Coco has been glued to her cousin. I can safely say this in almost a literal sense. For a week, Coco has followed her big cousin everywhere she’s gone. And her big cousin has been kind and, I believe quite thrilled, to have a built in friend. The two play this Ninetendo DS thing and “chat” and train their puppies, and bark commands to the tiny screen.

Coco bought the little machine in the first few days we were here. She used her own money. I’m hoping she’ll make some sort of positive connection to buying it with her own money rather than me doling out the cash. I’m sure some of that is in there, but at the age of seven there are still plenty of moments where she comes inches to destroying it. I try to let her be responsible for it’s care and up keep (it is cheaper than a real dog, or guinea pig come to think of it!), but I’ll see it laying on the edge of an arm chair or placed in a spot her seven year old brain thought was perfectly safe. This morning, she placed an Iced Animal cookie on the screen and traced it. I suggested possibly the oil in the cookie wasn’t good for the sensitive touch-screen.

As I prepared Addison’s spinach-salmon goo for his breakfast, Coco and her cousin talked to their puppies on the screen. One time, Coco said something and her cousin didn’t understand what she said.

Is that how you say stop in Spanish? she asked.

No, she replied. Coco told Lulu her computer dog to sit. Coco then turned to her cousin and asked:

How do you say stop in English?

The two girls looked at me as I laughed and laughed. This little game machine was well worth the money.

It’s summer as I remember it. The days are long. The days are warm. I get more of a tan here than I do in Costa Rica (unless we’re at the beach of course). The colors burst every where from the trimmed grass to the drying towels on the beach chairs.

The only thing that’s a little odd is that I want to speak Spanish to people, especially in stores. I have become this cultural mutt. I could never breed Minnesota out of my blood. Much of what I do and who I am is rooted in the backyards and screen porches of my past. Sometimes I feel like speaking Spanish. Maybe I should think about barking instead - being the mutt that I am.

We’ve removed all the contents of our suitcases and promptly have deposited them on my sister’s basement floor. Thrilled not to be anywhere near an airport, we settle into the routine of “visiting” (one of our favorite Midwest words). This “visiting” tradition is more important to me this year than I can ever remember.

Traveling with kids has always meant I get to do less of what the grown-up me would like to do. And, I’ve learned to be content with zoos and playgrounds and cutting short all my trips to these delicious coffee shops due to an almost, death-like boredom that overtakes my children as they wait for me to finish typing. But this year, I am so content and relaxed and almost - dare I say it - thrilled to wile away the hours on the deck with the kids or trying to again straighten all those clothes on the floor. And when I try again and again to connect to the Internet and that $5.00 Starbucks card I just bought isn’t working and Addison wants nothing to do with the FREEZING interior and groovy decor, I pack up and move on. I may have said a few “bad” words under my breath as I folded the stroller into the back seat, but over it I got. And so quickly. I even amazed myself.

I owe this peace to my kids. I owe this peace to my family. These people who put up with all my goofy odds and ends. I sat across the table yesterday at Caribou coffee (where I later found out had FREE internet!) and saw the same blue eyes of a dear friend behind those slightly tinted glasses I’d known for years. After ten years, he still thinks I’m an O.K. person. And I am grateful I can be his friend again. We really always have been. Those ten years, well, I guess we all have gaps. A little filling in, and we were back to those carefree nights -the ones we used to spend as kids -playing ping pong and skating and just being. Funny it took me such a darned long time to get back to just being all over again. And this time, I have more. I owe my peace to it ALL: from the green peas Addison just slopped on to my lap top to the long summer nights and to all the hearts, and to all the hearts.

Throw toilet paper in the toilet bowl; sidewalks as far as the eye can see; highways with no potholes; green manicured grass - what is this paradise? Oh wait a minute, it’s a developed country. Oh yes. I’m in the United States.

Accilimating to a culture goes both ways. I’m back where I came from, yet I’m used to where I am now. Since this is not making sense, I suppose it is best to stop writing before I write something I will regret. Finding Internet cable has been a bit more challenging than I expected. Finding a moment without the kids is more challenging than I remember. No school or husband or nanny to take them off my hand for an hour or two. My relatives are super wonderful, but that special needs thing adds just that extra zip in the holiday challenge.

When I stopped in Target to get some diapers, of course the “Baby” section was on the opposite end of the store. My mom waited out in the car with a sleeping Addison and a coughing Coco. I grabbed a pair of sunglasses on my way to the check out with the mega-super size of diapers (was everything always mega-sized???). I opened the bag of M&Ms after checking out. The super-sized bag dumped into my handbag. I could hear them jiggling on the bottom as I walked out. I couldn’t get the red or black price tag off the sunglasses, so I walked out AS IS. For a second I thought: what if I meet prince charming on the way out. I shrugged. Guess he’ll have to take me AS IS.

(Special note: Since my mother’s computer came out of the box when dinosaur’s walked the planet, you may experience spelling or grammatical errors that were out of the operator’s control in fixing. I’m trying to talk her into a new one, we’ll see about that.)

