She was asleep when she became an American citizen – as the wheels of this homeward-bound plane touched down in Dallas.   We had already paid about $1,500 in immigration fees, plus completed a mountain of paperwork including highly-scrutinized documents attesting to our ability to support her and provide her health care.  We did not stuff her in a suitcase to sneak her through Customs, or attempt to brand her a “co-citizen” and therefore claim no rules – or fees – applied.

Went to sleep Russian and awoke American

We patiently navigated DFW Immigration to have that all-important IR-4 stamp affixed to her Russian passport.

Her Certificate of Citizenship arrived in the mail a few weeks later.  I’d never seen one before.  Wish I could show you this large, impressive document, but copying it is against the law.  Fingering her Certificate of Citizenship both weakens and inspires me, much like I felt as a senior in high school when I gaped at the real Constitution and Declaration of Independence.  I’d won an essay contest with a prize being a trip to Washington, D.C.   I don’t cry easily.  But I cried in the National Archives as I peered down through the thick walls of protective glass at the two most important documents in our nation’s history.

With her certificate in hand, Keith waited in interminable lines to secure  Julia’s Social Security card.  Her future earnings will be taxed.

Once we had the Social Security card, we braved the Post Office to secure the final “say” in all items authentication – her American passport.   We had to send off the original Certificate of Citizenship to do so.  I sweat bullets the 14 weeks before her passport arrived, fearing some harm would come to that certificate.  None did.  It’s in our safety deposit box now – with other important papers – to be given to her later.  We also invested $350 to have her Russian birth certificate recorded in Texas – a “Recognition of Foreign Decree” – so she can get birth certificates from the state when she needs them.  Julia is anything but an “undocumented immigrant.”

Today my youngest child has all the rights and privileges her American-born sisters enjoy, save one.  She can’t be President.

She also has all the responsibilities of her American-born sisters.  She’ll pay taxes.  She’ll vote.  She’ll obey the laws.  When she starts driving, she’ll have a license.  And proof of insurance.

Because she is an American.

And today especially – I thank God for that.

Who was this timid child with the deer-in-the-headlights look in 2006?!

Because we are shameless heathens, we skipped church and started the morning with Dad’s waffles, and a sterling silver surprise for each sister.

A “Sisters” necklace for each, set at her place.  Rachel, Lois and Hannah were talking last night about how their places at the table haven’t changed since we’ve been in San Antonio.  I think there’s a certain comfort in that.  When someone plops down in someone else’s seat – chaos!

Weeks ago, the girls voted to eat lunch at Chili’s and see “Oceans” to celebrate Sisters Day – a neat choice, since Julia told us upon first meeting her that she loved dolphins.

Rachel – horrified at the baby turtles that are also known as “lunch” in “Oceans”

I was racking my brain for something else “aquatic” we could do (and afford!) when a great deal just fell into my lap at the last minute – heavily discounted tickets to Sea World good for one day only – the Sunday we were celebrating Sisters Day!  Talk about timing!

A quick family picture at Sea World while we were still fresh.  Humidity was high – our un-sweatiness didn’t last long.

Flipper, courtesy of Rachel’s iPhone

Shamu, also courtesy of Rachel’s iPhone.  Why, oh why are her i-pictures so much better than mine?

Hannah, Julia and I rode “The Journey to Atlantis. “  It was fuuuuuun all the way doooooooown.

All of us wanted to see Shamu in action.  Hannah and Julia coerced Keith (with my waterproof Olympus) into sitting in the Splash Zone.  Lois, Rachel and I had sense enough to sit higher up, away from what toddler Lois used to called “whale spit.”

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Sisters Day is supposed to be about the girls – what they want to do, how they want to celebrate our family.  It pleases me when there’s a bit’o'serious mixed in with the plenty’o'silly.

Rachel’s napkin doodle with Julia’s crayons – good thing I noticed it before wiping my Shiner Bock Burger lips

We all enjoyed Sisters Day.  I hope the girls continue to mark this special occasion after Keith and I are gone.  I want them to take care of each other when we can’t.

After all – sisters are pretty good to have.

