A balance lacks when divorce splits the family. It’s a hole, no matter how hard we try, that can not be filled by anything other than time, trust, and a readjustment until a new balance is struck.

At times, my daughter clings to me more than she should. The fear that if one parent fell out of the picture, perhaps the other one will too. And no matter how much visitation and support both parents give, it’s just a hole that comes like the potholes that grow with the coming of the rain.

Whereas my son drops to bed like a cooked noodle, tired from his busy day, my daughter has gotten into the habit of getting out of bed and “wanting something” from me. It ranges from a glass of water to finding the roaming cockroach in her bathroom to needing me to explain for the millionth time that the sound she hears is rain on the roof to getting rid of the creepy faces lurking on her walls.

The last few nights, I just ran out of parenting juice. Addison had gotten up a few times in the night with a funny tummy, and I was tired. So, I told her that the next time she got out of bed, she was going to get a “time-out” when she came home from school. The first night, she got 1/2 hour. The next night she fell fast asleep. The third night, she got a full hour.

When she got home we prepared for her “time-out.” We went over the homework she’d do, I brought her up a snack on a tray. “Have fun in jail,” I said, keeping it light.

She ran over gleefully and hugged me. “O.k. I’ll see you in an hour.” I guess part of the balancing trick of single parenting is being there over the long run. And over time I know my kid’s cups will fill back up, and they’ll have confidence as they move on and up and into the world that awaits them.

Most who garden in Costa Rica or the tropics have felt the sting of leaf cutter ants or witnessed the devastation they can do on our favorite plants. From our view, they are destroying. From where they stand, they are building the castle of their dreams.

Now, I’m not sure if ants dream. In fact I don’t know much more about ants except there are billions and billions of them probably just in my neighborhood.

But after the rain washes all the hard work away, they’ll start all over again. And in one day, this is what they get.

It’s really a fabulous model. Perhaps something we should take more note of from time to time.

I started cooking at 4 p.m. and didn’t stop until 7 p.m. Deciding to take Coco, along with Addison and I, off of wheat has taken me back to the depths of cooking, which includes baking. Something I’m never overly thrilled to do.

Finding a way to cook, eat, and exist without wheat is exhausting and makes me want to pull out my hair at times. A long time ago, my oldest child at avocado and date bocas. Now she turns her nose at anything green except cucumbers.

However, one day while doing Addison’s therapy, I heard Coco coughing, really coughing. Just like Addy did. I realized that the bronchitis she brought home in December, which then Addy caught, which then went away, which then never really did go away and returned and landed him in the hospital with pneumonia, never went away for her either.

At one time none of us ate wheat. But boy we all love it. I mean, warm bread or gooey pastry things stuffed cream or pineapple or dulce de leche?! After two weeks, the cough is almost gone.

I finished baking the non-wheat bread, and then made a batch of non-wheat pancake batter for breakfast. I’d rather eat bread, it’s just easier. I’d also rather watch television all day such as Oprah and Ellen and E Entertainment, all the while popping Starbursts in my mouth from dawn till dusk. Why is it that the good things end up being so bad for us in the end?

Sometimes I hate asking why. Usually because I know the answer before I even ask. But in the end, it’s the victory that turns out to be the best tasting of all.

I remember sitting on the porch with friends years ago. A four year old girl approached me and began speaking in French. After she finished, she noticed the odd look on my face. Her father told her I spoke English. The girl switched languages with out missing a beat. From that day on, I knew I wanted to give my kids something I never had - bilingualism.

A new study came out trying to figure out why kids learn languages so early. To follow suit, the media has added reports about how we can make our kids bilingual. Moving to a Spanish speaking country was a very dramatic way to give my kids two mother-tongues. That includes Addison.

He understands two languages better than I do. The muscles in his face are slower to follow suit, thus the formation of words come according to his ability to make a hard “c” sounds or snake his tongue around the “s.”

