I’ve written before about how involved we’ve gotten with our church’s Hispanic ministry.  I’ve mentioned my now-very-close friend Reina a number of times, and that she escaped February’s house fire out a second story window while 6 1/2 months pregnant.  Well, for months before the fire I was driving Reina to her pre-natal appointments and helping with paperwork and with understanding the insurance system here in our state.  ‘Cause it’s daunting even when you’re used to living here.  Completely overwhelming when you speak another language, haven’t been here long, weren’t planning on a pregnancy, and reside squarely in the working-to-survive class.

Then add a house fire and the loss of every dollar and every identifying document you own, two and a half months before your due date.

“Vulnerable” doesn’t begin to describe it.  For nearly a month after the fire, she was so stressed out that the only thing she could keep down was bananas and a little bit of water.

But, because of our already-blossoming friendship, I got to be one of the people she and Carlos trusted in the process of preparing to bring their first daughter into the world.

A little gal who’s half Salvadoran.

They’re poor.  They don’t have nearly my masters-degree-level of education.  They’ve had a couple landlords take advantage of how desperate they were to find housing in time for the baby’s birth.  And life is going to present some really tricky twists for their family in the future, too.

But they’re family.

It wasn’t lost on me that if we weren’t stuck in waiting-mode in El Salvador I would never have been as available to be present with them as much as I was. Nor would I even have known them if we weren’t already adoptive parents of Latino kids, waiting to adopt more Latino kids.

But we are, and we are.  And I met my newest little friend Diana at the hospital just a fews hours after she was born and introduced the twins to her just a few days later.

Adoption, happily, was never placed on the table for this family.  They gathered the support they needed, they remained together, and they’re working out the details.

But – because of how we became friends in the first place - I thought of the many families of kids adopted from Central America who didn’t remain together.  My own brother’s and sons’ first families included.  And then of birth families anywhere – even here in the States.

Families – birth mothers, at least – who were convinced (usually by others, in addition to their own self-doubts) that they couldn’t possibly provide what was best for their kids.

And maybe some of them really couldn’t.  Maybe some of the kids truly would have died, would have suffered tremendous set-backs in life, or would have been unwanted.

But I wonder how many of those birth families were just families like this one that I know:  not prepared at first for a pregnancy, economically stretched already, and/or belonging to a racial or ethnic group that suffers discrimination and can’t see a way around that disadvantage.  But without the friendships Reina and Carlos had already formed with people who then wanted to help.

A support network of folks who just happen to have “connections” they need.

As I spend all this time my friend, I can see myself through her eyes.  That doors open easily to me.  That I think nothing of walking into an office with an application for assistance and expecting that if I follow the process, my request will be granted.  That I know where to find information online, can read all of that information in English, and understand it.  I have a map in my phone, a van with seating for 7, an extensive education, a credit card I can swipe at any time and buy whatever I think I need, U.S. citizenship… and fair skin and blue eyes.

It’s been easy for me to help her get through a process that felt impossible for her to navigate on her own.  It just takes a lot of time.  That’s been the hard part for my North American brain to accept: that there is no short-cut or more efficient way to be present for a friend whenever she needs it (within reason).  And that the reward is the relationship (well, that and the awesome Spanish tutoring she quietly provides every time she corrects my grammar).

So this spring, physically I was driving folks around while they applied for housing or went to an appointment, helping with English, collecting and delivering donations to the victims of the fire back in February, throwing a baby shower, and pretty much pitching in wherever my gringa-ness and social network could be helpful.  But at another level, I realized I just got to be a part of what is, in my opinion, the better solution than adoption: helping families connect with resources, so they don’t have to separate to begin with.

There’s no way I could spend this much time with another person, too.  Especially not as a home schooling mom.  But I don’t think I have to.  I think Reina’s my one person, at least for this season.  [And when it comes to helping a "Gringa" raise Hispanic sons, I'm hers.]  And for this season, even as we re-update our adoption paperwork for a third time, I’m thankful that these friends of mine aren’t one of the adoption statistics like my kids, their other family, and we are.

We obviously believe adoption is the best thing for some kids, or we wouldn’t do it.  And, yes, we’d like to have more kids right here in our own family.  But while reflecting on all of that, I find joy in working in this situation so that adoption never needs to come up in the first place.

