The days change from chilly to warm and back again. So blows in December. The floors in my house get really chilly. Coco likes to put on five pairs of socks because she’s so cold. That’s when I like to tell of all the suffering I labored through in all that snow, that ice, that freezing cold.

She listens for a minute and then usually ignores me. This particular day she decided to put on a pair of shades even thought there was no sun. She gets her brother’s attention, and they play air guitar. And inevitably, it warms up. We shed the socks and sweaters and in a few short hours are warm again.

All I wanted was a glass of water. A five gallon bottle still sat in the back of the car. I’d avoided hauling it in, well, because it’s heavy.

Perhaps I should have waited until after breakfast when I might have had little more energy. Instead I lifted the blue jug out of the car; peeled off the top; and hefted the thing onto the dispenser. Like I said, perhaps I should have eaten first.

The water splashed out into the container and somehow, the entire jug slipped out of my hands. Water flowed onto the counter and all over the floor. I lost grip and it slammed onto the floor, water still “glugging” out of the neck. I reached down to set it upright and for a second I couldn’t understand why water was still pouring out of the bottle. The jug had cracked!

I lifted the bottle into the pila and watched it drain out. After all the jostling and tossing, I wasn’t sure if the water was clean anymore, so I just stood there and watched it pour down the drain. The floor in the pantry has a slight slant, so the water drained behind the refrigerator and under a cabinet where I am sure we nurture and provide a safe home for cockroaches.

The kids ate breakfast and never noticed a thing. The didn’t even pause when a few words spat rather quickly out of my mouth that are better not to repeat here. I gathered towels and sopped up what I could. I’ll run a fan non-stop today to dry it out. In Costa Rica, it is imperative everything that’s wet gets dry. Or it smells.

Funny, I just dried out a small carpet I have in the living room because Addison wanted to play his favorite game of “up down” and pushed aside the large vase a little to far. The nanny caught quite a bruise diving to save the vase but the rug got all wet.

I poured a small glass of water. And cried just a little bit because it was funny and sad all at the same time. I know we’re not supposed to cry over spilt milk, but it’s sad to watch so much life and effort wash right down the drain. I set the cracked bottle back in the car and got busy sweeping out those dead cockroaches hiding behind the fridge. On the bright side, my pantry is really, really clean.

Last night, at about 2 a.m., we had an earthquake. By earthquake standards, it was mild. In fact, their were two.

I was up because Coco was throwing up. She came home from school with a fever and starting throwing up not long after. She continued throwing up - here and there - literally everywhere a few more times until she woke again just before the earthquake.

My daughter is a difficult sick person. One habit she’s gained is screaming my name out loud whenever she feels pain, which is often. She also wants me to sit with her until she gets better, which could be a few days.

As she drifted back to sleep last night, the bed shook. Whenever we have an earthquake, it takes a second to be sure it isn’t my imagination. The first one didn’t last long. There was a pause, and the second started. The bed shook; my eyes shot open; and I began to weigh whether or not to get the kids out of bed and run out into the courtyard. I

It kept going. I placed one foot on the floor. Then, it finally stopped.

Coco didn’t feel a thing. She’d dosed off. I gently began to depart from the bed so I could return to mine.

Mami?

The kid can sleep through an earthquake, but the moment I make a move, she’s all over it.

Coco woke up this morning and the first thing she said is:

It’s sugar day!

Her French class is planning to make crepes. Each child needed to bring their filling of choice. I tried offering the healthier choices, and she wrinkled her nose at me.

Jelly? Honey? Maple Syrup?

I never buy white sugar. Though I cave into the bags of candy she gets from parties and let her store them in a little shelf in the refrigerator and pick a few out here and there. I refuse to buy white sugar. It’s my last stand against the wild winds of the sweets world. Coco knew we had a bag in the refrigerator left over from making the bloody fingers for Halloween. I even caught her a few times opening the door and just checking to see if it was still there.

My nannies have to bring their own. I provide all their food and even buy them bread when I don’t eat it the stuff. Gives me a stomach ache and is the one product that will simply reform in the shape of cinnamon toast and apply itself directly to my outer thighs.

Coco sat at the breakfast table and sprinkled two huge helpings of tapa dulce - it’s sugar in the raw form and actually has a few minerals left in it unlike white sugar, which has been cooked 37 times and all nutritional value thus shot to hell - over the “all-natural” millet rice cereal. Who can blame her? The cereal tastes like the box it came in.

She bounced to the kitchen and asked:

Where’s the sugar? Not the brown sugar - the white sugar.

I had put it in a little plastic container and then wrapped it in sugar. Ants will find it in three minutes if they sniff even the smallest openings. As I put it in her backpack, I do believe I saw Coco drool, just a bit, like a dog sitting at the feet of someone who’s just flipped them a charred burger and hopes for more.

