"But When Am I Going to Grow Up, Mom?"

Christian started kindergarten a few weeks ago and what a difference a year makes! We held him back last year because then he was not ready for school.

The issue of holding a child back a year is a delicate one, I know. But in our case, it was the best thing we could have done for Christian. You see, it was due to his maturity that he was held back, and it would have been detrimental to him to make him struggle through the rest of the year. He knew his ABCs and 123s, but for him kindergarten was overwhelming compared to preschool. And the struggling could have continued for the next twelve years after that -- for all of us.

I, too, have a late summer birthday and was not ready for school when I started at the age of six. I did not have the opportunity to attend kindergarten and was thrown into first grade and struggled throughout the rest of primary, secondary and college years. I wanted for Christian to enjoy school and therefore enjoy learning. I realize many kids are ready when they're ready and it's up to each family to decide when to start kindergarten.

We are proud of Christian and the progress he has made. He rides the bus to school and knows not to get off unless one of us is there. He has the same teachers as last year and that makes all the difference.

So, this year Christian has achieved many milestones: kindergarten, learning to swim like a fish, two missing teeth, and riding a bicycle without training wheels. I hope our son will continue to enjoy school and that his intrepid curiousity never diminishes.

I Yike the Way He Yaks

This fall I started the speech-language pathology program at UNM and I'm taking three courses: Intro to Phonetics, Phonological Disorders of Children, and Language Development. It'll be a long road to completion of a Masters in SLP. What I especially am interested in is how children develop language/reading skills because of the different stages that each of the boys are at. Gabriel has by far the most interesting vocabulary and it is changing as he grows up (that's part of the reason I blog!). For the longest time he would say 'mocoyo' for motorcycle, and I continually have problems understanding what he is trying to say because of his lisp and way of speaking. Sadly, Christian usually has to translate for pathetic me. Every time we view videos of babies and toddlers speaking in one of my classes, I marvel that I have three little case studies right in front of me. Gaby still pronounces the /l/ sound like /y/ as in "you".

The other day my parents took the kids to McDonald's to play while Mike and I went out. We were in serious potty training mode for Gaby last week so that he could begin preschool this week. Unfortunately, I had to pull him out of his class because he is not "fully potty trained" as required . I'll live.

Anyway, while at McDonald's Gabriel told Grampa that he needs to go to the bathroom. When they entered, Gaby pointed outside the stall and told Grampa to wait there.

Grampa heard the toilet flush about three times and wondered what was happening. He asked him, "Is everything ok?"

No response. So Grampa cracked the door open and peeked inside.

Gaby was sitting on the commode with his eyes shut tightly and hands covering his ears. Apparently, each time he tried to move, the automatic flusher would go off.

Gaby told Grampa, "I don't yike it. It's too yowd!"

Keep Those Stamps Coming

Before he went to school this morning, I explained to Christian that he may see President Obama on TV explaining to all the kids at school and around our country to do well in school, study hard, and pay attention so that they can get good jobs & help society when they grow up.

Christian: "But if we don't do good in school that means we can't get a job?"

Me: "If you don't do well in school, you will not be able to become a veterinarian or whatever you want to do later on."

Christian: "But we'll still get stamps, won't we?"

I tried to explain that good behavior stamps come to end when we grow up. That's what good evaluations and pats on the back -- if our employers are decent -- are for.

Here are two guys who hand out nice compliments for free every week on the campus of Purdue University.

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What a world we'd live in if we took the initiative to hand out those stamps.

Wedded Blessedness

Mike and I just celebrated ten years of marriage on September 4th. I am not an expert at marriage because we live it day by day...

year to year, prayer to prayer...

bliss to sometimes diss, coasting or careening by the seat of our pants, and through it all arriving at the same conclusion always. What would one do without the other?