For those of you who have some how MISSED these gems, they include such greats as You Wouldn’t Want to Be a World War II Pilot: Air Battles You Might Not Survive (currently on our shelf), You Wouldn’t Want to Be an 18th Century Convict: A Trip to Australia You’d Rather Not Take (No offense to my Australian readers – ie. Von.), and You Wouldn’t Want to Be Mary Queen of Scots: A Ruler Who Really Lost Her Head.

Check your local library.  They’re awesome.  Especially for boys.

But anyway.  Fred and I – but especially I, ’cause I’m prone to such things as extensive geneological researching, and also spend nearly all my time with said children —  have been very conscious of the fact that giving them a thorough connection to their own roots is very important. 

And that that means doing some extra research.  Because their roots are not our roots (though they’re welcome to partake in all our Euro-straight-to-U.S.-American fun-and-games, of course!)

So we’ve read about Guatemala, TRAVELED back to Guatemala, read about the Maya, CLIMBED their pyramids, studied Spanish… I’m still looking for a socially acceptable way of asking some of the Latino men I know just what it is that they’re wearing that smells so good, so I can buy it to put on the boys (who frequently smell like sweat and “tootle”)… but I digress…

We’ve done a pretty good job of covering the Native American angle of their biological heritage.  And of presenting it as the very cool heritage that it, indeed, is (human sacrificing notwithstanding).

So I’m on to the Spanish part of their background.  Spanish from SPAIN, that is.  And to that end, I’ve been watching the PBS Home Video: Conquistadors series after we put them to bed the last few nights (available on Netflix “Watch Instantly,” for those of you who are interested!).

And, whew!

I just don’t know how I’m supposed to pleasantly tie in “and then SOME of your ancestors came in and absolutely decimated the villages of others of your ancestors, raping and pillaging as they went!”  ["raping" is going to be especially hard to explain, since the idea of "sex" is still appropriately hazy in their minds].

I know I don’t have to explain it all while they’re six years old.  We could just “leap over the Atlantic” and study Spain as a completely separate entity and leave “how the two sides mixed” to a future date?

But while I don’t want to inflict undue distress, I’m also more inclined to be honest with our kids.  They’ve learned about the Conquistadors in a separate (glossed over, some would say “Euro-centric”) manner in our school co-op.

So they’re waiting for me to make the connection.

But whoa.

There’s a lot of courage, I suppose.  Curiousity about new things.  Boldly going where no European has gone before? 

It’s funny, because some of MY OWN ancestors (English) were fairly brutal to my others (Scottish), and I’ve had no problem feeling comfortable taking sides (“You take the High Road, and I’ll take the Low Road…”) while still maintaining a sense of connectednes to all of them (just ask Fred and the boys about my tea-drinking habits).

Perhaps because it’s perfectly acceptable here in the U.S. to side with the underdog while still trying to keep in mind all sides of an issue?

But this is THEIR heritage, THEIR story, not mine.

So how do I present the “other half” in equally positive terms, despite-but-honestly-covering the atrocities that eventually resulted in their being born, just as they are – “Mestizos de Guatemala?”  Even if not today, at some point it’s gonna come up.

Advice, anyone?

Much like the last times, there was a flurry of activity with the kids running around while the adults sang Christmas carols in our family room.  I kept getting pulled away to calm my own boys who were the roudiest of all, so excited to have so many friends over.  But I did manage to snap a few pictures while we were singing (ironically, none of the actual kids).

And I set my goals for next year’s party:

1. Include Tamales on the menu (several days’ prep time, and way more fun to make as a group effort) – Mis amigas hispanas, ¡voy a estar llamando a ustedes porque voy a necesitar su ayuda con este!
2. Read the Christmas story to the kids, so they feel included (and understand just what it is we’re celebrating)

But “next year’s goals” aside, last night was a great time, and I was so glad to be able to have everyone into our home.  So for my “gringo” friends, meet “los otros en mi vida” with whom the boys and I spend nearly every Sunday night. 

Y a mis hermanas y hermanos hispanos: gracias por tu amistad.  Ustedes son una bendición a nuestra familia.  ¡Feliz Navidad!

We roped our friends Ethan and Jocie (up in the 2nd pic) and little Izzie into coming, to up our “gringo count” 

So there it is: Fred’s and my first Fiesta Navideña (which just means ”Christmas Party” in Spanish by the way).  But, of course, for Bear and José it’s something they probably had in Guatemala and now have back again.  And for that I am very thankful.  An awesome start to Christmas week.

