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?
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.
I sat down to get the passports in order: Two for each kid - one from Costa Rica and one from the United States. One for me.
Where’s the one for me? Inside the little packet where I ALWAYS keep the passports locked up, mine was missing. As my heart began tapping hard enough to hit my rib cage, panic set in. My mind was already trying to figure out when I was going to go to the U.S. Embassy to get another one. Could it be issued on time? But I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning because Addison needs that special note because he’s a a special child…oh and how much will it cost…oh my, it’s going to be hours wasted sitting in the Embassy. The Embassy is…..is…..yuck. The people there really try being nice, but everyone knows it’s this necessary evil we all have to endure to prove we exist by getting forms and stamps and permissions and little books and signatures…..Oh dear, I’ll never get it all done.
So, I went to a fruit market. Although the worry-wart inside claws at me to look through my office just one more time, I know it’s better to remove myself completely and let the subconscious simmer, trusting the answer will bubble up. Addison needed agua de pipa - coconut water - which he drinks about four times a day. Every town has a market that feels like an adult candy store. Just the colors are soothing. And I tell you this about Costa Rica (yes, I know there are exceptions) but almost without fail, I get this warm, cozy feeling every time I am served by a Costa Rican vendor. This even happens at Taco Bell. I mean, those times when we resort to fast food, I find myself actually looking forward to placing my order.
The waiter at the cafe calls me joven - young lady (see if that doesn’t make your day!); the gas attendant calls me reina; the Taco Bell cashier call me amor. I suppose this should raise the ire of my feminist side, but why? There’s so much good intention behind all these little greetings, I’d be the one missing out. By the time I left the fruit market, the three women and I had bonded over honey and coconut. The Spanish flew out of me like a native. I waved as I left and said I’d be back. Tenga un buen dia!
My passport! It’s on a shelf where I set it with the good intention of then moving it to the safe place. My passport now sits all cozy next to the other four. Addison is flush with pipa, and I can get back to that packing.
Que dicha! Gracias!
As if following the script of a better-than-average made-for-T.V. movie, our beloved guinea pig, Mouse died this morning. A few days ago, we pulled the little rodent and her daughter - Maisy - out of the cages for a “running of the guinea pigs.” Mouse has been with us for 5 and one-half years and Maisy is one of a lineage of eight cavies that followed.
Although the needs of children usually shove pets down on the attention scale, we still tried to get those piggies out for some fun. Oh how we giggled! If you haven’t seen a guinea pig’s bottom wiggle across the floor, you haven’t lived (put it on that list of 100 things to do before I die!). I noticed something odd but didn’t think much of it. When I snuggled the two creatures up on the yellow towel to rest Mouse sighed and closed her eyes - even with all the commotion - she looked like a tired little guinea pig.
This morning, something odd happened again. Usually Coco is responsible for feeding the animals. We gather together lettuce and set it on a plate. Coco goes out every morning and night and spends some time talking to them and kisses them good-night. Here’s the odd thing: This morning Coco and I ascended the stairs together, but I held the plate in my hand and said, “No, that’s O.K. I’ll feed them. You got to put those slippers on.” It was a cool morning.
I opened the cage; tossed in a cucumber; and stopped short of burying the lifeless Mouse in lettuce. She lay across the cage as if she’d stretched out to yawn and stuck there. How odd it was that I found the body and not Coco. Or was it? I descended the steps and joined the nanny and kids at the table while everyone finished eating. I gave hand signals to the nanny that we had a dead body on the grounds. We both knew what that meant. Soon their would be tears. The odd thing was, I had a little time to prepare for it.
I don’t believe in turning away from the facts of life. Look straight into it; feel IT all; and move on. For this much I know: If we don’t, IT sticks in our craw and causes havoc for years to come (but that’s just my little theory). If Coco had found the body, we’d have managed, but it was as if this script had been written for me, I just had to keep turning the page. Coco finished her breakfast, and I got to have a cup of coffee. Then, I retrieved the body and put it a towel so my daughter see the soft little face she so loved.
