My daughter is learning all about road safety in class. The Costa Rica government does mandatory testing of children every other year. So Coco will be tested this year in the main subjects the government deems important. She then will not be tested the following year. This section is on rules of the road. She’s got it all down: Cross at the corners; look both ways; reading road signs and semáforos - red, yellow, and green. Except for spelling regalememtos correctly, I think she’ll do fine.

Then there’s the real thing.

The roadways in Costa Rica are held together by a fine thread of hope: Hope we will not crash. Hope we will not hit a pedestrian. Hope the other driver stops because I’m not about to. Hope I can pass this slow truck full of cows even though the double yellow lines I learned about in school tell me I could die because I actually can’t see the other car coming towards me around the bend. Let’s just cross our fingers and hope we make it to our destination.

I do not think I am exaggerating when I say that every time I drive somewhere, some one runs a stop sign. Usually it’s the case of the second driver sneaking through behind the lead driver when he was supposed to wait another turn. Or it’s the “slow-down-to-second-gear-and-go-through-the-stop-sign-even-though-it’s-technically-not-my-turn” kind of thing. It’s hard to explain to Coco why all the rules are broken.

Well, it’s hard to walk on sidewalks when there aren’t any I told her. I have a tougher time explaining away the “cheaters” as I call them. All those that decide stop signs or speed limits weren’t really made for them. Or the drivers that make two lanes when the lines (refer back to that lesson in school!!) indicate there is only ONE. ONE. NOT TWO! Even if you can sneak by this long line of cars with your tire riding the gutter! Why on earth do all these driver’s think they get to go first? What happens to the kind, empathetic, understanding Costa Ricans I so dearly love? Where do they go when they shut that door and turn the key?

With the rain we had yesterday afternoon, I could see the road near my house actually washing away. Rocks and asphalt crumbled under the force of the torrent. Much of the time, potholes get filled with what ever is available (even coconuts!). Crazed, inflated egos behind the wheel are the last thing we need. Driving in Minnesota this summer made me sad because it was so pleasant. People not only stopped at four-way intersections, they patiently waited for each driver to take his/her correct turn. I felt like I could drive all day.

So as my daughter learns, so do I. By being patient, stopping at intersections, and not loosing my cool, I’m trying to show my kids how to save a few lives and keep our livers in tact. Maybe a few of those parents are learning along with their kids the rules of roads. All I can do is hope.

My nephew and I are running a bet: Who can do the most pulls ups? My nephew is a strong, bright, athletic, and slender thirteen year old. Me? As we skirt around the age and weight issue (and maybe the athletic issue), I do like to think of myself as brighter than the average light bulb; however, the kid has a few up on me, so I got a handicap. The next time we see each other, he has to do six pull-the-body-all-the-way-up-so-the-head-is-peaking-over-the-bar. I have to do four.

I started a pull-up bar routine, which takes only 15 minutes or less a few times a week, on my bathroom shower rung. Yes, I checked that the screws were properly secured into the wall. After mastering one full pull-up, the bar broke. The screws hadn’t come out of the wall, no, the bar was rotten on the inside. Though the shower bar looked like a piece of steel, it was piece of poor quality metal with wood cork on the inside. I replaced the shower curtain and tried again on Addy’s therapy machine. That was about as stupid as trying the shower curtain because I ripped a tendon in my elbow.

Six months later while I’m in the States, I see my nephew’s bar hanging in his bedroom door frame. I inquire as to the cost and cannot believe the thing was only $11.99. I didn’t even bother looking in Costa Rica since electronic and exercise equipment seem to be at least double or three times the price that for 1/2 the value. I bought it and pitched it in the suitcase. I moved it to the top of the stairs, and there it sat in that corner that gathers all the junk that moves from first floor to second floor and back again (good argument for a rambler).

Three weeks later, I moved the bar to another corner near the door frame I was going to screw it into. Two weeks later, I hauled up the tool box with the drill in it. Another two weeks go by and on a rainy afternoon, I read the instructions and begin installing it. I marked the Xs and pushed the spinning drill bit into the wood. I could imagine that underarm flop melting away. That flop we all know we have.