They know about race, have been able to rattle off from the age of three that they’re Latino; that their ancestors and Fred’s and mine came from different places on the globe (even before they really understood what “ancestors” were); and that that’s why our skin and hair and eyes are different colors.  As we’ve studied different countries of the world, they’ve learned that people in different regions look different, eat different foods, have different customs, but also have many global similarities.

But how to “explain themselves?”  No, we haven’t covered that yet.  Haven’t had to in prior years.  People always approached Fred or me and asked about the boys.  I’ve mentioned before that I’ve gotten less and less free (particularly with strangers) as the twins have gotten older.  I’ve become more sensitive to their privacy and identities.  And the adoption itself has passed more into the “old history” category for us.  (Sometimes we forget that it’s “new” to everyone we encounter for the first time.)

But it’s time to arm our young chicos to speak for themselves.  Two recent incidents (fortunately both right in front of us, so we know about them!) have brought this to the fore.

Incident #1: The Chick-fil-A Mis-Match

My sister-in-law invited us to join their family for our niece’s school fund-raiser Chick-fil-A night last week, and while we were all sitting at the table, one of Mary’s little girl friends came over to say hi.  Mary introduced the boys as her cousins about whom she’d told her, and this little gal glanced at them, then back at Mary and observed, “They don’t look a thing like you.” 

Then, no doubt looking to make sense of it, she scanned around the table, “They don’t look a thing like any of you.”

She’s about 8 or so years old, and she didn’t mean anything by it except to state what she was seeing right in front of herself.  When she’s older, she’ll probably know better than to be so blunt.  But there it was. 

Incident #2: The Chinese/Mexican Neighborly Intro

Our kids were playing a few blocks away from our house one afternoon a couple weeks before Chick-fil-A, and a little boy and girl they hadn’t met before came out of their house and sat under their front tree.  This time it was my kids making first observations:

Twin:  Hi!  You look like your ancestors are from Asia.  Are you Chinese, or Japanese? 

Boy Neighbor:  We’re Korean.  What are you?  Mexican?

Twin:  No, we’re from Guatemala.  It’s next to Mexico, but south.

[A-ha-ha-ha...  Well at least everyone got that straightened out up-front!  Not sure that's quite how the other set of parents and I would've done it, but...]

But clearly, aside from what “labeling and filing” the kids already know it’s time for more discussion of race.  Like how and when it is polite to inquire.

But even more importantly – to our family - how and when the boys should explain their own heritage and why they don’t “match” us.  To be clear, we don’t believe they “should” have to every time someone seems like they’re fishing for information.  But we want to give the boys some options so they never feel completely caught off-guard or cornered.

It’s going to happen to them and to us for the rest of our lives.  No time like the present to get started!  (And as I think about it, no time like the present for Fred and for me to hear from them what they do and don’t want us to share with other adults!)

I’d love to hear from others of you who have had these conversations with your kids, or those of you from mixed-race families, or any of you who are just so socially proactive that you’re all on top of this issue!   Comments and suggestions welcome! 

I’ll post again after the boys and we have our first few talks.

It didn’t seem quite right. Our boys know they are from Guatemala. We read them books about Guatemala and show them videos of Guatemala on YouTube. Their original U.S. visas declared them “Guatemaltecos.” They proudly tell their classmates they are from Guatemala and that they are both Guatemalans and Americans. They should be standing in the Central Americans line.

I felt like telling the boys, “You know, you guys ought to be standing over there. This is your country too.” But the moment passed too quickly and I wasn’t sure that telling them that wouldn’t conjure up a sense of loss inside them that I was already feeling on their behalf. Also, they are traveling under their US-issued passports with us. Their Guatemala-issued passports are tucked away in our firebox at home, and we’re not 100% sure whether they are still valid.

Later, in talking to Kim, I asked her if she knew whether the boys could obtain dual citizenship when they are older. If I were them, knowing the rich cultural heritage of Guatemala, I’d certainly want to. Fortunately, Kim believes the boys can indeed retain their Guatemalan citizenship and at some point in the future will be able to travel under Guatemalan passports if they want.

We actually brought up the topic (dual citizenship) with them. Both said that they would want to be citizens of both countries, which is not surprising. They’ve been loving the trip back so far and I can tell that they are absorbing every minute of it.

