I told Coco if we ever got a dog, we’d have to adopt one from a rescue center. There’s so many mutts roaming the streets of Costa Rica, it’s almost a crime to get a pure bred. It doesn’t make it any easier when we run into a bunch of mugs like these.

Coco asks me an average of ten times a week what kind of dog we’re going to get. For the moment, I’ve got an out in that the landlord doesn’t want dogs and that any type of dog, even a puppy, would knock over Addison.

Coco: Mom, do you want a poodle?

Coco: Mom, what should we name our puppy?

Coco: Mom, do you want a German Shepard?

Me: How about a three-legged, eight year old dog with a hearing problem?

Coco: Mom!

Me: Hey they need to be loved too, don’t they?

The pregnant pause filled the room.

Coco: No really, do you want a poodle?

A well-tanned couple sat at the next table next to us at a restaurant. They resembled many of the “birds of paradise” roaming Costa Rica, enjoying retirement and the lovely way of life it can offer in this tiny Central American country.

I’ve gotten used to people staring a tad longer than usual when I go somewhere with Addison. It’s a completely natural human reaction. The couple one table over exchanged a few words about “the child” and smiled.

Since Addison can not eat most foods at restaurants, I bring his mush and/or specially made snacks. At three years old, it’s getting tougher and tougher to hide the fact from him that he’s missing out on french fries and tasty fried chicken. But the nannies and I have tricks in our bags and manage fairly well so he gets fed without a tantrum, throwing his bowl on the floor, or choking.

On this particular day, Addison was more aware than usual of all the new and exciting foods splayed upon the table. He’s already eaten his mush and killed off a bottle of coconut water. We were down to a cup of gelatin.

At times, Addison has trouble with change, not unlike any three year old (and a few over-thirty-year old people I know…..) are apt to have. Yet as with most special needs kids, we usually get that “extra-special” challenge, which can break even the toughest of souls down. When I offered him the perfectly tasty gelatin, which I knew he’d like once he tasted it, he began to scream, squrim, and squiggle. He’d have nothing to do with it. This is where the tricks come in handy. For some reason, Addison chills when I say the two words: mami, sí. For some reason, he then remembers that eating at this moment is good, nutritious, and tastes o.k. too. Once every third day, we have to pull another trick out of our sleeves and hold Addison’s hands still as he refuses the food with more ferocity and moves one step closer to imploding.

Over the course of the meal, I kept hearing bits and pieces of the couple’s conversation at the table next to us. I wasn’t interested in the least, but the words kept bouncing over to me intermediately. There was some talk of horses and the lousy reception on the cell phone. Though she didn’t speak loudly, the woman’s voice resonated clearly. Addison quickly passed into the “I’m about to have a tremendous tantrum” stage when I offered him the gelatin. The nanny and I, working together like a defense on a basketball team, doubled up on him. She held his arms. I offered him the gelatin. He tried to get away for about four seconds and then once he tasted a spoonful forget what he’d been all upset about. He took the spoon and started eating.

The woman at the next table leaned over to her husband. She uncurled a deep, red lipstick from it’s case and said, ” She’s so mean. So mean,” and shook her head in disapproval. The moment I heard the comment, I looked away. Mostly because I didn’t know what to do. There have been times in my life I would have sobbed with sorrow. Other times I would have screamed with a sarcastic reply. And others I would have rattled off a pile of justifications of how hard I work to keep this child not only alive, but on a road to thrive. What about the therapies? The sleepless nights? Sleepless years? The doctors? The hospitals? The back pains? The……

Instead I felt sad. So sad. It’s easy to judge from a glimpse across the table. I’ve been a party to passing “many-a judgments” and have no less guilt than any other. I just wish sometimes I could shake the whole world by the shoulders and say: Don’t you see? We all have something to judge! We all do wrong! We have to quit this sad, righteous, ego boosting behavior!

There’s always so much more behind the picture than meets the eye, especially tired parents at least giving it their all for that moment. And tired parents of special needs kids need that extra special level of acceptance. Many of us are either fit to be tied or about to have a nervous breakdown. I remember that Native American saying that says something about not judging someone until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins….or flip flops…or Crocs…or stiletto heels…or barefeet…or cowboy boots…or flippers…or…………

If we haven’t felt the other person’s pain, just wait, you’re turn is coming.