With the brackets in place, I slipped the bar in and hung there. It’s a long, long way up. This is going to be a lot harder than it looks. But it’s got to be easier than the gym and all those weights. I’ve done all that. Goodness, I barely have time to brush my teeth three times a day. But the flop stops at nothing, so I’ll give it a go.

How many can I do? None. I stood on my tippy toes and figured I better go slow because I don’t want that elbow pain again. I always did take more to the tortoise than the hare anyway.

Living in Costa Rica is a lot like camping - camping lite. About every six weeks or so we get notified that we will not have water. Today, the water was shut off in three or four cities from 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. At least this time we had notice.

There are days when I’ll walk up, turn a water faucet and….nothing. We either have missed the announcement or there wasn’t one. Because we had notice yesterday, we gathered all the buckets, bins, and baskets that didn’t leak to store water. Everyone was sure to shower before 9 a.m. When the water is off, I see how often we use it on automatic pilot: A little oil on my finger tips - I run to the sink. I always brush my teeth and then forget when I reach for the water that I can’t rinse. Flushing the toilets? The word was out early to follow the old saying: if it’s yellow let it mellow……

Not having water gives me the chance to be appreciate this liquid because most of the time I run on automatic and don’t give a second thought of how wonderful it is. One of the reasons I like camping so much, besides the fact that it is quiet, tranquil, and smells so fresh, is that I get in contact with what little I need to make me happy. I’ve gone deep, deep into the wilderness with no more than I can carry. Water becomes a precious commodity, and I am aware of every drop I drink.

In Costa Rica, we get all sorts of opportunities to be “without” what the developed world takes for granted. Electricity pops off and on; streets are often more pothole than pavement; and it can take a year or two to get a phone line. Instead of blasting away at the injustice of it all, I find it a chance to be thankful for the simple things in life I use every day without thinking. Remember the New Year’s panic of 1999 - 2000? People obsessed about running out of water, computers crashing, and the lights going out. News reports showed people stocking up on flashlights, heaters, and gallons and gallons of water. Most people in Costa Rica just went about their day and knew the water might dry up or the lights might go out, but no one gave it much thought. And if the electricity didn’t come back on, they knew the sun would come up in the morning.

As with every case of comparing Costa Rica and developing world, I see value in both that each could learn from the other. No one was more thrilled than me to drive on smooth, paved, wide roads in the United States. But a pothole here and there is maybe a little reminder to be grateful for the part of the road that is paved. When the water comes back on, we’ll be flushing and brushing right back with the best of ‘um.

Down here in Central America, we get accustomed to our sunny mornings. Today, it is pouring rain and dark. The umbrellas pop open, and we resign to the fact that it’ll probably be a long, wet day. Addison got up at 5 a.m. sounding like the Snufalupagus from Sesame Street. I put a few nose drops in each nostril and rested him against my side. Snuggled in the dark, we both fell back asleep for an hour, until it was time to get Coco ready for school.

I unfolded myself from the blankets and hoped Addison would sleep a little longer. After zipping up my warm-up jacket, I looked over. Addison was chattering, kicking off the blankets. His dark blue eyes glowed just enough so I could see he was smiling. I reached down to pick him up. He sat up and put his arm around me, like an old man would do. He patted his hand on my shoulders. Sometimes I get the feeling that this little boy is a wise old man that was reincarnated into this soft, small body to teach me all the lessons and wisdom he gained in another life time.

After that hug, I was warm and had all I needed for the day. It didn’t seem so gloomy out anymore.

Coco ran over to me at gym class, cupping her hand beneath her mouth to catch the pool of blood. She cried as I ushered her to the bathroom. I turned on the water and looked at the tooth hanging by a thread.

All you have to do is yank it out, I said, unrolling some toilet paper to catch the drooling spit and blood.

If it comes out then the mouse will take it! she said, dabbling the matted paper into her mouth.

The pain of pulling out the tooth was secondary to the thought that Coco would loose her tooth to a little mouse that comes in the night to take children’s teeth. I thought this mouse to be as odd as the bell in France at Easter. And why exactly are we adults charading around as fairies and mice anyway? So when I need to know the all-important things I life - I Google it. And wouldn’t you know it? It sounds like the mouse and the fairy as the one, in a way.