My four favorite flowers:  Lois, Rachel, Julia & Hannah.   There was a recent, clear indentation in this patch of bluebonnets, so the girls were happy to plop down in it. Hannah kept encouraging Julia to “sit down first and check for snakes.”

Julia and Rachel have an entire series of  “Youngest-Oldest” photos.

Hannah may be 14, but she still reminded me to tell the Easter Bunny that’s she’s gotten a hollow white chocolate bunny every Easter and 2010 better be no exception.  It wasn’t.

I got no other pictures of Lois, because she hastened to obey Keith’s shouts of “Hurry up!”  We might have climbed through barbed wire into a field to take these pictures.  We might have ignored this sign.  We might have pulled away as a police car drove by.

And we might be having a very happy Easter.

Hope you are, too!

But they loved it.

Rachel, Lois and Hannah offered to “chaperon,”  and actually the extra hands were quite helpful.  Lois also brought a (girl) friend and then amazingly – a male “friend” appeared.  “I just decided I wanted to play Laser Tag today, Mrs. Woodworth.”  Uh-huh.  Righhhhhttt.

What every 10-year-old girl dreams of – a gynormous Nerf gun.

The kids in the ‘hood, after the party.   Watch yourself.

I never feel particularly “old” until I am with a group of mothers from Julia’s class, each of whom look like she’s maybe 18 with perfect hair, hips and teeth – all straight.

Or until I read an article like this, that tells me I’m old because I blog.

So I’m old.  Even if I didn’t blog, my kids tell me I’m old because:

I wear a watch.

I not only use a landline, but also insist they call it before giving up on reaching a family member.

I read books.  I’ve played with a Kindle but don’t yearn to have one.

I sometimes buy CD’s.

I use my p.c. more often than a wireless phone to access the internet.

I seldom Twitter.  What would I Twitter about?  “Great sale on apples at HEB.”  or “New episode of ‘Big Love’ tonight.”

So I’m old.  And yet….I do love Facebook.  And techy blogs.  And user groups.  And texts.  I buy most non-grocery household items online.  Fun apps excite me.  I carry my Flip in my purse.

Maybe I have one foot on Earth, and one foot in cyberspace.

And I guess as long as those feet carry me home to Keith and these four way-smarter-than-their mom girls – I’m okay with with that.

This kid is f-a-s-t!

Someone else had a birthday yesterday.  No need to guess who, or guess the age.

And don’t look for me on a bicycle, either.

I’ve seen lots of those “you know you’re getting older when…” cards, and I think if I were creating my own today, it would say, “You know you’re getting older when your 10-year-old can ride her bike to the mailbox to get your birthday cards and return before you can even find your reading glasses.”

Now where did I leave them?!  Let me guess…..

When I was told we had to move after having dodged the relo bullet for years, I cried every night for weeks.  Literally.

Lois and Hannah – Christmas 1999 in Houston.  12″ plastic tree on the coffee table; presents on the couch; stocks hung on the mini-blinds.  We let the girls unwrap their gifts Christmas morning – but no un-packaging.  As soon as they unwrapped an item, I placed in it a moving box.  Mean, mean Mom.  Our unpacking in San Antonio on January 13 was quite festive with the new toys, clothes, dolls, etc.

I sobbed when my dear friend Shelley – who had moved to San Antonio years before – called me.  Shelley laughed at me (she’s done that a lot over 33 years) and said, “Dry your ears, dearie.  You’re going to LOVE San Antonio!”

But I.  Did  Not.  Want  To.  Move.  Period.

And yet Keith and I had long cussed, discussed and prayed about our school situation.  We had managed to claw our way into a good elementary school for Rachel and – by legacy – Lois.  But there were no good public middle schools in HISD, and only one good high school, which we had no hope of attending.  What to do?  Should we move to the sticks and endure the commute?  One of us get an evening/weekend job to pay for private school?  Home schooling was certainly “out,” with our being pro-life.

So instead – we moved.  And I am so thankful.  When I think about all the time I spent crying, I laugh at myself.  What an idiot.

In honor of year 2010…and our 10th anniversary in Ole San Antone….here’s my personal “Top 10 Things I Love About San Antonio” list.   If you see this list later in a Chamber of Commerce brochure, remember – you read it here first.