A friend of a friend is in jail.  A few days ago, the police arrived at his place of work and took him away. He’ll serve three months in jail for committing no crime. Yet he did make a mistake.

Francisco (not his real name) a few months ago was assaulted on his motorcycle as he drove home from work. He worked as a security guard, and his job required odd, difficult hours. The thugs must have pegged Francisco a target after watching him for awhile, for he was jumped by three men waiting behind a bush at a curve in the road.

Francisco ended up in the hospital with head injuries and a lot of bruises. In the scuffle, the men also took his gun. A few days ago, that gun ended up killing someone.

When Francisco was assaulted, he didn’t report the missing guns. Security companies issue guns to almost all their workers. I am wagering a guess that in Costa Rica we might have more security guards than we have police.  Who could ever keep control of all those guns?

Francisco made the mistake of not reporting the missing gun to the police And obviously, the security company didn’t report the missing gun to the police. Perhaps Francisco was afraid to tell the police for fear of loosing his job; for fear of getting the company in trouble; for fear….

The gun was traced to Francisco. And so, he sits in jail. Bail doesn’t quite work like it does in the U.S. It is more than usual to sit in jail while the crime is investigated. If it’s ever investigated.

Security guards risk their life for less than marginal pay. I believe Francisco made less than $80.00 a week. Now that he’s in jail, his wife and three children will struggle and have to depend on the help of family and friends to pay their light bill, put rice on the table, and keep the water running.

I wonder how many times we all have stopped short of telling the truth due to fear. Fear of rejection; fear of failure; fear of humiliation; fear of not putting bread on the table; fear of…..Francisco made the mistake we all make all too often. Bringing him a basket of bread and beans might be the least I can do. Changing may ways and correcting the fear the moment in creeps behind the bush - that is the most I can do.

We’ve got about 800 species of birds flitting about Costa Rica at this time of year. A few must be warming their pipes for the flight back up north, for in the dark of the night (when the birds are supposed to be asleep!) - one decided to sing all night long. Right outside my window.

I always wondered when I was a kid what birds did at night. How do they manage to not fall off that branch? To make matters worse, vampire bats in Costa Rica attack the sleeping feathered creatures and nibble on the back of their ankles (do birds have ankels?) for a bloody midnight snack.

So either this bird was getting ready to take flight in the morning to nest in Texas; was staying awake as not to let the vampire bats bite; or mistook my garden light for the sun and whistled away not knowing the real sun was HOURS from rising.

As the sun came up, the culprit was joined by other, sensible birds - ones that know the difference between night and day.

If ever you’ve sat in traffic and cursed under your breath until you were blue in the face, the following video may give you solace. Bovines and equines have the right away in a developing country as they should. I’ve been held up many-a-times in Costa Rica by a crossing of the old world with the new.

And in today’s world we now suffer from traffic on the highway, but also on the Internet, at the mall’s bathroom, and at the check-out lane. MotherJungle had it’s own little traffic problem for a few days. I appreciate those who stopped in and came back and even gave a shout to see if I had fallen off the edge of the earth or wasn’t stuck behind a parade of cows in somewhere. Wait. I was stuck behind a line of cows. Let’s face it, we’re jamming up the world with our stuff. Yet, I’m glad there’s still a few reminds out there to get us to slow down a bit, smile, and not take it all so gosh-darned seriously.

Moo.

Addison needs a hand in almost everything he does. Sometimes I watch his little feet try to grip the ground to keep his balance. The might he musters just to take steps, slow down so as not to fall, and start up again makes me humble. In a way, I realize we’ve all needed this help from time to time, it’s just more apparent and in your face with a special needs kid.

This week, he started eating by himself. Just happened one day. As much as I would have liked it to be a skill he mastered early, it comes when all the parts are ready. He’ll start drinking out of a cup when he’s ready, and he’ll ride a bike when he’s ready.

It’s not unlike life I think. Do any of us every really get something until we’re ready and all the parts can work as a whole? A lesson to really grab on to.