A long time ago in Europe, people ran around burying baby teeth as a form of good luck. Well out of this wacky tradition came a French fairy tale called “La Bonne Petite Souris.” A little mouse changes into a fairy and hides under a mean King’s pillow and bashes out his teeth every night to torment him. Then, over in the Spanish speaking countries, Ratoncito Pérez, or “ratón de los dientes” - the tooth mouse, was a character created by Luis Coloma. The Queen wanted a tale to comfort her little heir because he’d lost a tooth. Flash to present moment, and we have a little mouse hauling around a ladder and large coins, slipping unnoticed under a child’s pillow, exchanging money for enamel, and escaping in the night to the next toothless child’s bed.

As usual I am wedged between two customs, and now it looks like there’s a little French in the mix. I find myself mixing my metaphors and legends all in an attempt to ease my child’s mind that she’s just lost a part of her body and nothing else will fall out or die in the night. Over the eight teeth Coco’s lost, I’ve been known to say things like:

Well, the fairy guides the little mouse with the twinkle of a light and then the mouse hauls his little butt up the two-story building, finds a hole, does the deed, and scurries along.

Of course the little mouse knows where you live! The fairy keeps the address list!

Coco was so happy about loosing her tooth, she came screaming down the steps to tell me. Tears came down her face and her voice cracked. I held her while she gripped her tooth tightly in her palm. I waffle about what to do and say with all these culture-created tales. It has crossed my mind to tell my kids that none of these things exist. It’s all just made up.

When Coco let go of her grip on me, the mouse immediately crept into the conversation. Coco declared she is NOT giving up her tooth. She has a little bear box that holds most of the teeth. Coco doesn’t care about the money, I don’t think any kid really does, though that can become the focus. The mouse, the fairy, the bunny, I guess I see these as tools. Metaphors are delightful, useful ways to explain and decode what it is we are truly feeling. Talking about a mouse is a lot easier than putting a child on the spot and asking them exactly how they feel. And I’ve found if I stay with the moment, and reach a little further, I do get to hear what my children are worried about.

I went back to the kitchen and flipped the quesadillas. Coco followed me. Then, she jumped up and down and said:

The kids at school won’t make fun of me anymore!

I told her she was very brave as I cut her food into tiny, easy to chew chunks. I sensed the little mouse/fairy had already been by and slipped us a whole bag full of gold.

Cool ceramic floors offer a wide range of benefits. For example they are easy to clean, don’t trap dirt or pollen, and if you happen to need a cool place to pass out on because you haven’t exercised in a very long time, it just can’t be beat.

Since I left college, I always seem to be “catching up” with my training schedule (and I use the word training here in the lightest possibly way). After almost six months of building up some assemblance of muscles where mere tissue once existed, I shot it all to heck by going to the States and eating my way through the day and night and day. Sweet and sour pork; ice cream; coffee drinks; many creamed spinach things; and dark chocolate covered almonds. (If ever these things come to Costa Rica - do not tell me.) Though all my clothes still fit, I sense the tissue that was converted to a bit of muscle has now regressed back to it’s former state of squishiness.

I know it won’t take long to build my time back up without having to pass out each time. Those chocolate covered almonds will be a memory. Before I know it, I’ll be two steps ahead and maybe one more over to the side.

Since Addison decided to lick the play log-cabin at the birthday party yesterday, he probably picked up a bug. Exactly what was not needed two days before a day - a long day - of International airline travel. His immune system is a bit touchier than other kids, so it seems he’s always “just gotten over something” or “coming down with something.” Instead of having two or three months in between illnesses, they but up against each other like baby birds in the nest.

THEY say that we “get” what we can handle. And THEY say that we grow through challenges. At this rate, I think I’ve got it figured that I am as big as a whale, or at least an elephant.

Addison got a clean bill of health at his doctor’s office, sort of. He’s tall, but skinny - for his age group in the “Downs” category. There’s that pesky little cough, but he’s visibly stronger and more bubbly than ever. I have about five doctors I rotate around to depending on the current physical or mental need. This doctor is a wonderful woman that ushered Addy through the major surgery on this third day of life on his digestive track. She then was the pediatrician in charge of getting him off all those tubes and beeping machines, and home.