I met her last November when I was in the throes of total intimidation at even coming to our church’s Hispanic group.  Many weeks, she was the only other woman there, so we bonded pretty quickly.  At that time, though, she spoke no English, and I spoke very little Spanish, so it was a sort of “I really want to like you!” kind of bond more than anything.

That’s changed over time.  As we learn each other’s languages (and spend many opportunities flipping through photo albums – less speaking required!) we’re slowly getting to know each other’s stories.  A hard-won friendship, but turning out to be a good one.  Not just between her and me but also between her and the twins.

And THAT is what makes her most remarkable to me.  Reina has her own son.  He’s back at home in Belize and is two years older than my guys.  It will be some time before she’s established enough here that she could sponsor his coming.  So she talks to him on the phone a few times a week, but she misses seeing him and holding him.  A lot.  Of course.

And then here I come, more than “established enough.”  Comparatively, Fred and I are totally rich.  And I have not one but two sons.  Hispanic sons.  (Playing right into the cultural tension about white families adopting “their” children from Latin America.)

About a month after we met, she told me that my boys reminded her of her son, and she teared up.  So I know she feels it every time she sees us.  But that is it.  There has been no resentment, no distance.  Instead, she embraced me, loves all over our boys, and makes sure to be friendly to Fred and any other friends I bring along to special events.

What a lot of grace and sweetness. 

Make no mistake, she’s tough.  Her life here is hard.  I feel challenged every Sunday night when I go to a place where everyone else “belongs” and speaks another language.  But every working day, every time she goes shopping, every time she goes anywhere outside her home it is like that for her.

Yet very purposefully, she’s growing in her English.  Which of course spurs me on to keep doing the same with Spanish.

I can’t wait for the day when she and I can just sit down and chat.  Or really talk about how we’re doing.  We’re not there yet, but it’s coming.

So cool – the surprise friendships life brings.

And a total answer to my prayers for my kids to grow up knowing and loving other folks who share their heritage.

It was another cultural learning experience for me this weekend as Nancy and I threw the Hispanic Ministry’s first baby shower.  Nancy is married to Mario, the ministry leader, but like me, she’s a “Gringa” – frequently the only other one there on Sunday nights.  So, yes, we’ve sorta bonded. 

But, cultural ignorance aside, we figured we know how to put the basics of a baby shower together: food, decorations, gift table…

And we let it take on a life of its own from there.

And what a life it had!

Here’s what I learned from my first Latina/Hispanic baby shower:

1.  Kids, kids and more kids!  Every woman who came whose kids are in this country brought them.  All of them.  There were more than twice as many children as there were women in attendance at the shower.  So all the balloons I had so tidily installed at the corners of the streamers around the room?  Kid toys.  About an hour in, they were flying around the room, tiny hands bopping them to and fro.  Fifteen minutes later, when one of the boys discovered a cool place to pop them, they were gone.  ‘Cause of course popping balloons is way more fun than playing with them.  I went ahead and called Fred and told him just to bring the twins and take the evening to himself.  They might as well be there, too!  The end of the evening may have seen me running full-speed around the yard with about 10 small dark-haired heads not far behind.  Tag.  Decorum?  Out the window.  But fun?  Oh yes.

2.  The Menfolk – will tell you that baby showers are “just for the women.”  However.  That’s.  Not.  Quite.  the Case.  The guys all drove their wives (and aforementioned offspring!) to the event.  Very gentlemanly.  I like it.  And then?  They stayed.  Now to give them the credit they are due, they did stay off to themselves in a side room and out on the deck.   They did wait to be invited to come get drinks, then food, then dessert.  But they were there.  The whole time.  Want proof?  Here it is (though this is not all of them):

Now in fairness, the shower was at Mario’s house (he’s second from the left).  And it was Manuel’s baby being honored (he’s on the far right).  The rest were just there.  They’re family – or like family – to Ana and Manuel, and I’m glad they stayed.  But, wow, you can’t get our U.S. American guys to come to a baby shower for anything!  No way!   These guys?  Not into the “girly” stuff at all; of course not.  But they were apparently happy to be there and helped carry all the stuff out to the cars at the end.  And the couple having the baby felt supported by all their friends.  It was great!  But yes, there were loads of men at the baby shower, too.   And men eat more than women.  It’s just a fact.  One I’ll be taking into account the next time I’m planning one of these.