#10  I Love the History

I’ve read that every real Texan’s home is San Antonio.  And why not, with the Alamo, its other missions and rich history?  Teddy Roosevelt gathered the Rough Riders at the Menger Hotel here  in 1898.   LBJ and Lady Bird (newest high school named for her) were married at St. Mark’s in 1934.    My first trip to San Antonio was to visit HemisFair in 1968, with its famous needle tower.

The city features tons of historical markers (or “hysterical markers,” as Keith calls them), fascinating street names (highly recommend this book) and engrossing cemeteries.

Hannah, Rachel and Lois at the Alamo, Christmas 2000.  “Remember the Woodworths!”

#9  I  Have Loved Watching Our Neighborhood Grow

When we moved to our neighborhood, the closest 24-hour pharmacy was seven miles away.  Ditto the closest Target – and it was small.  Not all the streets went through, and there were construction sites everywhere (handy for dead-of-night rock dumps when building a pond….if you know what I mean….)

It’s just been fun to watch everything grow – the shopping, more schools, four 24-hour pharmacies within two miles and yes – two nearby Super Targets.

The girls spent hours playing “fort” at the houses built on our street – like this one, behind us.  Keith and I walked those houses often, getting ideas.

#8  I Love the Buses – All of Them

We had no school bus service in Houston.  Here – bus service is provided if you live more than two miles from the school.  It’s been a godsend for elementary and middle school.

Keith and I have been riding the Express bus downtown to work since November, 2005 – we were its original riders.   It’s saved us a fortune, plus gives me to time to read in the morning, and nap in the afternoon. Everyone at home is happier if I get my nap, I assure you.

Julia and Hannah on the bus August 14, 2006 – the district’s first day of school, plus Julia’s first day of American school ever.

#7  I Love the Military Presence

Standing behind a full bird colonel buying a quart of milk in HEB….sitting next to parents in camo at a school play….attending moving-back-to-Germany parties at the end of every school year….watching the doctor from Ft. Sam hook his bicycle on the front of our downtown bus….that’s what we do, because San Antonio is a military town with Ft. Sam Houston, Brooks AFB, Lackland AFB and Randolph AFB.

USAA Insurance – one of the three biggest employers (USAA, AT&T, federal government) – preferentially hires veterans, like Keith’s brother Byron.

We’ve loved sharing Thanksgiving with airmen trainees from Lackland Air Force Base.  Those are our good friends John and Linda on the left, with whom we always co-host the holiday.  And those are our good friends Shelley and John on the right, who helped us unpack in 2000 – what a thankless job.  I remember Shelley sloughing her way through a sea of my Rubbermaid.

#6  I Loved Learning To Be New?

In gynormous Houston, you carve your niche.  My niche was bordered by Stella Link, Gessner, S. Main and 59.   If I went anywhere in that several square miles, I was bound to see a friend.  And I loved it.  It was sooo hard to be “new” in San Antonio.  I h-a-t-e-d it.  And yet – had we not been “new” – I never would have learned its loneliness.   And I never would have made some of the good friends we’ve made, because I wouldn’t have thought to encourage the girls to ask the “new kid” over to play, or seek the visitor at church.  I never would have thought of what to write down for a new neighbor – the trash pick-up days, when the pool opens, the closest 24-hour pharmacy, the nearest churches of their denomination.  It’s a lesson I needed to learn, but one I never would have pursued voluntarily.

After we moved, I was always encouraging the girls to invite friends over, particularly new-to-the-neighborhood or new-to-school-or-church friends. Being new stinks.

#5   I Love the 20-Minute Town

On our house-hunting weekend in 1999, we ran into my friend Bud at the airport who said, “You’ll love this place.  It’s a 20-minute town.”  Meaning you can get anywhere in 20 minutes.  At rush hour, that’s not quite true now – but still, San Antonio’s size, population (1.3M) and expanse is very manageable.

Keith describes San Antonio as “a small town of a million people.”   We quickly noticed one of the first questions locals asked was, “Where did you go to high school?”  Obituaries almost always list the high school, even if the deceased completed more advanced education.  San Antonio also uses street banners to advertise events.  Its freeway entrance/exit system is very small-town with a distinct lack of interchanges – the one thing I would change with my magic wand, if I had one.