Since I needed those letters for the airline to get Addison’s food on board, I did the old “kill the bird with one stone” trick. He also needed a yearly check-up. It’s kind of fun to watch someone’s face who hasn’t seen a child in awhile.

“He’s so big!” She couldn’t get over his size.

I admit. I beamed a bit. Then came that question, the BIG one: Is he walking yet? Most Downs kids at this age are. Addison got really clinging and grasped any part of me he could while she looked down his ear tubes and throat. She has this really distinctive voice like Susan Saint James, and I think he remembered all those needles she stuck in him a few years ago.

“You can walk Addison,” she said to him as we finished the exam. He pointed to the life-size Bob the Builder in her office. I set him on the floor. “He just doesn’t want to,” she continued.

And in some ways, I believe this is true. From the time Addison was born, he has been completely content with whatever spot he was in. Instead of running over (or scooting in this case) to destroy my plants, he’d be entirely content with playing with his toes or the fringe on the carpet. Addison is an observer; he likes to watch. Yet, with any quality we posses there is probably some adjusting we all need to do to stay in balance.

I didn’t defend how much I was working with Addison. The mounds and mounds of times we walk back and forth in the living room with the baby stroller loaded with rice and rocks. I just took it in. There’s a saying that says something like a wise man can hear wisdom from any fool. I’m not saying my doctor is a fool by any means, no what I have learned is sometimes just the right message I need to hear can come from anywhere. If I get all “uppity” and “know-it-all,” I could miss a few good words that could change my life or just simply lift my spirit.

When I told the nanny the news, it was like igniting a fire under her. By the end of the day, Addison was scaling the stools and walls with almost 100% more frequency than before. News flashes from the doctors always juice the nannies into action. Sometimes we all need that extra shot of confidence and support because after two and on-half years with this guy, we can easily slip into a comfortable routine that isn’t challenging anymore. The trick is not being a fool by not listening and hearing the wisdom even fools can bring.

One of the advantages of having someone inside my home, working alongside me with me the kids and helping out with the chores around the house, is that I get to question my habits and the roots of my cultures right down to the sink basket. I grew up thinking that metal little catch-all-the-food gadget was for, well, catching all the food that either didn’t go in the mouth or the garbage. Without that little thing, what horror! What trouble we will have. Every time I approach the sink when either a maid or nanny has washed some dishes, the sink basket disappears. Sometimes it’s in the dish dry rack under all the dishes, and sometimes I can’t even find it.

What “heck” I would have gotten from not only my mother but myriad of landlords who would have shaken their fists at me due to all the clutter I was sending down the drain. Do you know how expensive it is to call RotoRouter?? Have you ever seen the black sludge caused from all those little bits of uneaten food?? Shame on you! Whenever I return to the sink. I dutifully put the thing back in it’s hole. When I return, the maid or nanny takes it out. Guess who’s sink clogged up more? In ten years here, I’ve never had a drain back up. In the States? Oh, the sludge I’ve slogged through.

It’s also a custom to dry all the wet towels fully open, splayed across the counter tops. I, on the other hand, installed two spiffy plastic hooks on the side of the oven. What brilliance! I thought. The wet towels will hang out of site (because even though they have cute little red checks when you get them home from the linen store, after two washing they are just plain ugly) and dry from the warmness of the oven and stove. Do you think anyone but me hangs them there? No. Without out fail, when I return to a sparkling kitchen after someone was kind enough to help with the dishes, I can’t find the sink basket and wet towels cover all the kitchen tops.

Ten years ago, I would have fumed at the missing sink basket, just like my ancestors did. This is cultural adjustment in the most basic form. Lifestyle patterns root deeply in the past, and we pass them on often without even considering if they are useful or not. A friend of mine, an anthropologist turned owner of the Don Carlos hotel in downtown San Jose, said once when I interviewed him that culture is like a ball and chain around our ankles. We just drag it along with us, accepting it as our lot. Shaking loose that ball and chain can be hard and scary. I mean THEY cut the grass differently here; THEY use a different kind of soap; THEY eat rice and beans; THEY don’t return phone calls like WE do. Culture is the music, language and artistic tradition created and carried on through generations, but I also see culture as passing on the things we need, or think we need, to make it through our day. I can now speak the language and manage the climate in Costa Rica, but it’s been a much more interesting journey to challenge my own “culture” and shake loose what I have valued as “so” important.

