Preparing my son to leave for school is an act in precision and cooperation. And generally, it goes surprisingly well. When the mini-bus toots its horn, we’re usually just a walk away from loading up. But with a five year old, there are exceptions.

When the bus arrived today, it was fifteen minutes early. I figured I could put Addison’s shoes and socks, clothes on and brush his teeth in two. Coco ran up and down the steps trying to help. When I approached the child with the aforementioned items, he was sitting in a pile of, well you know, unpleasant smelly poo. Smeary stuff too.

So that is exactly why I put the butterfly picture here. Butterflies really come out in August in the Central Valley of Costa Rica.  I’m amazed at how they find flowers among the muck and goo. When I put Addison on the bus, he was barefoot and screaming with delight at the wildness of the morning. I handed the assistant the shoes and socks and asked if she could help.

The door slammed shut and my butterflies flew off in their mini-bus, pretty clear of the muck but definitely full of color.

There is something about the fifth. Addison turned five, and I felt this breath release. Those first years of parenting are more than most bargain for, whatever the mix: Traditional family of mom and dad and kids; single parents; big family; one child; adopted; special needs…..we’ve all been given a gift to unwrap and make more than the best of.

Happy Birthday Addison, you’re such a big boy now.

A child wandered in front of my car holding a yellow balloon. I could see his mother in the distance. He raced ahead of her to get to their car. I stayed parked and waited for the mother to arrive. The child had slipped behind the car, and I didn’t want to take the chance he’d pop up somewhere as I backed up.

Addison and I just finished a round of x rays. In Costa Rica, x ray “locations” can be found scattered throughout the city. With a prescription in hand, one will get the x rays and take them back to the doctor. What I thought would be one x ray (since I can’t read doctor’s writings in English or Spanish) turned out to be four. As Addison nears his fifth birthday, doctor drama is much less. He happily held his head here and there for the “photo.” We were told to come back in a few days as the doctor only comes in on Wednesday to read them. Addison and I walked around the back. He walked down the steps, commanding me to leave him alone so he could do it on his own.

The boy with the yellow balloon stayed hidden behind the car until his mother appeared. Once she was near the car, I shifted into reverse. The, she gave me this strange look. For a second I thought her son had dashed out behind me. Then, she looked in the back seat. Her face crumpled. Then, she smiled. I rolled down my window.

“I have one,” she said, pointing to Addison. That’s how the sentence translates literally; however, it’s nothing to take offence at. It just means: I have a son with Down Syndrome. In the next five minutes we bonded quickly. She told me about her son’s ear tubes; removing his glands; what school her son goes too; how he just doesn’t can’t swallow well; and his name was Santiago and he’d be five in a few months. I shared a few things about Addison. We both had to go.

I looked to see her other son with yellow balloon climb into the backseat. I shifted back into reveres. Coincidence? Are there any? I may never know why we shared those five minutes, but to meet as we did is loaded with more than I will ever know.

The warmth of the Costa Rican people is one of the pluses for raising young children here. My son seems to have that “extra” charm with not just the ladies, but with people from all walks of life. Where we go, he wants to either give someone a high five or a great big hug.

When I’ve traveled, my son is no different, he wants to do the exact same thing. He doesn’t differentiate between class, background, education, or looks. He just loves everyone. In Costa Rica, the response is a quick smile along with a lot of high-pitched (yes, sometimes even the men) terms like how cute; adorable; and what a love! For those who’ve grown up in a more “rigid” culture, it’s not easy to get cuddly right off the bat with kids. Yet, with Addison’s charm, he’s even gotten the shiest of peope to crack a smile and look up long enough from their important “texting” to give a high five.

I think in some ways he’s on a mission to make the world, no matter where it may be, a warm and welcome place.

Quick as a flash I can be struck by lightening. In an instant I can swept away by the beauty of my son, just like any other parent does with their child. In any moment I can roar at laughter at the silly things he does, just like any other parent does.

Down Syndrome exists like a subset in my existence. Addison is still expected to put his dishes in the sink and not scratch his sister’s eyeballs out. His sister is expected to return the favor. I have two kids that fight, agree, love, wrestle, giggle, and love to dress up in play capes and silly hats.