3. Community – When one gal’s having a baby, it doesn’t matter whether you know her that well – or even at all.  You come.  You give a small gift.  Whatever you can afford.  You help because sometime in the past someone has helped you, or sometime in the future, they will.  I’ve been around for seven months now, and I happen to know for certain that these three ladies barely know Ana, but they came anyway!

The one in the middle is my best friend in the group, Reyna.  Nancy takes care of the kids on Sunday nights, and a lot of the other women end up having to work, so Reyna and I are frequently the only women in the Bible study.  Consequently we’ve gotten pretty close.  She’s learning English just as quickly as I’m learning Spanish, thank goodness.  But even from the beginning, she really wanted to be my friend and was remarkably patient with my limited ability to express myself.   I’m sure I’ll be writing more about her in the future.  But back to the shower…

4.  Games, Gifts and Cake - With all the aforementioned kids in attendance, there is no way to fit in one of those “change the baby doll, using only cloth diapers” relay games.  Ah, well. 

On to the gifts.

But, oh yeah, the kids are there too.  Mom gets to see the gifts but doesn’t necessarily open them.

Moving on to dessert.  Tried to get a shot of the cake but someone had already beaten me to it and added some prank cashew “parents” peeping into the center baby carriage.  Very tasty nonetheless.  But I tried to picture my own mom trying to run this shower.  Oh the “chaos!”  No way.

 5.  Hermanas Son Hermanas [Sisters are Sisters] – I asked Ana if she’d like a picture with her sisters at the shower.  Like me, she has two.  Like me, she’s the oldest.  And I had to laugh when they lined up in what I call “Prom pose” for the picture because just a week ago my sisters and I did the same thing when getting our picture taken at the beach.

Who taught us to do that?  I don’t know, but apparently it’s universal. 

6. Acceptance for the Faint of Skin Tone – I’m used to sticking out in this group.   I get a lot of “muy alta!” (“very tall!”); I tower over the women (here with Ana).

My Spanish is sketchy at best.  I sometimes mix up my “tu” (informal “you”) with my “usted” (formal “you”) with newcomers, which could be considered rude or overly familiar.  (Honestly, I’m not exactly sure when it’s the right time to make that switch, so I guess and then listen for reciprocation.)  I don’t get all the jokes, and they think it’s hysterical when I employ the little bit of slang I’ve picked up from them.  But when I was about to leave with the twins, Manuel and Ana stopped me at the door, grabbed Mario and Nancy, and told us that while they had been worried about having a baby here – without their families to support them – they now consider us their U.S. family. 

They weren’t expecting it from “personas quien no son hispanas” [people who aren't Hispanic ... that they even phrase it THAT way is noteworthy; they're trying NOT to use the term "gringas" because of its sometimes negative connotations]. 

They actually didn’t even think the shower would really happen.  [I guess they've been let down by people who look like Nancy and me before.]  But it did, and it was HUGE – 50 people easily.  And they have most of what they need to start out with this new baby girl they’re having.

Alisson.  That’s her name.  A U.S. American name (though Manuel did point out that it’s originally Arabic.)

Truly, all I did was pick up some fruit, hang streamers and balloons, buy a gift, and ask around for some hand-me-down clothes and toys from the young moms I know.  Just that little bit of effort by someone who looks like me made a big impression.  I  get it, and yet I don’t. 

But that’s why I’m totally sucked into this group.  What a wild and loud event!  But full of joy, support and LIFE.  Not a “baby shower” like I’m used to.  But I could get used to it – would really like to get used to it.

My first Hispanic baby shower.  Of many, I hope.

Stand-out words of the day:  former slur terms that are now used as national identification slang (often with pride) by the various people of Central America.

Happy to share.

I am already the proud mother of two of the cutest Chapines (chah-PEEN-ays) in the USA.  “Chapin” or “Chapina” means someone from Guatemala.  Having done some cursory research online, I believe the term comes from a type of shoe that the Maya people wore hundreds of years ago which made them easily identifiable by people from other regions.

Our future kids from El Salvador?  “Guanacos.”   Or “Guanacas” if they’re girls. 

It’s always good to know these things, right?

As for the Complete Central American Slang-Term List:

Mexican – depends on the region.  “Chicano/a” is a U.S.American of Mexican descent, “Chilango” is someone from Mexico City, “Chollero/a” is someone from Los Cabos  (refers to a type of cactus there)

Guatemalan – Chapin/Chapina  (after a type of sandal worn by the Maya in this region in pre-Columbian times) 

Belizean - ???  (I thought my friend was just being coy when she said there is no term, but it appears that her native country somehow escaped without one!)