That’s what the guy at the Newark airport said when I approached yet another security check. I’d managed the 4 a.m. wake-up call; gave Addy a high five when he woke up without a fever; jammed food in the kids; loaded up with the taxi; stood the immigration; and……well on and on.

The flight was fine except for an incredibly crabby women that scolded a thrilled group of eleven year olds traveling to the U.S. to help bring cultures closer together. I hauled the kids and all our stuff down the isles and on to customs.

Coco! We forgot Addy’s bottles on the plane!

I had been so worried about finding Addison’s socks that I forgot the black bag of Addison’s coconut water under the seat. We shuffled through customs. Coco held back tears and I sought out the first Continental agent. She called the crew. It didn’t look good. The agent got a serious look on her face and said, “I’m going to check myself.”

I stood there and tried to comfort Coco. Those bottles were the key to the rest of the trip - in fact the first few days going without much drama.

Oh my! I said. I forgot the DVD player too!

Almost at the moment I finished this sentence, the woman from Continental came walking towards us with BOTH black bags in her hand. I ran up and hugged her! I think I may have professed my love for her too, but well. I was a bit excited. The DVD player I could live without, but those bottles!

At yet another security check, the guy in Newark shouted to his co-workers that I had way too much stuff. And I did. But it was that food, all that gooey food. When I forgot to take my laptop of the bag, I was sent to another line, barefoot, hoping holding Addison and hoping Coco would hold her own and stay close.

Once I mentioned the food was for my special needs son, the guys were so nice. They checked it all out and were nice, in their rough sort-of way.

I have a doctor’s note, I said. He said he didn’t need to see it. No one looked at the note.

On we went through delays. It was quite a few hours until we found ourselves in bed our new/old land. We spent the next day catching up - as we relatives tend to do. Coco is glued to her cousin and doing all those things cousin’s do.

And to answer’s Wendy’s question, no I don’t have a nanny, but it’s sometimes this is a good thing, though challenging. We’re ala going to learn a few things while we’re here - quite a few things.

San Jose, Costa Rica is a rickrack of people, sites, sounds and smells. It’s on odd downtown, not very attractive, funky, and lacking in that cosmopolitan feel. But downtown San Jose, for all it’s short comings, has found a place in my heart. As I travel back to the U.S. - the land of plenty - I see how familiar this town is to those who grew up here. The fruit guys, the lottery ladies, and the Central Market are all darling, quirky fixtures in our capital.

It may be a few days or two until I can post. If I’m luckily  - and they don’t shoot me at the airport, I’d like to throw up a word or two from during my five hours of trying to find something to do in New York.  I look forward to visiting the homeland. But all the while…..

I’ll be thinking of you, and singing under my breath: Do you know the way to San Jose?

Ex-pat life involves airplane travel. Many lives do these days. Some of us live in New York and fly home to visit the folks. My brother travels all over Europe and the Mid-East for his job, squeezing in visits with his kids while balancing the duties of work. I’ve flown home to Minneapolis, on average, about once a year. Last year my life crumbled into a broken cookie, so I stayed put. Since then, I’ve been finding new ingredients and baking up a storm. We’re going to the homeland! Minnesota here we come.

Packing and planning for a trip to the States is an art. Not only do I have to survive a 12 to 13 hour day in airports with two kids, but I plan out my year for the “things I’ll need.” What do I need that Costa Rica couldn’t give me? Not much, but there’s a few things….and since I’m going to the land of plenty- it’s a great bonus to be able to haul them back in my suitcase. Most items I bring back are vitamin supplements that can not be sent here. I’d have to get special permission to get a box of food/vitamins/drugs, and well, nailing myself to a tree would be more pleasant than the thought of dealing with the government, it’s paperwork, and it’s spooky, deep love of stamping every thing with timbres (official seals). On past trips, I’ve hauled back a juicer, crib linen set, and all the Christmas gifts from the relatives. Everyone who lives here does it. Once, a friend told me he hauled down a side of beef. Another packed a bathroom vanity because the “selection was so awful here.”

My relatives are quite used to my odd urges of stuff I have mailed to their houses. A box will arrive; they’ll email me about the contents; I’ll check the receipt and make sure it’s all there; they place it in “my” corner and wait for the next package. Electronics are something we all haul back. On average, cameras, computers - all those kinds of things - cost an average of ten to twenty percent more. But before I can pick all that stuff up, I have to get there first.

Addison still can not swallow very well, so most of his food is blended goo of some form or another. He is also allergic to most food groups, especially grains, sugar, dairy, and so on. Liquids and gels are not permitted on flights over 3.3 ounces. Do you see the problem in this? I called the airlines to see if I would need special permission to bring on Addison’s food. When I finally found a human agent, she said I could bring as many 3.4 clear, ounce bottles of liquid I wanted. I hung up the phone and felt like I had been speaking in tongues. When I’m standing there at 6 a.m. in front of that conveyer belt and x-ray machine, the airline security guy/gal is going to let me pass with 20 bottles of liquid gels? I’m not taking any chances.