No more funny things happened on the way home from the mechanic - except - I forgot my wallet when I left the house. The challenging thing about repairing cars in Costa Rica is that vehicles cost so much to replace. Those big SUVs are perhaps overkill in the U.S., but here, I really need it. The replacement value of my car is about 10 to 15 times higher than fixing it.

I felt oddly kind and nurtured by the transmission mechanic. He’s got me all signed up for monthly check-ups, free of charge, and wants to be called first before having anyone else touch the car. His work is guaranteed and they did a lot of extras I didn’t have to pay for. Since he’s not from Costa Rica either, I think he works outside the more of “tinkering” on cars, which is what most Costa Rican mechanics do.

The brakes guys….well….not so sure about the “up and up” there. We are all at the mercy of people who repair our “stuff.” Most of my life, I had my dad to help me fix almost everything on my cars, including transmission jobs and towing my wreck home from a head on collision. And when my dad couldn’t figure it out, he came right along and talked mechanic lingo for me.

You know, I guess one more funny thing did happen on the way through the car-repair jungle, I never felt scared or alone or terrified through the whole experience, perhaps annoyed, frustrated, and humbled, but I have this funny feeling that my dad was sitting right next to me the whole time, chewing on a toothpick and mumbling about the high price of gas. Or perhaps, he was right inside of me, where he always is giving me the strength and “the balls” (which I need on the technical level if you know what I mean) to be in charge of my own life.

On odd, yet mild-mannered woman and her young daughter coasted down the mountainside in their old, yet faithful car. When the woman tried using the brakes, there were none. Luckily due due to a long history of owning second-hand cars, she knew to pump the brakes and limped it home and the next day took it for a brake job.

Then, a funny thing happened hen the woman went to retrieve her car after a full-on brake job, the car aforementioned would not go into reverse. The kind, yet perhaps ill-equipped mechanics, tried to figure out why it the car would not back up. The mechanics searched for days and could do nothing. So, the woman decided to take the car to a transmission shop. As she was about to leave, she noticed a fluid leak under the front right tire. Funny, that’s right where the brakes are she thought….hmmmm. The aforementioned woman limped the car to a transmission shop with strict instructions to go not park as to not have to back into reverse since there was no reverse to back into.

Another funny thing happened as she drove the car to the transmission stop in that the woman thought the brakes were squishy. Funny thing, she thought, since she’d just paid for an entire brake job.

Then, a funny thing happened while the car sat in the mechanic’s shop for a week. The woman received a diagnosis that the entire transmission was shot. The woman gulped hard and decided to not start drinking vodka straight from the bottle as it was only 11 a.m. and she needed to make lunch for her children.

Then, a funny thing happened on the day the woman finally picked up her car - the battery was dead. Deader than a doorknob. She resisted trying to translate this odd saying into Spanish and instead gulped again. The mechanic searched for a battery (since the aforementioned woman’s car of course needs a very special size) and found one up the hill in the next town. Before leaving the transmission shop, the woman then went underneath the car as it sat up on a lift. The mechanic pointed out a few other “things” that would need fixing in the near future. He also said the brakes had a leak and the drum needed fixing. Hmmm….thought the woman as she thought back to how she’d just paid for the brake job.  The mechanic gave strict instructions to drive straight to the battery place without stopping since the battery was, as they say, deader than a doorknob.

Then, a funny thing happened as the woman pulled the car out of the garage. The car had no gas. Not a drop to drink. Since gas stations do not allow one to run the motor, the mechanic put in the gas because he was chums with the attendants. The woman drove the car to the battery shop. Before shutting off the engine, she was assured by the nice fellows that they had the special, “one-of-a-kind” battery. She left the key and her car with two men she’d never seen before. She asked for a receipt or something and he said if something were to happen the woman could have “all this.” He fanned his hand like the models on the Price is Right to indicate that she would inherit a bunch of batteries and a greasy, cement shop if my car went missing. Hmmmmm….she thought. The woman made it to her appointment, which turned out to be three blocks away from the battery shop, with with five minutes to spare.

Then, a funny thing happened on the way home from the battery shop. The woman almost ran out of gas as she sat in a traffic jam to rival the best of ‘um. Turns out earlier, the mechanic had only put in about a dollar of gas. After finding a station, she managed to park the car at her home for the first time in almost a month. First thing in the morning, she dropped the car back off at the brake garage.