I’m not sure if I’ve lost or won this sugar battle. One of Coco’s favorite snacks when she was little was avocado/date bocas. I’d cut avocados, which are really inexpensive in Costa Rica, and add a slice of date on top and spike them onto a toothpick. She loved it. Now she hates avocados and tolerates dates.

One day our kids will go off and eat any-old-darned thing they please. I was just remembering a few late college evenings when my friends and I would whip up batches of cheese kurds. Deep fried of course. My hope is she’ll get off to a bit better start than me and when she’s about to fry up her second batch of those greasy blobs of lactose, she just might have an apple instead.

Finally, after forgetting Pepo’s birthday for two nights in a row, we lit candles and sang to the tattered little stuffed elephant that Coco adores.

Although Pepo is officially five - or something like that - Coco deemed him to be two. I think she’s afraid if he ages, he might die, which has happened to a load of pets she’s owned. We planned a small party, you know the intimate kind where we invite a few close stuffed animals to join us for cake and ice cream. Then, we forgot.

She walked into her room that night and couldn’t believe how she’d disappointed her little elephant. I upped the ante of course and told her the next night we’d get out some masks and party masks and have even a greater time. Pepo surely understood.

The next night when she walked into her bedroom, we’d forgotten again. This time I didn’t get off so easy. She grabbed the shaggy, over-loved elephant and wept.

“Pepo! I’m so sorry. It was your birthday. He feels so bad. How could I forget.”

In moments like these, it’s pretty easy to see where the concerns of children, well at least my child, lie. Kids are terrified of many things. We’re just fooling ourselves if we think kids aren’t worrying about whether we’re going to die, or leave them in the cafe and drive away and never come back. It’s the nature of the “growing-up” beast. Yes, they are running and skipping and jumping about having a lot of fun. But there’s a lot of concern going on in their little souls. And I think we parents often do let them down, and when we do, children don’t always know what to do with their feelings.

Usually, we are letting kids down on a lot of small things that don’t really “matter” to us: Canceling out on the swimming pool; no sleep-over because they have a cold; no you can’t have a candy bar for dinner; and forgetting an elephant’s birthday party.

On the other hand, there’s the “biggies” we “do” to children - even in adult terms. We inevitably let them down: Divorce; lack of money; yelling at them; watching T.V. instead of playing Chutes and Ladders; and of course death.

As I watched Coco clutch Pepo, I knew there wasn’t much I could do. She’d disappointed her friend, and I decided it was probably a good time to experience the feelings of those of us who are on the “promise breaking end” of the relationship most of the time (i.e. adults).

We pulled it together and the next afternoon we had a luncheon for Pepo and all his friends. The kids wore masks and party hats and the moms watched. We lit a candle and sang Happy Birthday. No small triumph. Plus a party we’ll never forget.

I spent a lot of time in parkas. And in those really chilly months of deep snow and freezing temperatures, I jammed my legs into ski pants and bundled from head to toe in scarfs, mittens, and sweaters inside that parka. As soon as we began spending more time indoors, we all got colds. When I moved to Costa Rica, colds - resfriados - colds came right along with us.*

Coco has a cough that won’t leave her five minutes of peace. Last night, she got up at one o’clock and searched me out with the flashlight. The cough woke her up. I applied a few things to her nose and throat and got her to sleep sitting up. Finally, she drifted off.

Addison’s eyes have been glued shut for the last two mornings. His cold has attacked his eyes, which makes it a less dramatic event and lessenes the stuffy nose, (which is reallly hard on him because of his smaller airways from the Down Syndrome).

The funny thing is the reasons we get colds seem to be the same whether we have snow or rain or wind; palm trees or oaks; tank tops or parkas:

“This time of year everyone gets a cold.”

“Oh, you’re all wet, now you’ll catch a cold.”

“All the kids in school have it.”

The cold virus knows no boundaries or limits. It crossed borders and cultures at ease, and in it’s own annoying way, makes me feel right at home.

*La gripe is often interchanged when someone has a cough or cold, but it actually means the flu.

Coco was too scared on Halloween to be anything that might make her scared. Witches were out. Ghosts too. So, for the second year in a row it’s the cat. Which for a mother, is a good thing. All I have to do is find the stuff, and she’s set.

I decided Addy was going to be a panda, since he’s cute and cuddly anyway. The ears were simple - a nanny got on that. I painted the bunny tail from an earlier costume (thanks Christy - that tail just keeps on living!). We even managed to find the correct black and white combination for the torso and limbs. I got into trouble with the eyes and nose. My face pen ran out of ink from the last holiday. Addison was not pleased about me rubbing around his eye sockets. I guess I shouldn’t blame him. He didn’t ask for this panda stuff.

So Addison went a little light on the eyes, but overall the kids looked great. I think I could dress them up with unfolded laundry, and they’d still look great. Oh…I guess we already did that. Now there’s a costume idea for next year!