Working women in Costa Rica don’t have dryers. It’s all powered by the sun and not those high-tech panels that capture the energy so it can be harvested for future use. No. The actual sunshine. Flat means it gets dryer faster. Drive across any country side and you’ll see towels and clothes laying on top of bushes and even over the grass - each grabbing it’s spot on the sun in hopes of getting dry before the afternoon rain begins. A working women has no time to concern herself with a stylish kitchen. It doesn’t matter where the towels hang, as long as they get dry.

The funny thing, is not matter how I try, I can’t get myself to wash dishes without that little sink basket in the hole. I’ll dig it out plop it in there. And when the towels cover the kitchen, I take each one down. And instead of getting all worked up that things weren’t done as I would do them, I appreciate the care that went into the act and the history behind it. And the dishes pile up the the sink regardless of what I think.

All of a sudden, it was quite. I opened the door. The puddles were still. The air was cold and chilly. After almost a long string of rainy days and nights, the rain had stopped. My daughter slept off a fever in her bed. My son was insisting the nanny read one more book as he sniffled and coughed. I put an extra blanket on my bed. As head off to bed, he was so bundled up in clothes, it looked like he was ready to play in the snow instead of sleep. The quite didn’t last long.

Although Coco slept the hours away and awoke free of a fever, Addison coughed the night away. Neither one of us got much sleep. The blue sky and warm sunshine was the only thing that kept me from screaming and throwing all my dinnerware against the walls. I called the school and the bus driver to tell that Coco was sick. She plopped in front of the television, and the nanny took over the care of Addison. I went back to bed.

We’ve been watching, and listening, to non-stop construction next to us since we moved in. Work is allowed to begin at 6 a.m. here. The condominium next to mine is half finished. Since the developer probably hasn’t sold it yet, it’s one of the last units to finish. This bright morning, the guys decided to chip away at a cement wall just six inches from my bedroom wall. The guy would slide a metal ladder along the wall and then tap tap tap on the cement. That might not sound like it’s loud. But consider this: Homes in Costa Rica can be built just six inches away from each other. You can place a back wall on your property line. The home next to you can plop a wall six inches from that wall. (There’s all sort of rules for windows so everyone is not peering into everyone else’s home.)

The guy with the hammer and chisel was tapping right above my bed. Scream inside a cement wall and the sound resonates and bounces all over the place until the vibration dies out. Tap against a cement wall, and it sounds like it’s right inside your head. I put a stuff lion over a blanket, which was already over my head. I managed to doze off. The guy slid his ladder further down towards my closet door, muffling it enough for me to fall asleep. The quite didn’t last for long.

I moved to my daughter’s room; placed blankets and a stuffed kitten over my head. After twenty minutes, the guy had made his way to my daughter’s room and now it sounded like he was chiseling in her bathroom. I sat up and remembered I was hungry. I had a day full of errands and chatter of cartoons,”things-to” to get ready for a theater performance my daughter’s in tomorrow. It was 8:30 and the sun was still shining, but it wouldn’t last for long.

I cleaned my car battery (see Daily Tip to Paradise for action photos!); Fed my daughter, again; and decided I better get out for a run. The rain has stopped. But as a seasoned ex-pat or Costa Rican knows: There’s a short time to get out and do IT. As I huffed along my route, I passed sofas drying on the sidewalk and dogs in the sunshine. I hopped over muddy puddles. The sun felt cozy on my shoulders. One puddle was so large and muddy, I had to wait stop and walk on the road with cars whizzing by. As I waited for a turn to join traffic, I saw this bouganivilla plant. It took a bit of a beating in the rain. More petals sat in the grass than on the branches. It was almost hard to tell where the plant began and ended. Sometimes I don’t know where the day ends and where it begins, and after four years of my sleep turned upside down, I feel like a hamster. It’d be nice to snuggle up in the corner of my wood chips and wait for the nibblets to be dumped in my dish.

The clouds are moving in. The construction workers have finished their coffee break and started not only tapping, but also sawing too. They’ve got to get back to work. There’s only a short time to do it.