We moved to the living room, I nodded to the nanny a signal as if we were about to launch a secret raid. Coco wiggled around on the floor, pretending she was a dog. Her brother was thrilled. I called her over to the couch and looked into her eyes. I brushed back her hair and knew in less than a minute, there’d be tears. I took Coco to the body. As tears streamed, one after the other, over her cheeks, she leaned over and kissed her beloved pet good-bye.
“I love you Mouse. You were the best guinea pig ever in my life.”
We moved to the patio. I grabbed the shovel and found a spot of dirt that wasn’t a clump of roots. It’s odd isn’t it? Or is it? I have this feeling it’s not just chance. I have a feeling that the more in tune we all get with this good energy vibe; the more we unwrap ourselves and give to others; the more we become flexible and graceful at all times, the more we stay on the page and can see that movie unfold, the more empowered we become to direct the movies or our lives into gorgeous little scene, after scene, after scene…..
The nanny said a blessing and a prayer over the grave, and Coco made a plaque. Rest in peace little Mouse. Cross over the Rainbow Bridge to bliss. Run like you’ve never run before!
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!
Every so often, my daughter breaks into tears about leaving her dogs behind. It’s only been ten months since our family fell apart, and some of the wounds are still fresher than I’d like to admit. Quite often her sadness will start out as something else, like getting mad at me. One evening, about 5 o’clock, Coco starting talking tursely with the nanny and her brother and me. Then, she began assaulting our dining chair. Hmmmmm…I thought. I bet this is not about the chair. When we sat down to eat, IT all came out. Whenever that “all-encompassing” job description is written for mothers, it must include - emotional sponge. I can see it now on my resume:
October 2000 - present: Emotional Sponge. From the birth of my daughter until present, I have grown large pours in my soul to absorb, process, and assimilate every feeling felt by every household member, which includes nannies, husbands and ex-husbands, and other children I occasionally care for.
Because mothers are there - even if they’re working moms - when we’re on the job at home or away (ever witness the flood of phone calls mothers get at work?) - all tears, anger, fright, fear, disappointment, confusion, joy, and boredom (the list is too long to name here) are directed towards the mother figure.
You seem a little angry Coco. Did something happen at school? I asked her. She squished up her face as though she’d just looked into the sun. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Mommy, I miss Buddha! Why can’t we have Buddha?
The tears opened wide. There’s not much I could say. And every time this happens, I’ve learned it’s better to not act directly on the subject and start looking for Golden Retrievers in the Want Ads. Thus, I become a spong. I listen without trying to judge; without getting angry myself because I’d rather be eating in peace. She went on and on about how she missed her pets. When the tears ebbed, I saw a chance to steer the conversation over the hump. I made her laugh about something, and she used her skirt to dry some of those tears.
One time, I opened my mouth during one of those “sponge” moments. A moment I’m paying for to this day. When my daughter was in the midst of a tantrum at two years old, I opened my mouth and agreed to take home the stray guinea pig cradled in the vet’s hand. There’s no doubt cavies are cute (the more scientific term for us piggy owners), but all these creatures, from dog on down, poop. If it wasn’t for the pooping, I’d be thrilled with the little critters. But since they deposit their minerals in every corner of the house, they don’t come out of their cage often. But this night, I agreed to a “running of the guinea pigs” to help ease this pain about her dogs.
Addison was of course thrilled. He scooted around trying to catch them. He started out petting the animals, but after awhile got a little too excited and began picking them up by their hairs. When they got tired, we snuggled them up into a towel. Guinea pigs can live from 3 to seven years. Of course mine will most likely live until their thirty. It’s quite a price to pay for being a sponge and not knowing when to keep my mouth shut. So, I clean the cages and feed them a few times a day….wait a minute…did they get fed this morning??….sorry, I’ve got to run!
There is a phenomena in the central valley happening: these places that serve up an “all-inclusive” birthday party. Pirate places, gyms, and giant bouncy-slide barns can be rented for a child’s birthday. For three hours or so, children run around; squeal; jump; eat cake; and then break the pinata while parents nibble on tiny bocas and with any luck, a latte. This building is not that. When construction started, I was so sad. I mean what else could be a tin pink, blue, and yellow two-story structure?