Coco woke up a few days ago in tears. She’d lost her tooth and couldn’t find it. She feared she swallowed it or lost it. I told her we’d just have to look.

Loosing teeth is such an intense experience for kids. It’s funny I don’t remember that. I do remember avoiding my father if he saw one he thought we yank. He wasn’t exactly the cuddliest. Coco doesn’t like to put her teeth under her pillow and give it to the tooth rat. That’s right, rat and/or mouse depending on who tells the story. (For a wrap up of the legend, read here.)

We found the tooth right in the middle of the bed. She gleamed with relief.

“I’m going to put this one under my pillow.”

“Are you sure.”

She nodded and I took it to soak it in hydrogen peroxide to get off the little bit of remaining blood. I set the tooth in a little dish next to the sink and said a quick prayer that I wouldn’t chuck it down the sink, which I’ve done in the past. And….I crossed my fingers that I would remember to put the money under the pillow. I’m not too fond of this custom because it’s too much pressure to remember. The only other tooth Coco put on her pillow I forgot TWO nights in a row to put some cash in place of the tooth.

Around 10 p.m., I crept Coco’s room. An odd light was shining in the corner, and I thought for sure she was being visited by something not of this earth. Was it the tooth fairy? Did the fairy seek out all United State citizens where ever they lived? No. It was the reflection of the street light through her curtains onto the new shelf I’d stuck in the corner.

Once I got past that, I pawed for the plastic baggie with the tooth in it. I stood over her bed crinkling the bag like a little old lady in the theater opening a cough drop. Coco woke up. Busted again! Just like I was when I tried hiding the Easter basket one year. Luckily, she was so drowsy, I just re-kissed her goodnight and she fell back asleep.

The next morning she beamed at the 800 colones she’d found. I suggested maybe it was because she’d just turned eight. She cupped the money in her fist.

Awfully smart mouse, I said.

You’re funny, mommy.

Yup. I’m a riot.

We’ve all got it: the Tupperware shelf. This is perhaps one of the most annoying places I spend time at every day. And not a little time, a lot of time. The kid’s lunches go in square ones; the chocolate covered pineapples go in a small round one; yogurt in a bigger round one. There’s never the right lids to cover the ones I need.

Everyday I reach up and grab one, and they all come falling down. Blue and white lids drop behind the stove and bottoms bounce into the dirty dish water. I’ve tried putting these things on low shelves, high shelves, and the Lazy Susan. The Lazy Susan is a nightmar if one gets stuck and you can’t turn the thing or reach the lid to get it out. I do believe I screamed loud enough when this has happened to attract have people come running.

Then there’s the box of unwanted lids and tops and leaky plastic bears that dribble when drank out of. Why do I keep them? Because I might use them some day of course!

Saturday as I was rearranging my pantry and putting that “life junk” (you know paper plates, extra yarn, grocery bags, felt, the little sauce warmer with the candle under it that I never use…you know things like that away). My daughter wasn’t anywhere around so I started tossing bits and pieces of old games, dried out markers, and half used pieces of paper into a garbage bag. I placed it on top of the table just in case Coco would come in. Then my nanny saw it and said she wanted to go through it later - stuff her grandkids might use. She placed the garbage bag in the garage. Even when I try to throw things out, I can’t.

Eventually enough time will pass and I’ll toss those bears and lids. But in the meantime, when you’re Tupperware falls behind the stove or falls on your head and makes you say a few words you hope your children will never repeat, remember there is this odd little woman in Costa Rica suffering just like you. You are not alone. The feelings cross International boundaries and do not know language barriers. We all live in Tupperware hell.

Coco turned eight. I keep asking her if she’s six or four or seven.

Are you sure you’re eight? I asked the morning of her birthday and while preparing for the birthday party with her family and school mates.

She hunched her shoulders forward and rolled her eyes upwards as she returned to the calendar - as she has all week - to cross of THAT day. Her birthday. It had arrived.

Are you sure some aliens didn’t come and take my little baby away and replace her with this tall, girl with a growing vocabulary that likes to read and spend time alone in her room reading?

She leaped around the living room changing that she was eight, and it was her birthday.

I’m not so sure she wasn’t kidnapped and taken away, my little one. I reminded her of the pain - oh the pain! - I suffered to bring her into the world (a tradition carried on by my own mother). But I say it lightly, just to make her smile. I reminded her that she was bald until she was two, and we look at the photo of her third birthday when she and her nanny dressed up in Costa Rican dresses and twirled about. In the same amount of time it took her to turn eight, she’ll be sixteen and possibly ignore the fact that I even exist.

She chose Spirit the horse for her cake at a small party with her classmates. We watched the movie the other night and thought it was a good fit, for this eight year old girl has more Spirit than I realize and takes me on adventures that should be captured on film for the world to see.