The great beauty of two languages bouncing around the house is that no one gives a second thought to who’s getting confuses about what. As I’ve written before, I think the Spanish and English offer a benefit to the kids because they can chose and stress the word that they can pronounce. For instance, Coco’s first word was agua - not water. But she soon learned to say water not long after. Addison says azul instead of blue and si instead of yes and vaca instead of cow. It’s fascinating, interesting, and enjoyable to watch the little neurons connect in their brains, sending gleeful messages and smiles to their faces.

I taught Coco sign language just because it was so fun. We all still use it as a tool in noisy rooms or when we shouldn’t speak so long. I get to wiggle my fingers in the word “wait” and it holds me back from screaming at her instead.

If I could throw a third and fourth language in there, I would. The child at that party that spoke French and English also spoke Greek. It was humbling. It took me years to get over feeling so stupid. I do not think kids get as confused as we think about languages. I think kids get confused at the things inside the words we say. And at the one language that almost needs no translation: our actions.

We have signs. Road signs. Signs that tell us where to go; when to exit; and with any luck when to yield and stop. This is a HUGE deal here. Although I still rely on following buses down hill to get me down a mountain side, more and more travel in Costa Rica can be done knowing there’s a sign to lead the way.

Add in lights! Painted lines! Entrances! Exits! We’ve even got stretches of highway with pedestrian bridges and “pull-offs” for buses and landscaping. Landscaping! My goodness, we may have to start calling ourselves an “almost-developed-second-world-country-on-the-move.”  Is there such a thing?

But don’t worry, the experience of getting lost is a tried a true Costa Rican tradition. You just have to travel to Heredia or Monteverde or Hatillo or look for immigration or the driver’s license bureau, and you’ll be sure to get the thrill of wandering aimlessly on one-way crooked streets, piling one atop the other. It just woudn’t be the same without it.

For rent signs are everywhere. Se aquilla. As buildings finish up a year or two of construction, other business built a few years ago put up for rent and for sale signs. I keep wondering who’s going to rent out all this space?

There will be the natural flow of one business leaving one strip mall for the likes of another. And, there will be the hopefuls that “just know” their coffee shop or restaurant or shoe store is going to make it. The funny thing I’ve always found about Costa Rican real estate, and I’m no expert - heck I’m just a mom - is I’ve watched this market create itself.

Perhaps it’s starting to change, but many who own lots or homes or business seem quite content to sit on a price that doesn’t seem to be rooted in any real market place value. In the neighborhoods I’ve lived in, I’ve inquired about homes for sale or rent nearby and just about fainted when they very often will tell me a selling price not just thousands, but “tens-of-thousands” of dollars higher than I would ever consider.

I walk or drive by the location a year or more later, and often the property is still for sale or rent. Empty. Creating no value for the owner or the economy. And I know it’s not just Costa Ricans setting these values. I’ve heard of “many-a-Gringos” placing a value on their property that would make more than anyone’s jaw drop.

I suppose there’s a bit of an extra price for living in paradise. But I like to think not.

But heck that’s just me. And I’m just a mom after all. What do I know?

The annual pilgrimage to Cartago, I walk I took last year from San Jose to the city south of Cartago, has been canceled by the government. They’re afraid big groups are going to spread the flu. I went last year. It was one of the greatest things I’ve yet done in Costa Rica.

Many people are upset. It will be interesting to see if there are those that feel the need of their soul greater than the need to civil obedience. One report says if the estimated 2 million people walk (now what I’ve read is it is usually more like 500,000 to one million….anyway….) there will be 20,000 new cases of the swine flu. Really?

To date, Costa Rica has had seven confirmed deaths with the flu as the cause. All but one had some contact with travel to Mexico. Day after day, suspected cases are tossed out yet often make the news, adding to the fear factor. They’ve closed schools and now they’re talking about adding another week.

And are the people hiding in their homes? I am, but I’m home most of the time with a kid recovering from pneumonia. Everyone is at the mall, in the movie theaters, and hanging with groups of kids - exchanging snot and germs and bacterias; trying on stupid wigs they’d never buy.