RULES OF MARRIAGE -

as described by kids

1. HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY?

-You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff.. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming.
-- Alan, age 10

-No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with.
-- Kristen, age 10

2. WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?

Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
-- Camille, age 10

3. HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF 2 PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
-- Derrick, age 8

4. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?

Both don't want any more kids.
-- Lori, age 8

5. WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?

-Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
-- Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure)

-On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date.
-- Martin, age 10

6. WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?

When they're rich.
-- Pam, age 7

The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with that.
- - Curt, age 7

The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do.
- - Howard, age 8

7. IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?

It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them.

--Anita, age 9 (bless you child )

8. HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?

There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there?
-- Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favorite is (and my personal favorite)

HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?

Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck ..

-- Ricky , age 10

Some Lighter Stuff

This video reminds me of my brothers. It doesn't hurt that Neil Diamond makes an appearance, too.

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Bad Things Happen in ....Fives????

I have not been able to keep up with this blog because we have had a little excitement lately.

First, my mother broke her arm when she went to answer the phone late in the evening the night of our return from Spain. The airline had lost two pieces of luggage and had called around midnight to arrange to deliver them to their house. My mother was still half asleep and in a jetlagged state when she got out of bed to answer the phone quickly knowing that it was the airline calling. She does not know what she tripped over, but she ended up with a fractured wrist and some painful bruising on her face. Her cast is finally going to be removed next week.

A few weeks ago my cousin Alberto called to say that Tio Alberto had tripped at La Torre and fractured his femur close to the hip. They had to rush him from northern Spain to the hospital he works at in Madrid for surgery. Had he not had the position he has at the hospital, he would've had to wait at least three months for surgery (I'm not a heartless person; I'm absolutely against socialized medicine for that very reason among many others). He ended up having a pin put into his leg and was in severe pain probably because he has Paget's Disease, a secret he had withheld from the family for several years and for which he is now receiving treatment. Paget's is not curable, but treatment can prevent progression. It is hereditary as my grandmother had it, and a few years ago my brother and I observed that he walked with a limp like Abuela used to.

A couple weeks ago my mother-in-law came to visit and the day she arrived we took the boys to a park nearby. She started to complain about a sharp pain on her left side and thought it might be her diverticulitis acting up. But as we were driving home the pain was so severe that Mike took her to the ER that evening. She was misdiagnosed with diverticulitis and urinary tract infection, but as the weekend wore on (we celebrated Christian's birthday that weekend) she still did not feel better and by Sunday she was in agony, so back to the ER she went with John. The next morning John called to tell us she was going to be rushed to another hospital because they had found a 6-cm. (2.4 in.) mass on her left kidney, which turned out to be a benign kidney tumor (angiomyolipoma) that had to be embolized in order to starve and subsequently shrink it. Brenda needed to stay in the hospital for a few nights and recuperated for another week here in Albuquerque. She returned yesterday to Tennessee. We are so grateful that she is doing better, and they will see a urologist in the next month to see if the tumor has shrunk.

While she was here recuperating, last Friday morning I awoke at 5:30 to sharp pains in my abdomen and ended up in the ER myself because of a kidney stone that passed. Out of desperation I called my next door neighbor at 6:45 begging her to take me to the hospital because I knew I could not drive myself. Let me tell you, having a kidney stone is the worst pain I have experienced. I would rather repeat the petocin-induced labor, back labor pain and the too-late epidural that I had with Gaby than go through another kidney stone again. I was alone vomitting in the waiting room and a "helpful" person stuck her head out to tell me, "There's a bathroom down the hall," and then handed me a tub. I remember being in such miserable pain moaning, "Someone please help me." I had visions of being left alone to die in the ER waiting room as what happened to the poor lady in New York last summer as I myself was writhing in pain on the floor, vomitting into my pretty pink bucket as a hospital worker passed me by with nary a sympathetic glance in my direction. Finally, I was able to walk/crawl to the bathroom and finish my business. And suddenly I was able to walk upright back into the waiting room. I felt so foolish thinking I had had gas or some stomach bug, but I was told told my symptoms were those of passing a kidney stone. Here I was in the hospital while my mother-in-law, who went through something much worse, was waiting at home with the boys. She was a real trooper.