I like the smaller-town “feel.”  I’ve long hated driving, and if everything I needed were within five miles of me, that’d be even better.

One of the best ways to get around (down)town:  The River Walk.  We go every Christmas to enjoy the lights, music and food.  It meanders behind the office buildings where we work.

#4  I Love Fiesta Texas

We have Sea World, Schlitterbahn and Fiesta Texas here – but Fiesta Texas is our favorite.  Sometimes in the summer, we go to just swim – it has a kickin’ water park, and it’s too hot to do anything else outside.   We renew our passes at spring break; go often in the summer; go once for Fright Fest, and once for Holiday in the Park.

Her first summer home, Julia would come to me and wave her crooked hand like a fish, asking “Bomp, bomp, bomp, bomp?” with an expectant smile.  That meant, “Hey, Mom – let’s go to Fiesta Texas and do some rides!”  Every summer, she races to check the height requirements for the bigger coasters.  When she grows tall enough for the Superman (54″) – listen for the shout.

We took Julia when she’d been home less than two weeks.  Our sainted social worker – Jennifer – thought we were stone cold crazy until she met Julia and got a feel for her personality.  We did not have to cocoon our post-institutionalized child as so many adoptive families have had to do.

#3  I Love the Patriotism

You may think #7 – Military Presence – and Patriotism are the same thing.  But they’re not.   Military towns are not necessarily patriotic towns.  And San Antonio is patriotic.

Fiesta Texas plays the national anthem before opening the park each day.  One day last summer – as we waited, hands over our hearts – a group of foreign-sounding high school students rudely talked and laughed and jostled.  I glared, then finally stepped over and said, “Excuse me.  That’s our national anthem.”  A girl answered, “I do not care.  I am French.”  I said, “You are a guest in our country.   I would hope you would show respect for your host.”  They did quiet themselves.  An older-than-me Hispanic woman walked over after the anthem to say, “I’m glad you said something.  I was going over to slap them.”

The first year we hosted airmen trainees for Thanksgiving (2002), I parked my eight-year-old Ford mini-van between a tricked-out Lexus and a beat-up Chevy yard truck filled with lawn equipment.   The families hosting airmen tend to visit, and it’s so much fun hearing how long they’ve been doing it, what they’re serving, etc.    Nobody talks about their their heirloom china, or the square footage of their dining room, or any “things.”  They talk about how happy it makes them to host trainees for dinner, and maybe their own military service away from home on a holiday.

God bless America.

Children’s Choir Members Rachel and Lois in 2001

#2  I Love Our Church

The third Sunday we visited Shearer Hills, Keith looked at me and asked, “Do you want to get this over with and join?”   We did.    We’ve made most of our friends there – been challenged to serve Jesus there – taught and been taught there.

There’s always something special about the church where your babies are born and if for no other reason, Westbury Baptist in Houston will always be precious to me.  But there’s also something special about the church where your babies are born again, and all four of ours made their professions of faith at Shearer Hills.

A church membership is not a substitute for a relationship with Jesus Christ.  But we are called to be members of the body, and when we don’t see our church family regularly, there’s a vague unease in our family life.    We do try welcome guests, too, as we felt so welcomed.  As Casting Crowns sings, “Jesus paid much too high a price -  For us to pick and choose who should come -
And we are the Body of Christ.”

Hannah’s 2003 Baptism

#1 – I Love Our Schools

We are profoundly thankful for our schools.  Keith knew – from online research – within two square miles where we’d live when we moved, based on the schools.  If we had to move, then we were going to solve our biggest problem, which was sub-standard public education for our girls.

Third-grader Rachel was an outstanding student in HISD.  When we moved into North East ISD in San Antonio – she was behind.  Badly behind.  Her teacher tutored her twice a week to help her catch up.

Other than three small bumps in the road, we have been very happy with Rachel, Lois and Hannah in their schools.  That happiness makes the steep property taxes worth it.