Then a funny thing happened that evening as the mechanics called at 4p.m. to say the car wouldn’t be ready at 5 p.m. as promised. It would be ready at 10 a.m., which really meant about noon.

The woman prayed, hoped, and crossed fingers as she walked to the garage to take her poor car home thought only of Dr. Suess who said: From there to here and here to there, funny things are everywhere.

And that’s just enough funny business for awhile.

Over the years, I watch people claim a tiny slice of the Costa Rican “paradise” as their own. They settle in. Yet, in a few years, many end up packing their bags and returning to their homeland or yet another location somewhere in the world. I can not count on one hand how many friends I, and the kids, have watched leave the country. Coco’s room is framed with more photos of friends that have left her live than those that remain.

Why do they leave? There are many that relocated here because of business and so business sweeps them off again to another country. Another group must include those that just don’t like it here all that much. Families miss many of the amenities of bigger cities, or perhaps more “civilized” societies: paved roads, road signs, and I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the word - library mentioned. Libraries are not part of the culture here. If you are a Spanish speaking person and want a book, the majority of the time you have to buy, beg, or borrow it.

Years ago, when I lived in la Sabana, I discovered this tiny children’s library. It is tucked on the south side - Sabana Sur - next to a police station. It’s more than adorable, and I went there often to fend off the amazing amount of dull hours one must pass with a toddler. Inside, there’s a little stage where school kids come to watch performances. We saw some great storytellers and singers perform while we lived there. When the stage wasn’t in use, Coco passed many afternoons playing house on one of those plastic mini-kid’s kitchen.

I don’t know if the policy has changed, but we couldn’t check things out. Instead, we would go to the desk and get a toy to play with for awhile or a book. Before we left, we gave the toy back. Though it lacked the thrill of taking home a bag of yet undiscovered books, we got a small taste of a library system.

When I’m in the States visiting my family, my mother takes us to the library and we load up on books and videos. I miss it too, no denying it. But we’ve adopted. My house is now a mini-library with books bleeding off almost every shelf in our home. (It took many suitcases through customs to get them here!) And when the kid’s cycle permits, we often frequent places that operate as small book exchanges or libraries with English books.

I still keep in touch with most of those friends who’ve left. I have places around the world I can visit from London to Canada to New York and Brazil. Most do tell me how thrilled they are to be back in touch with libraries and sidewalks, and I do understand. Paradise isn’t always where I want to be. I would love to walk the Mississippi Mile or ride the subway to the MOMA, yet here I am. The pros still outweigh the cons. When I become a fool in paradise is when I stop admitting the reality and forget that there is always some good that comes with the bad.

My daughter is bi-lingual. She speaks Spanish like a native. In fact she is a native. The same goes for my son. Down Syndrome will not hinder his ability to speak two languages. And he’ll probably do it much better than I ever will.

Yet, as with everything with trisomy 21, it’s slow in coming. His ability to comprehend was apparent at an early age. I started teaching him sign language when he was infant, just I like I did with my daughter. Although signing is no one’s native tongue in our family, we all use it to get over humps such as loud crowded rooms or words that little one’s take awhile to get a handle on such as bathroom, more, and kindergarten.

I know with therapy, patience, and encouragement Addison will develop both languages like a pro. I have to admit to a tiny bit of sadness when the therapist said he’ll always have challenges with speech, though we can minimize it a million percent. Sometimes I have this secret wish for at least just one thing Addison is going to blow by and be like every other kid. But trisomy 21 is an undeniable chromosome lurking within him.

One of the great advantages of learning two languages from birth is that the child gets to pick which word is easier to say. Blanco is easier than white; blue is easier than azul; yellow is much easier than amarillo; and sí is easier than yes. And no is no. He’s good at that one.

Most of the time we all understand what he’s saying; however, his bouts of frustration intensify when he feels he can’t express himself. Crying can mount to tantrums where at times, he’s inconsolable. We’ve learned to let this run it’s course and after a good cry, he’s back in the game.

When we say “these” children are unable to communicate, I am not sure that is correct. They are communicating, even if it’s a ear-piercing cry. It’s we, the listeners, that perhaps are not hearing what they have to say.