." My maid never stole from me, she was stellar. I must say I was really blessed. But I have many friends who’ve experienced this.

Human management. No matter how it’s cut, this is a person with a personal life, stress, worries, obligations, and feelings. Before you know it you’ll be adding on an addition to their home, borrowing them money to buy a car, or dealing with someone who’s always fifteen minutes late.I do have a system of three rotating nannies to care for Addison. But 95% of their time is spent on my little one. We all poke at keeping my house clean. It’s usually a mess. A few days ago, my bathroom was sparkling. It felt so peaceful I entered, I entertained the thought of a relaxing bath that evening. But, it’s the room with the only bathtub, so guess who I share it with? By the end of the day, towels and dirty clothes covered the floor; toys sat in the bottom of the tub; and little bottles of medicines for Addison took over the counter top. Scratch the bubble bath and candles.

Maid or no maid? It’s a toss up. Either way, it takes time. Homes suck up hours and energy like a bad running vacuums. I’ve lived most of my life without maids, most everyone in the developed world does. So we learn to live with the dishes in the sink and the beds undone. Mangaging humans is not a strong point of mine. I’m content with the fantatic help I have for Addison. My kids have taken over most of my home, but I have two corners that are usually clean. For now I’ve made a balance of choices concerning the question of maids, and I can live with that.*

_{More on this later, but the first secret: soak it.}

Breaking into the world of simplicity takes a little finesse, courage, and fortitude. I can’t remember if I ever had a simple life. I watch Coco come home with homework, and I watch it begin. We cancelled out on ballet because I’ve been riding a bit under the weather and couldn’t manage the banking goof-up, the hunger, the traffic, and the sanders blasting away at the wood on the side of my house.

Down-sizing & stress-reducing takes work. Bringing the two together doesn’t always gel so well. When the sander feels like it is actually rubbing off a layer of my skin and I want to take a stapler and bash it over and over again into the wooden desk, I do something to change the dark tunnel I’m heading down. I’ve learned to look at little notes I’ve pasted around the house and even inside my car so I can focus on things other than property destruction. Or, I’ll go and see Addison and give him a hug or some fresh coconut water and watch him smile. Addison could melt the brick off a piggy’s house.

Two weeks from now, even tomorrow afternoon, I won’t remember the stress. Life will be simpler then. Because I let something give.

If a faucet is dripping three floors away, I can here it. I’m so sensitive to noise and sounds that too much vibration rubs on me like the tip of a nail across a glass. My shoulders tense and I revert to my all-time-favorite-annoying habit of turning into a crabby human.

For example, as I type these exact words, a muchacho - guy - is out in the courtyard sanding away on the exterior wood. Without even knowing it, my left eye starts to close and I crimp my neck back into my spine as the whirrrrrrr wears on me. I try to tune into the cute little water fountain I put in the auspicious corner of my office and enjoy the almost silent dribble of water flowing across the fake rock. Now, the tap tap tap of pounding at the construction site next door chimes in with the sanding.

Once when I was camping alone in the wilderness, the sound of the waves drowned out those voices in my head that warned of the imaginary bear lurking in the woods. When someone whistles a tune or it begins to rain, I immediately relax. There’s a little creature called the common house gecko that skitters up and down walls here. He has this call he chirps out from the back of his throat. The Costa Ricans believe you are lucky if one lives in your house. And, it’s super super lucky to have a white one, which I once did at the beach.

Every morning and every night, my little gecko chirps. It sounds like he’s squeaking and sucking little bubbles in and out of the plastic of a broken balloon. I can’t find the exact letters to mimc this sound, but it washes such peace over me and always reminds me to smile.

At the beach last weekend, a tiny little gecko plopped onto my shoulder. She must have mis-stepped across the beam she was climbing. In a gut reaction (due to a scorpian bite awhile back), I flicked her off me, and she landed on the ground and skittered away. I felt so bad and called to her as she left: Sorry! I hope you’re o.k.

That night, I was restless and tossed in the heat of the night. The little gecko, from somewhere above called out her chirp. I smiled; relaxed; and knew everything was just fine.

Sometimes I have thoughts I don’t want to admit. When I was in the hospital and sat day after day next to Addison existing, surviving and sometimes barely breathing in his incubator for a month after his birth, I watched other babies come in the NICU - healthy babies. Relatives tapped on the windows and pointed at their proud offspring. Then a day or two later, the babies left. They always left. Each bundle wrapped in pink or blue. Every family off to a brand, new start.

I didn’t wish I had one those kids. It was funny how resolved and settled with the fact that Down Syndrome was a part of our life like my wrists and my spine. Down Syndrome was a part of me as much as it was a part of Addison. A child’s a lot of work, no matter the order of chrmosomes.

No, the feeling that I had was this: I wished one of those babies that left all cuddly and secure in their parent’s arms would have Down Syndrome. Then, I’d have someone to talk to. Even now, I look at women pregnant and think, maybe she’ll have a child with Downs. Then…then…I wouldn’t feel so alone. I’d have this chum and confidant to talk to and we could bond over heart surgeries and digestive conditions and therapists. These and other "icky" feelings creep into my thoughts once and awhile, and I want to deny they exist and beat them with a stick.

Do you wish Addison didn’t have Down Syndrome? I get that sometimes, and I do wonder that sometimes. What would life be without Down Syndrome? It would be without Addison. Period. It would be without Addison.

I really don’t "wish" Down Syndrome on anyone. When new babies arrive healthy, I am thrilled. I do have connections and know great families living with Downs. And after those fleeting moments of doubts, I get on with it. Both of my children delivered these grand lessons exactly when I needed it: My daughter has taught me patience; Addison has taught me to be a warrrior. They both have taught me how to love. And that, I am proud to admit.

I’m just so darned proud of my adopted homeland! Living in a developing country is exactly that: it’s developing. If any of you have taken a stroll around Costa Rica or tried running, it’s a battle of potholes, missing chunks of cement, piles of wood, and scraps of metal creating quite an undesireable obstacle course.

A few weeks ago, I took a fall. It wasn’t pretty. Well, I am proud to say that the site started construction on the sidewalk and and driveway within the next few days after I’d spoken to the workers.

This was not a small job for these guys. I am so proud. One sidewalk more, about 2 million left to go. Progress happens one plop of cement at a time.

There it was - the perfect afternoon. Coco made a tree house out of a group of skinny clump of palm trees: I got to talk to a friend (uninterrupted!) for an hour on the Internet; the sun gave faded into mellow afternoon. After returning from a run that was painfully slow - but completed! - I made dinner.

I listened to NPR while I concocted tasty and semi-nutritious meals for our foursome. The baby liked his food; I was content; Coco blabbed away to the nanny. All was perfect until….the flowers tipped over; the nanny yipped; Coco screamed; I barked; and Addison followed with a howl only a howler monkey* could rival.

The baby promptly quit eating; water was everywhere; and Coco began to cry. I felt bad for snipping; Coco felt sad for spilling water and the baby sreamed at the horror of it all. After a 1/2 of hour of playing peek-a-boo, I was able to resume cooking the less-than-average-hot dogs.

I survived this with a smile on my face only because I knew there was a Ben & Jerry’s pistachio ice cream waiting for me in the freezer. Now, there’ s trouble. Who invited them to Costa Rica anyway?

*The howler monkey is the loudest land animal. My son comes in a close second.