But with Julia – we’ve been more than “happy.”  We’ve been thrilled.  Julia’s English-speaking ability (which was “none”) was evaluated soon after she came home in May, 2006, in preparation for her upcoming kindergarten year.  NEISD brought in a Russian-speaking speech therapist to see if she needed speech therapy, which almost all post-institutionalized children require (she did not.)  Her kinder teacher – who also came to her baptism last year – kept a very watchful eye on her, to ensure she didn’t get lost physically or academically.  The school principal personally looked in on her once a week.  She received extra reading tutoring in first and second grades, and – as an ESL student – is regularly tested for any looming problems.  Her teachers couldn’t have been better if we’d hand-designed them.

We also appreciate the elementary after-school program – not available in Houston.  Because our kids could stay on-campus after school until we could pick them up, they could be in choir, chess club, storytelling club,  Girl Scouts, etc.  Rachel – an education major at UTSA – now works in that program at a nearby elementary school – and loves it.

This picture Julia drew for her kinder teacher at the end of the school year says a lot.

So that’s my X-File…… I’m an ex-Houstonian, and have now lived in San Antonio for X (10) years.   The truth is out there.  And it’s that I love San Antonio.

Come see us sometime!

After 16 months of planning – we’ve done that “something really special.”   We’ve just returned from a week-long Caribbean Christmas cruise sandwiched between eight sunny days in Puerto Rico.  The cruise is why we didn’t send Christmas cards (and why I need to hurry and order New Year’s cards!)  The peeps we chat with daily knew about our going, but we didn’t make a big deal of announcing it, especially online.  (“Yes, the house will be empty.  Please come rob it.”)

Before the cruise…..three days in San Juan, including its historic forts:

Iguanas exhibit no fear of Castillo San Cristobal (fort) tourists.   The reverse can’t be said for the tourists.

Julia strutted through the forts, usually leading our way.  I’ve long referred to her as “my little engineer” but after watching her obvious enjoyment of all things military, I started thinking:  “What about West Point?  What about The Air Force Academy, or the Naval Academy?”  She’s certainly smart enough and athletic enough to excel in a military profession.  Something to consider for a few years from now…..

A pensive moment for Lois, reflecting on Old San Juan.

A little post-fort shopping in Old San Juan with a stop in front of a statue of the Three Kings.  We saw imagery of Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar all over Puerto Rico.   Locals told us Christmas day is important religiously, but their family celebrations usually take place on January 6.  I saw no Christmas “stuff” half-price after December 25; I’m betting it doesn’t hit clearance until January 7.

Keith spent 16 months researching and booking all our Puerto Rican side-trips and ship excursions, including this Friday night swim with millions of bioluminescent dinoflagellates.   We took a fast boat across a bay, then jostled by bus off-road to a landing for the more gentle boat ride to the inky-black bio bay.  As we swam, the glowing, glittering dinoflagellates swirled around us, clinging to our skin.  At one point, I lifted my glittery arms to the starry heavens and seemed to meld with the sky.  The girls enjoyed the swim; for me, it was a spiritual experience.  How can anyone look at the tiny creatures lighing that bay and the beauty around and above it and believe there is no God?

We boarded the Carnival Victory Sunday, December 20.

Keith, Julia and I lodged in a balcony room; Rachel, Lois and Hannah shared an inside room across the hall.   Julia and Keith spent hours relaxing on the balcony, watching the ship pull away from and into port, spotting other ships and the occasional fish, identifying constellations, etc.

Christmas morning view from our balcony – the sun rising over St. Kitts.

Buckle up, Buttercup!  Have you seen the Carnival commercial featuring the water slide where you “scream like a little girl?”   No screaming from us – but lots of “Whoo-Whoos!”

Part of the fun of returning to the ship every day:  Towel animals on our beds!  Omigosh, I loved coming back to a tidied room and fresh towels every day.  I”m thinking of hanging my pilfered “Cruising” placard on my bedroom door knob tomorrow when I leave for work and see if it still works its magic…..

Deck the halls!  Carols above the lounge on Christmas Eve.

Santa delivered a Disney stocking for each of the girls, hanging from Julia’s swing-down bunk.  High School Musical for Julia; Hannah Montana for Hannah; Nightmare Before Christmas for Lois; and Cars for Rachel.

Every night at dinner, the waiters would gather to perform a bit’o'choreography.   I did a bit’o'chair’dancin’ myself.