Salvadoran – Guanaco/Guanaca (derived from Maya tribal band, refers to brotherhood)

Honduran – Catracho/Catracha (after a 19th century military leader, Florencio Xatruch)

Nicaraguan – Nica, Nicoya or Pinolero/Pinolera  (the former and second are shortened versions of the country name, the latter refers to a drink made in Nicaragua called “Pinol.”)

Costa Rican – Tico/Tica (refers to the use of diminutives in speech… similar to when we add “ie” or “y” to the end of a word like “birdy” instead of “bird” … apparently Costa Ricans are stereotyped as very likely to over-employ these.)

Panamanian – Pana (abbreviation for the country)

I, of course, remain and ever shall be a “Gringa” (most commonly ascribed to the Mexican-American War era when U.S. soldiers wore green uniforms and those fighting against them wanted them to leave their turf and return home…”Green, go!” = “Gringo” and now refers to anyone of light complexion from North America or Europe).

Lest anyone wonder what kind of Hispanic Bible study I’ve joined, please keep in mind that I didn’t learn these till today.  In the woods.  They’re not part of our every-Sunday vernacular.  But at least if someone wants to toss me a teasing ”Gringa!” now, I know how to retort, country-appropriately!

Yeah, street cred.

Our copy of the U.S. Census 2010 arrived today, and true to claim, it took me less than 10 minutes to fill out.  For any of you who haven’t received yours yet and are curious, you can see all the questions on the form on the U.S. Census website.

The most interesting thing (and it’s pretty straightforward, so nothing really enthralling) was that there are two separate Race/People Group questions – #8 and #9. I guess I didn’t pay attention to that last time, just checked “White,” “White” (oh so very pale) and moved on.  Hadn’t even met Fred yet, last time.

But this time, answering for our whole family, I actually had to stop and think how I wanted to fill out the latter question.  Question #8 is “Is Person X of Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin?  Easy enough: ”no” for Fred and me, “yes” for the twins, with a write-in of “Guatemalan.” 

But then Question #9 asks “What is Person X’s race?” and I had to decide how to list the twins, since Hispanic/Latino/Spanish is not considered a race according to the census.  I ended up going with two answers for them – “White” (their Spanish ancestry) and “American Indian or Alaska Native” with a write-in of “Maya.” 

I don’t think it will make any difference to our kids, how I answered the question, but since the census does purport to drive future government policy and programs, it occurred to me that registering them to the best of my understanding of their full heritage may benefit other people who fall into both categories but identify only as “White” (a fairly common practice among Americans of Latin American origin from what I understand).  There does seem to be an up-tick of Native-American pride in the Central American countries, but “Indigenous” people are still considered “lesser” and are oppressed people groups in many of those cultures, so some decide to distance themselves from those roots.  Indeed, the boys’ birth mom listed them as “not indigenous” on their birth certificates even though her heritage is quite evident from her picture.

Funny how something as simple and routine as a census can represent so much.  I do want the twins to be proud of the way God made them, and I believe I set the tone by my being pleased that they are just as they are.  And tonight, it meant taking an extra few seconds to be thorough on a government form.

Would love to hear how others of you who have adopted registered your kids, too!

Or maybe it’s something else.  Don’t know.   But at any rate, I’ve been struggling with a bout of something like “survivor’s guilt.”  I went, I played with some kids who have nearly nothing, and then I came back to my very-comfortable life here in the U.S.  Meanwhile those same kids are heading into another week of only basic physical needs being met. 

So that’s why I went into bloggy-silence for a bit there.  Still processing.

But I went downtown and bought long-promised circus tickets the other day, so we can take the boys when Barnum and Bailey come to Baltimore in April.  It’s not “the answer,” and I do hope to remain effected by my (albeit brief) experience in El Salvador (and to return again, when I can).  But I also do need to readjust to “normal” here – though with a greater appreciation for all I have, and all I can give my kids.

Pretty sure more will come of it than that in the future, though.  Not sure what, but something.  Fortunately, Fred doesn’t think I’m totally whack.  So I’ll keep you all posted.  But for now, please accept this as my transitional post back into the blogosphere.