And the final bit of news is that my sister-in-law's parents were hit head-on by a drunk driver in Pittsburgh last night. It's miraculous that they survived as many victims rarely make it through such a crash. It happened right in front of the cemetery where their son was buried some 13 years ago. Jeanne's parents are doing well, although her mother received the brunt of the force on the passenger side and will be recovering for the next couple of weeks in the hospital. They both had to endure surgery for broken limbs and gashes. Jeanne and two of her sisters live in Dallas, and last night was a particularly ominous evening with dark clouds covering most of the city. Jeanne noticed something as she was driving home. "Look, Daniela. There's a pink shine coming from those clouds. That means Uncle Daniel is in heaven watching over us." It happened at the time when her parents were involved in the crash in Pittsburgh.

Even though this has been such a weird summer with all these happenings, I feel so lucky because things could have turned out so much worse for each of us. We have our lives, our families, friends, and love. Above all, God is good.

There is a reason for everything and someday it will be clear.

Spain, Part III

There is a special place that has captivated all of us since we were children: La Torre. This is the house that my great-great-grandfather Ventura bought in 1865. According to the county records, we think the house is about 400 years old. It is located in Soto-Iruz in the northern province of Cantabria. No one lives in the family home; it is used during vacations and quick weekend trips by my mother's family and my Tio Alberto's family. Obviously, Tio Alberto's family uses the house much more than us.

I have often wondered who this jauntily dressed man is outside the wall of the yard and the girl leaning over from the gazebo on the other side.

Inside the house are old photos from the 1800's and early 1900's. My great-aunt Margarita, who died in 2002, would tell us stories about those relatives and could recall every story ever told to her. I took pictures of photos because there was not a place where I could scan them myself. There is also a photo album stand in the salon in which many old photos are stored, but it would be impossible to remove the faded relics without tearing the page. I wonder about some of those people in the pictures and I recall some stories I heard over the years...

My great-great grandfather Ventura went to Cuba during his teen years or early 20s and earned his wealth through a department store he owned called La Oriental - that much we know is true. There is a painting of the store which hangs in the study room.

Depending on which version I've heard, when my grandfather was in his 30s he sent for his Spanish wife - or fiance - to meet him in Havana, but somewhere during the three-month trip across the ocean she fell in love with my grandfather's attorney who was accompanying her. Either she arrived pregnant or never arrived at all because she ran off with the attorney never to be heard from again.

So, great-great-grandfather Ventura decided at the age of 40 to marry his 20-year-old niece - yes, his niece - Antonia in Spain after selling his business in Cuba. It was 1865 when he bought La Torre. Together he and Antonia had three boys and a girl. The oldest was our great-grandfather (Ventura), Angel, Vicente, and Belinda. The three brothers stayed in Soto and our grandfather Ventura inherited La Torre. Angel and Vicente each built houses in the village and raised their families. My aunt went to another province after marrying and contact with that branch of the family faded. The sons, although trained lawyers, never worked and lived off their inheritances.

Great-great grandfather Ventura




Although the house, which sits on a hill, is known La Torre, it was actually named Villa Belinda.

After great-great-grandfather Ventura died, great-great-grandmother Antonia was widowed at the age of 40. She later met and married a Mexican diplomat (no one remembers his name) who was 15-20 years younger than she and they had one son together. The new husband went through her money and spent lavishly on parties, brought a gardener from France to design the yard, etc., etc. My grandmother MaTeresa later told my mom that he died of syphilis because of his constant cheating on Antonia. Antonia and her husband's son (whose name we also do not know) later had a son named Antonio and a daughter, Angelines. In later years, Antonio joined the foreign legion; he was a mercenary fighting wars in Africa and other places around the world. He used to show his handkerchiefs full of blood to prove injuries and beg for money from the family when he visited Madrid. He may have been 'touched in the head'.