We enjoyed two “elegant nights,” which is the only reason pantyhose defiled my suitcase.

We loved the ship, but the real thrills were on the excursions.  Like Dominica, which is the single most beautiful place I’ve ever been. We explored its charms with Woody, a 1996 Olympic swimmer and our tour guide.

The girls fought to take turns riding in the back of Woody’s jeep, which – thankfully – had seat belts.

We’d never seen poinsettias this big!

Jacko Falls, where we first tasted “Sweet Sop,” an insanely declicious fruit.  The girls became obsessed with it, insisting on frequent Sweet Sop snow cone stops.

Woody took us off-road to a little-known beach.   Incredibly beautiful – and we had it all to ourselves.

No noise, no litter, no vendors, no blaring music – nothing but absolute, totally private beauty.  Keith and I stood in chest-deep water and could count our toes.

Woody cracked open coconuts with a machete.   Yum!

Lois discovered schools of blue and orange fish, as well as gorgeous shells.

None of us wanted to leave Woody’s paradise – especially Rachel, our most enthusiastic beach buddy.


On New Year’s Eve, we recounted our trip adventures.  Rachel, Hannah and I voted “Woody’s Beach” the highlight.

Barbados - far more modern and industrialized than Dominica – was rich in history and roadside vendors.   The vendors appealed to the girls.  The history….well….

Keith and I visited the oldest church in Barbados, St. James Anglican, established 1648.  Its cemetery was fascinating.  The girls were so intrigued, they stayed in the car.

A Barbados hill-top warning.

Julia and Hannah went ape over vendors’ monkeys.  Julia created a “theme song” for the trip when she spotted locals butchering hogs for Christmas dinner.  She chanted, “Pigs, pigs, roasted pigs” in a sing-song voice, a mindless melody repeated countless times by Woodworth females (much to the irritation of the Woodworth male.)

We toured the rain forest of St. Lucia in an aerial tram – so relaxing.

I wish the tram ride had been hours long instead of 70 minutes – better than a massage!

Unfortunately, Rachel purchased this Rastafarian cap in St. Lucia.  You get my thanks if you can snatch it and burn it.

Christmas morning, we headed to Cockleshell Beach in St. Kitts.

A Christmas Star…Fish!  Rachel found it.  I’d never seen a live one in its natural habitat before.  She and lois braved skinned knees and bruises to retrieve four big shells from rock crevices.  We brought three home, but the fourth had a sand crab that refused to be dislodged.

Antigua – what views!  And “sea puppies!”

Eric Clapton owns a home on the island, per our driver.  I hummed “Layla” the rest of the day.

Keith, Julia and Lois voted swimming with the stingrays on Antigua the trip highlight.   The first time a stingray approached Rachel, she emitted a high-pitched scream and splashed back to the boat.  Julia stayed firmly affixed to Keith’s back, but we would pet them when they came by.  One thought Keith’s shirt was a food source and attached itself to him.   He did not appreciate my suggestion to join the La Leche League.

Hannah liked the stingrays so much, she nicknamed them “sea puppies.”  They’re very soft.

After the cruise (sob!), we decompressed five days in Aguadilla, Puerto Rico – much smaller than San Juan.

At a local grocery store…you know, that whole “Christmas with the Kranks” thing….fighting over Mel’s Hickory Honey Ham…..

Lois’ suggestion for a room snack.  No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no – that’s one for each tentacle.

A sign at Crashboat Beach, where we went almost daily.   It either says  – “In the event of a tsunami, get to high ground, ” or “In the event of a tsunami, lean way over and kiss yourself goodbye.”  You choose.

The best food in Aguadilla was served at Crashboat Beach.  Local vendors grill skewers of tasty chicken or fish.  Two skewers and a piece of bread – $5.  Yum! Keith also enjoyed mofongo, sort of a plantain and chicken stew.

Sandy Bottoms – er – Hannah at Crashboat.  The waves were very, very strong.   When Keith hobbled in from the surf one afternoon, he announced, “I was just handed my keester.”  The waves took two pairs of our goggles and a pair of Rachel’s sunglasses.

Our last day at Crashboat – New Year’s Eve.