When I last looked, I have two kids, just like any other parent does.

Today, it’s much easier to connect to internationally. I’ve formed relationships with international travelers to parents with special needs kids from all over the world. It wasn’t that long ago, being tucked away in Costa Rica, it would be easy to become isolated. A great source of information I’ve found is a Kristen Morrison from Australia.

Kristen Morrison is the author of Naturally Better: Dramatically Improve Your Child’s Life, Naturally. She has four children and lives in Melbourne. She’s documented the “luck” she’s had with creating a healthy, joyous life for her son with Down Syndrome.

“We have worked our guts out to help our son since he was born! But apparently we got very lucky that he has no heart defect, no thyroid problems, no mobility or vision issues.   We got lucky with his hearing, lucky with his ability to walk, lucky that he has only had to go to emergency once in his life (when he had a nasty cold) and has had no other serious illness.  We got lucky that he has no food intolerances or behaviour problems, lucky that he now speaks, lucky that he cuts with scissors at 3 and could read words at 18 months.

That’s pretty lucky.

And that’s exactly why I wrote my book.  It’s a case study. It’s only one child’s story, I understand this doesn’t constitute a double blind scientific study. But I felt the need to tell others what we did, what supplements and therapies I selected for him and what results we achieved in his first few years.  We observed miracles I had thought impossible. And now I read more and more stories from other parents who are doing some of what we have done and are observing similar improvements.

I guess they got lucky too.

I produced a documentary about our experiences to bring awareness for other parents that Down syndrome is NOT a life sentence. Children with Down syndrome DO respond to natural and alternative therapies very well.

I want others to know what is possible for their kids.  Or for the kids of people they know.  This is a human problem.  Humans should know there is something that can be done to make things better.” Click here to watch the documentary.

After seeing the documentary, you may want to download a free copy of her ebook, which can be found on her website: http://naturallybetterkids.com/ The first chapter is free to download.

I couldn’t feel “luckier” to have bonded with someone so special, so far away, yet so near.

Waking up in paradise, or anywhere, with the news that you have a special needs child can scare you to the core. After the initial fear wears off, the realization that so many tools exist out there to help us helps ease the tension. One of the greatest is healthy food.

I’ve written an article on Crazysexylife.com about my son’s journey to better health. As many of you know, he was born with Down Syndrome. I knew from the start, fresh, organic food would be a great help in his life.

I hope you stop in and read the article at: Crazysexylife.com. And with my story, I hope you can see that a more healthy way of life is out there for all of us.

*Note this photo was taken in 2002. That’s beans Addison’s giving a try. I believe he got a teaspoon or two in his mouth.

The kids may get the “tag” of being different, but I tend to think it’s the parents who get a little goofy after awhile. I’ve never been stared at; giggled about; reprimanded; and questioned more than when I had my second child who was born with Down Syndrome. His special needs became my new way of being.

Making my son walk down a corridor can be as trying as climbing a mountain; grappling with officials over special medical equipment, disheartening; and that “sigh” of just-a-little-bit-of-impatience” I get from the person behind me when we are taking too long to load the car or finally make it to the end of the corridor sometimes scrapes on my nerves like nails down the chalkboard. I could harvest up an awful lot of anger, but I try to find a way out instead. A little, no perhaps a lot, of goofiness, takes the load of my non-stop frustration at the constant tug the “special needs life” pulls upon me.

We like to let it all hang out. I mean who doesn’t want to put on a wolf’s head and howl at the moon? You haven’t tried it?! It’s a guaranteed plan to tap into sanity - special needs or not.

The Homeland Security officer walked softly across the shiny tile floor and stood next to me. He crossed his arms and said, “We’ve approached a second level security threat with your items. It will be awhile before you are free to go.”

My children were told to stay aside as the agents began ripping apart everything I’d packed. It seems Addison’s coconut water - his favorite drink - was the problem. The bottle sat next to the testing machine, drips of sweat beading down the plastic sides.

Traveling with a special needs child is more than special all by itself. All those extra things I do at home to be sure he doesn’t choke; gets enough nutrition; is happy; dry; and safe still has to happen in the airport and down the runway. I usually carry about two to four bottles of agua de pipa with me where ever I go. On a journey where we’d take a car, train, and a two planes, I had enough for what seemed an army.