This is where that term “special” comes in with Addison. I fought it when I first settled into Down Syndrome , but now I have to admit we do need a word to communicate to security guards, educators, bus drivers, and others who don’t hang with Downs - or other kids with “special” needs that yes, we have these different needs that are out of the “normal” spectrum. My daughter will gleefully eat the disgusting ham sandwich we get on the plane for lunch, and I will be able to live on chips and a brownie. Addison, on the other hand, would choke if I gave him any of that. And if he did manage to eat it, he’d puff up like a porcupine under attack in a matter of a few hours.

Not trusting the airlines answer over the phone, I went directly to the Continental offices. Managers huddled and talked to other managers sitting somewhere in cubicles out of sight. I even brought a sample of the containers filled with Addison’s goo. The conclusion: They thought I’d be fine bringing the food on. The bottles of coconut water he likes to drink were another matter. A few scratched their heads.

Maybe you want to get a doctor’s letter about your son’s condition? Just in case.

So we’ve got a doctor’s appointment to get a letter in order to bring food on the airplane. This is what special is in the more literal sense: More time; more money; more running around. I’ll get the doctor’s note and all will be well. I’m ready to fight even the toughest, uptight, unsure, underpaid security worker out there. For I’ll be packing the best thing of all: my sense of humor. Like Twain said: The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter. Now that’s special!

I took the kids for a night out at a hotel. The beaches are so fantastic here in Costa Rica, but with kids I needed a break from the drive. So I made reservations at this hotel across the street from my house. One thing about living in a tourist town: hotels are everywhere. There was a special for Easter Week because most folks do head for that special beach place. I led Coco on a bit and didn’t completely reveal that we were going to a hotel near our home. She got all her things ready; sat in her booster seat; put on her earphones. Two minutes later, I pulled up to the front door.

Why are we stopping here? she said. Do you have to pee?

This is where we’re staying!

Laugh! I thought I’d cry.

We swam. We ate. We indulged in big beds. We made a mess. We ate some more.

As we were packing up, Coco cried and said she didn’t want to leave.

I knew what she meant. Before we went to bed (at the late old hour of 8 p.m.!), I walked around the water fountain. The sound of the water on the rocks could have kept me there for hours. Heaven.

But I still had to hide the Easter baskets somewhere in our small hotel; nibble on the carrots I brought with (bunny gets hungry you know); and sleep under that goose down blanket.

For tomorrow always come. Thank goodness it always comes.

As the season turns towards our hot months in Costa Rica, bathing suits go on sale; sunsets glisten; the moon’s visible at night; and my daughter returns to vomiting in the car on car trips. It gets hot in my car and the old air-conditioning has a hard time keeping the interior cool, especially during the noon hour.

Coco started turning white/green about 3/4 of the way through the trip over the windy mountain road. She shifted in her booster chair. I searched for a plastic bag. I guess my stock was low. During the rainy season, she throws up while traveling a lot less. In the side holder/thing in the door of my car I finally found a little plastic lunch bag. It was still full of little pieces of cereal from a the last trip we took. I handed her the bag. She held it in her lap.

Do you want me to stop?

This is where I feel torn between wanting to help her and getting to the destination because I know in the long run, she’ll feel better once we’ve made it to familiar turf. I scanned the shoulder and the only places to pull over were skinny strips of dried grass that looked like we’d fall off the cliff if I parked. She laid down on the seat and said she felt o.k. We forged on.

Then, she sat up and started barfing in the little baggie. What a sad sight. But after depositing what looked like all of her lunch, color returned to her face and she looked alive again. She sat up and stuck her head out the window like a puppy.

She handed me the bag of the contents from her stomach. It looked like an old bowl of cereal that sat in the sink for day. If I didn’t get rid of it soon, I’d loose it.

About a mile from our stop, I pulled over on a dirt road and dumped the liquid out on the road and tucked the bag back into the door of my car. I’m always amazed at how resilient kids are. I’m also always amazed at how much those little stomachs can hold.

Road trips have a certain air of familiarity, no matter the country. On the way home yesterday, I stopped midway through my four hour drive. Since I didn´t want to stop too long in order to avoid the worse of the worse rush hour traffic, I chose a grocery store.

I walked up and down the isles and found so little that was actually nutritious - chips, cookies, candy bars, and icky packages of crackers I have never grown to like over my 10 years in Costa Rica. What I really wanted was a candlelight dinner with a good cut of steak, but beef jerky would have sufficed. The sign on a door said: bolitos de cerdo, which literally translated means little balls of pork. I passed.

I remember a trip with my father about 15 years ago. We drove for two days to reach the East Coast. We stopped a lot, which I found ironic because when I was a child my father would stop only for stop signs and to pick up large equipment. (I hold no resentment here, only a fondness for my father´s endearing quirks.) Anyway…

Those Kwik Stop coffees….fake cappuccinos…now that´s what I wanted. I chose a pineapple/coconut/milk smoothie and a box of gum. I opened the oddly packaged beverage; toasted my father in the heavens he roams; and drove on into the rain.