The walk to Cartago is a religious tradition in Costa Rica. Even though I can’t go this year, I think it is a shame to tell others they can not. I didn’t touch or breath on a single person the whole time. I know that youth do tend to hang and make a party of it. But I tell you, if they don’t do it on the way to church, they’re hanging out at the mall.

I’ve got to think spending a day, offering up time, sacrificing for the healing of others might just be what this flu needs to kick it in the arse. Who said it? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I’m praying, on my knees, that wisdom fills the place where fear grips us.

Poverty, AIDS, vehicular death, dengue fever….we can’t live behind closed doors. If we did, we’d probably all end up slipping on a bar of soap in the shower anyway.

For good or bad, I’ve sadly gotten used to it. The plight of puppies. The desolate life of dogs.

They’re more than everywhere in Costa Rica. In the beginning, I tried saving many that would be smart enough to look me in the eyes. I couldnt’ resist. I’ve thrown bones to dogs tied up to chains shorter than my belt. I’ve jumped ten foot fences to rescue lost dogs. I’ve adopted more than my share.

But some how, we have to come to terms with the canines crawling with mites and covered in mange. The ones that follow a fruit truck and nap in the shade of the flatbed are more than lucky. They’ve got a little spot to go while on this earth, which undoubtedly is for a very short time.

Shopping has evolved in Costa Rica, but some things I think will always stay the same. Every culture has “it’s” way of letting a person shop. In Costa Rica, we are often followed closely. Not because we’re thought of as thieves but because the sales person is eager to make a sale; is often very bored; and “it’s” just the way it’s been done for years.

I needed a small table to sit next to Addison’s high chair. He loves to listen to Barney songs (millions of times!) and thumb through books when he’s finished eating. We keep his stash on a small table. I moved the existing, ugly ones into my office and thought it would be fun to buy something new.

I’d watched the construction of a new furniture store go up and saw it was finished. It had accessible parking, so one rare day without kids, I pulled in. The moment I walked in, a woman with very high heels, clicked over to ask if I needed help. A term I learned early on was: Thank you, but I’m going to look. Gracias, pero voy a buscar. The new store was empty except for a lot of big furniture trying to look very modern, hoping someone would take them home and love them.

I knew what I wanted (usually do when I shop) and if I run a quick eye over this piece or that, I can tell whether or not it would fit. The woman followed me while I scanned the entire first floor.

Click. Click. Click. Click. She followed closely behind.

Then, I went upstairs. Whew, I thought, she’s giving me space - something I can’t quite get out of me (very American, I admit). As I looked at the beds and dressers and prices, it was becoming clear not only that there was nothing that I liked, but everything was a bit more than I’d like to pay.

Click. Click. Click.

Though I couldn’t see her, the sales woman had followed me up the stairs. I’d walk and stop. She’d walk and stop. But I couldn’t see her. She hid behind walls and mirrors. Her footsteps echoed as loud as a scream bouncing off the walls of a cave.

Click. Click. Click.

I’d take two steps.

Click. Click.

I went down the steps, and I’m sure she saw her sale walking out the door.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

She almost ran down the stairs after me. I said thank you as I left. And as the door was still closing, I could here her in the distance….

Click. Click. Click as she went back to sit at her desk.

Once I prowled this “wild” country and took amazing photographs. I saw amazing things like monkeys and dolphins and sleeping sloths in trees. Toucans, like the one here, seemed to come right up to me and pose. What have I become?

My days of adventure have given way to the interior of hospital halls and my wild side is, sadly, released at the mechanic’s garage as I rev the engine to see if the injectors are clean. These are my adventures in paradise. It’s as crazy as it gets, for now.

I like to believe I have ditched the wild side for awhile as I run after that real pot of gold - the one that holds the laugh of a healthy child, a walking child, and a child that will one day get to grow big enough to discover his own wild side.