A jazz club of course. To my relief, jazz plays now to the west side of San Jose. The Jazz Cafe has been known around Costa Rica for as long as I’ve been here for being one of the only consistent and quality jazz clubs. Now there’s two. Although I’ve yet to go inside, a few girlfriend’s are trying to convince me to head out and catch a show. Tell me who decided these things should start at 10 p.m.? Anyway….
The design, well all’s forgiven, for what’s inside this bright - let’s say interesting - design outshines anything kind of shell it’s wrapped in. (Stay posted if I figure out how to stay up past 8 and catch a show.)
*The new Jazz Cafe is in Escazu across from Multiplaza. It’s on the frontage road to get to Cima/Plaza Itzcazu. I mean you cannot miss it. Impossible.
I was considering trimming this branch in my garden as it was growing quite large and shading the flowers underneath. It’s a good time to top off bushes and trees. With all the rain they’ll sprout new growth in like - seconds (it seems anyway). When I looked up, a clump of bugs lined the branches. But not one bug, several types. They were either duking it out or eating each other. Turns out they were helping each other.
Coco! I screamed, in a voice that was a little too excited.
Go get that book on animals! You know the one we’ve read like a billion times. Here’s those ants sucking the honey out of the other bug’s butt! Here’s that ant we read about!
I lifted Coco up to the branches and sure enough she agreed. Aphids at atop a bump, which was their nest. They had these long black and yellow antennas. Some were till making the nests and some were just there, brooding I guess. Behind several of the aphids was an ant. The ant was as big as the aphid. And sure enough, the ant was sucking honey out of the aphids behind.
Coco ran up to find her book. I get all tingly when we find a real-life example of something we’ve been studying. Coco looked in the index under chapter, Side by Side: Animals Who Help Each Other.
“Tiny green garden insects (these were a bigger cousin of the tiny version) called aphids make honey in their bodies from the plant juices they drink. Ants “milk” honeydew from the aphids almost like a farmer gets milk from a cow. Using it’s antennae, an ant gently strokes the back of the aphid. Out oozes a drop of delicious honeydew for the ant to sip.” The benefit for the aphid for putting up with being milked all the time (I can empathize after breastfeeding two kids!) is that the ant will protect the aphid from predators.
Every time the ant felt an attack coming on - even if it was just the wind - it would rear back, hoist up it’s antennas, and get ready for battle. I’ve been bitten by this ant, and I know it means business.
After explaining three billion things to my kids, it’s nice to see an actual example right in front of our eyes - and one that wasn’t set up in advance by “mommy trying to teach us something.” But here’s a secret: I’ll probably go out and check out those bugs a hundred times before the eggs are hatched and the group moves on. It’s like when I was a little girl and I’d lay on the dock. I’d peer through the cracks in the wood and watch the muscles stick their tongue out and move across the rocks. I could watch for hours. There’s something so mesmerizing, so simple, so just…just…right about it. I guess that’s whatt I’m looking at. And perhaps that’s what my children will learn.
Sunstruck Radio hits again with it’s second program. My great friend Anna Jordan and I put together this spiffy show about what it is like to actually make that move to the postcard you’ve always dreamed of. Cool, crazy, calm and sometimes collected, but always interesting.
Meg Latshaw shares with us what it was like to pack up those boxes and relocate from the United States to sunny Costa Rica. She’s retired and looking forward to a brand new life in Central America.
SunStruck Radio
We grab a few other voices and ask them some interesting questions on what they brought with them; what exactly do they think; and what did they leave behind.
I share a story that spins from downtown St. Paul, Minnesota where I actually lost my cookies on my journey to paradise. It’s not all that easy to pick up everything and move to another country. Even my pets had to adjust.
I hope you enjoy. Perhaps spread the word and subscribe. Paradise is really just a matter of the mind, isn’t it??
P.S. It’s all FREE! So Subscribe now!