Well, great-grandfather Ventura was still single at the age of 32-33. He purchased apartments in Madrid and had other properties. He met the daughter of Spaniards living in Cuba named Teresa and they later married. She was forever known as 'La Cubana'. My mom grew up hearing the stories of great-grandfather Ventura -- how he helped the less fortunate in the village during the very rough years during the Civil War (1936-1939) even when he lost much. People don't forget your deeds and misdeeds in a tiny village. Great-grandmother Teresa was somewhat stern and serious. They had five children: Maria Teresa (my grandmother & the oldest), Ventura, Margarita, Belinda, and Tonio.

During the Civil War the family was separated. My grandmother, MaTeresa, her mother ('La Cubana'), Tonio, who was finishing high school, and Belinda were in Madrid preparing for their summer in Soto when the war broke out between the communists in power and Franco's conservative forces. My great-grandfather had left earlier with Ventura and Margarita. The family remained separated for three years. However, La Torre became a base for the communists for a short period as it was one of the headquarters for that valley when Santander was under communist rule during the Civil War. I'll never forget the old tile, which has been replaced in the past 15 years, cracked from the horses' hooves as the troops overtook La Torre. My great-uncle Ventura rushed from La Torre to meet Francisco Franco's troops. Franco was liberating parts of Spain and was headed north where his forces eventually liberated Santander. I'll never forget awaking in the middle of the night to hear Uncle Ventura screaming in his sleep from the nightmares of the war decades later.

Another branch of our family - great-grandfather's brother, Angel's, side were leftists. Tio Antonio was living very well as a businessman in Santander when the province was under communist rule. When the Civil War ended in 1939, Antonio escaped to France, then Cuba, even to Dallas, TX and stayed away from Spain for three or four years until it was clear he could return safely. It was with this family that Tia Margarita stayed during the war, along with other cousins in a nearby village of Villasevil, as food shortages were affecting great-grandfather Ventura's ability to feed the two of them.

Abuelo and Abuela's wedding photo shortly after the end of the Civil War.



BLACK LEGEND

Many people have asked whether or not La Torre is haunted. Although I have not seen anything myself, the third floor of the house is one I do not like to stay in. It was four years ago that Uncle Alberto told me about the 'Black Legend'.

He has been at the house when unusual things have occurred, such as lights being turned on suddenly in the middle of the night when he is asleep, or hearing voices downstairs. My mother used to wait for us to come home after a night out and we would not return until 3:00 AM or later, yet she would not sleep until we returned home, and all the lights on the second floor were kept on. She said that sometimes she'd hear voices downstairs, such as the chattering of years past of her mom and aunts late at night planning the next day's activities. Friendly voices, in other words. But still, when you are alone in such a large house, it can be disconcerting. I myself have not heard voices, but that third floor has always made me uncomfortable when I am alone. The summer that Uncle Alberto told me of these experiences and of the 'Black Legend' was the first and last time I stayed on the third floor. Mike and I actually left the lights on when we slept.

The first version of the Black Legend is the story of how the previous owner of La Torre had to sell the house quickly and he committed suicide in the dining room because he was distraught over the sale.

Another version I have heard is of another (perhaps the previous owner?) killing himself in the study downstairs. I have never liked going into the study either.

Tata, who cooked for us this summer, had a few incidents: she cut her finger one time when using a pruner in her yard; she would not watch the kids without her husband the night of the Maria's wedding; she had to see a doctor about a pain in her side; and then she lost her voice one day. Out of exasperation she exclaimed, "It's this house!"

I cannot say that there is a 'bad' or 'evil' presence, but I sure wish I could hear those walls whisper -- so long as I was with others and that it happened during daylight hours.

La Torre constantly drifts in my mind and in my dreams and is a place filled with rich memories of my past and of my family's past.