So long, Crashboat.  Hope to see you again.  And feel free to give back those sunglasses.

So that was our trip.   What we’d spent 18 years saving for, and 16 months seriously planning.  The credit goes to Keith, who researched every possibility to the nth degree.

We were melancholy leaving the boat, and then five days later in the San Juan airport.  But as Rachel reminded us -

Don’t be sad because it’s over.  Be glad because it happened.

Something really special happened.

I’m glad.

While you wait – here’s a stroll down a snow-covered, somewhat-twisted Memory Lane.

1984:  My first unique Christmas card, produced with the collaboration of my brilliant niece Sarah, and my brother John David – when I was Becky Hoffman.   We were a great team of “21 Fingers, Inc.”, referencing the 10 fingers each of Sarah and me,  plus David’s one finger.

1986:  Perhaps my very favorite card.  Nothing like Bruce Springsteen’s buns to inspire a little Christmas baking later.  We inserted a small plastic bag with a red rock and a jingle bell in each card, sealed with a music note sticker.  Only one recipient “got it,” a little girl in my Wednesday night bible study class who ran to hug me saying, “A jingle bell and a rock!  Jingle Bell rock!”

1986 Card Cover – By far the most artistic card (black & white, no less), playing on the upcoming 40th anniversary of “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  The 8mm film clip taped to the front of each card showed the three of us holding a poster that read, “And have a Happy New Year, too.”  Several recipients did examine the strip with a magnifying glass, so I was glad David insisted on authenticity.

1987 Card Body:  Sarah was working as a movie usher, so “Jimmy and Donna” snuck in to take the photo.  Truth be told, we snuck into the theaters she was serving many, many times, usually with David hissing at me to “look inconspicuous.”

1989, the year we got married – Our only “non-card,” because we were so busy with wedding preparations.  Too big to  scan, this 11″ x 17″ quad-folded color-me greeting made us “31 Fingers,” as Keith had joined the family.

1990 Card Photo, playing on “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and my mother always telling people, “You’ll have to step over his (artificial) legs” – it was a Texas Chainsaw Christmas, complete with bloodied artificial limbs.  This was the card my mother begged us not to send to “her family,” as though they weren’t “our family,” too.  I was pregnant with Rachel here – which may explain a lot.

1990 Card Insert – We affixed real bandaids to the inside.

1993 – Rachel was the world’s biggest Barney fan.  I had return address labels created displaying “Barney Woodworth” and for years, we got junk mail addressed to him.  I was pregnant with Lois, who was born Thanksgiving weekend….and two months early…..

….so we designed this Christmas card insert as her birth announcement.

1995 – along came Hannah, the biggest baby born at Memorial Southwest Hospital that year.  Twelve years later – cousin James (Sarah’s son) beat her by two ounces.

1996 – Loved this picture, because one-year-old Hannah thrust her hand straight into the “Happy Birthday Jesus” icing, then wiped it on her collar.

1999 – Digging in for Y2K atop one of the huge mounds of dirt piled from repairing under-the-foundation Houston plumbing.  We had two inserts prepared:  One was the norm, one said we were moving to San Antonio.  We held our breath, not knowing which we were sending until after Thanksgiving.  It was San Antonio.

2000 – First Christmas card from San Antonio, in front of the Alamo – “Remember the Woodworths” – certainly an appropriate send to our good friends and family in Houston.  My sister Judy bought the girls that puffy Santa, and he’s been in almost every Christmas card photo since.

2006 – First card with Julia, and everyone in their Old Navy flag tees – all American citizens, but yet the “Worldwide Woodworths.”

Want to see them all?  Cover over some time!   Christmas card photos from 1984 – 2008 are hung in the upstairs hallway.  So many frames – I’ve given up trying to keep them all straight.  But that’s okay.  I’m a little twisted myself.

Kanye West says it’s way better than that silly thang of  Beyonce’s.

One of the biggest blessings we’ve had in San Antonio is the opportunity to host airmen trainees from Lackland AFB for Thanksgiving.   We never know their genders, or ages, or hometowns until we’re getting acquainted while driving away from the base.  And we don’t need to.  We know what we need to know.  We’re all Americans.