Almost every morning, there are three to five dead cockroaches - on their backs - on my first floor. As the kids finish up their breakfast before getting on the school bus, I walk around, broom in hand, in search of carcasses. We’ve all gotten over - to some extent - the icky feeling a cockroach brings on the moment it appears. Addison puts his hands up to his sides, palms wide open, and flutters them with a big OOOHHHhhh expression. Coco will yell out: Cockroach! and in a very matter-of-fact manner, put her shoe on and attempt to kill it. She often misses, and I’m left to follow after the crippled insect and finish the job.

Some things just bring on shivers automatically: cockroaches, humming with your lips together, running nails against a chalkboard, a pee in the middle of the night, or protein drinks. The nannies and I got in the habit of counting them. Four this morning! I got six! Slow night - only two. Sweeping the bodies up is annoying because the legs stick in the straw and when I go to swish them onto the dustpan, several of them are hanging down and I can’t get them off.


Then, someone ALWAYS starts in with a round of La Cucaracha…..

La cucaracha, la cucaracha

Ya no puede caminar

Porque no tiene, porque le falta

una pata para caminar.

Why do they die on their backs? I suppose there is some scientific explanation, but I like to imagine that the ones that make it out to the ceramic tile managed to escape torture within their tribe. Crawling inch by inch with every last ounce of dignity to a place where they can peacefully “cross-over” to the other side. With one last breath, the tip over, ask for forgiveness, and die.

Before moving to Costa Rica, cockroaches were something “other” people had. Not me. Here, everybody’s got them. They do not discriminate. And a fumigation will get rid of a crop under the sink and behind the cupboards for awhile, but they’ll be back. Heck, these blattodeas can live a week without their heads. Talk about a shiver.

I respect this bug’s right to live right along with the mosquito and the flea and the fly. But in my home, I feel like it’s self-defense. The poop can spread disease and can increase the severity of allergies. I suppose I’ll always let out a little scream when one lands on me, but I kill now without remorse. Late one night, I went downstairs to get some water. A cockroach ran across the floor in search of a hiding place. It bumped up against the wall before I could do it in. I wasn’t in the mood to hear that “crunch” from the kill. It ran onto the wall and finally found a place to disappear. I finished the water and turned off the light. I bid goodnight to the insect, knowing this was most likely his last.