For this trip, I’d decided to order a wheelchair. Addison can walk fine, yet long distances are more than he can handle. And, since the airline destroyed my last stroller, why risk it? The trip from Costa Rica to Minnesota was a pretty uneventful trip with only the usual tantrums, hair pulling, and leaky diapers to deal with. We arrived at our destination tired, but safe and somewhat sound. On the way home, it was a much different story.

“We have to x ray every thing,” the Homeland Security officer said. What was I going to say: No way! Give me my stuff and let me get to my plane!

“O.K.” I said. I picked up Addison and hugged held him for awhile.

After the x-ray procedure was finished, we were free to go. The officer apologized for the delay.

“You can repack your things now. Except that bottle over there,” he said pointing to the sweating coconut water, “that has to stay.”

Everything, once so neatly packed, lay on metal tables looking so sterile. My daughter ran to grab her bunny and I began stuffing everything back in, hoping it would fit again. We toddled off and managed to catch our plane on time.

Since the day had started with a national security threat, I figured we’d been through the worst of it. Never think that, (if I may so boldy give a bit of advise). In the next few hours: We got yelled at by a the airport check-in lady when I tried to bring a special piece of medical equipment for Addison on the plane. (I tried to explain I’d gone personally to the airline twice before leaving and they assured me they would allow it, which did happen on the way to the United States.) We missed our connection; I lost our wheelchair service along the way; we didn’t make stand-by; I spilled a cup of coffee on all my clothes; I left my passport and money on a chair where I’d spilled my coffee (it was turned in at a desk!); and about 82 other things that are just annoying to mention here, including watching way too much Barney.

As I stood in front of yet another airline clerck at a check-in desk. I was surprised I wasn’t fighting back tears. I faced paying for a hotel that just wasn’t in the budget and felt sort of weirdly O.K. with it all. All this time, even way back at the beginning when we were a threat to the national security of the United States, I knew there were reasons I would never know I shouldn’t be on the plane I was supposed to be on. In the hours at airport, we managed to laugh through the spills and had a strangely good time. After I got my boarding pass for the flight the next day, I sat down to catch my breath. Addison slept hunched over on a SmartCart. The airline clerk walked over to me and sat down.

“Here is a voucher for the hotel tonight,” she said. “And for dinner and breakfast.” For the first time all day, I began to cry. I couldn’t thank her enough.

We slept well and made it home the next day, finally able to sleep in our own beds, safe and sound from any threats.

Coco brings me a drawing every day. She folds it, usually backward, and puts: To MAMA on one line, and then LOVE COCO underneath.

Where ever I am, I have to unfold it and study it. There is usually long story behind the photo. She’s been working on the idea of perspective in drawing: What’s close is bigger; what’s farther away is smaller. I’ve taught her this joke that was on Kid’s in the Hall. (Great show if you’ve never seen it. Hopefully Internet world could make these shows live again.) I digress…..

On the show, Mr. Tyzik (Dave Foley) would “crush” people with his finger. If he’d get mad or frustrated with someone, or even for a little harmless fun, he’d eye someone far away and “pinch” him between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m crushing you!” he’d say, with a long rolling “rrrrrr” sound.

So Coco and I drive around crushing things - without the mean intent; we’d be in it to gain a little perspective - the closer the object, the bigger the pinch. The sun, oh so far away, we can usually crush with a quick pinch. She’s gotten down the “rrrrrrr” part too. Since she’s bilingual, she can roll a mean “rrrrrrrr.” A building in the distance takes a bigger pinch, and so on.

The latest picture was of a bird flying home to the babies in the nest. The mother was close to us as was the rose bush with one blooming rose. The babies were far away, but not such a distance that we could crush them. Their little eyes peeked out of a hole in the tree, waiting for their MAMA. And, she always comes home to the nest. From Coco’s perspective, this is the absolute truth. I guess as close as I loom in her large in her psyche, I present a bigger perspective, perhaps, than I really am. As she grows away, to be her own, she’ll look back, from a distance and hold me right between her finger and thumb.

Note: This story first went on-line in 2007.
We still enjoy a good round of crushing here
and there, especially on long rides in the car.