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!

I love Christmas music.  In fact – In 1994, Keith convinced me to abandon over-the-air TV for DISH because of its holiday music channel.  Pretty funny, since we both work on U-verse now.

Lois is top row, second from the right.  She was 15th chair region choir alto for Southeast Texas this year, too.

Tomorrow, it’s the children’s and youth choir at church leading worship.  And Monday night – Hannah in the Bush Middle School choir.

Gotta get my clapping hands ready!

The students could create any “thing” they wanted to honor their grandparents.  Some wrote songs, essays or poems; some built PowerPoints; some drew elaborate pictures and appended explanatory text.  With Rachel’s guidance*, Julia created a tote bag.  Why a tote bag?  Well, because Jim and Rosalie are usually on vacation at this time, and tote bags are handy for the car.

I thought this bag was so cute, I didn’t even mind its paint splattered on   Julia’s  only-worn-it-once yellow shirt.  I put the shirt aside for “mud night” at children’s camp next year – she can throw it away rather than bring it home.

Jim and Rosalie are now on their way back home to Houston – with the bag.  It was a gift, you see – like their coming here.

Happy Grandparents Day!

* If your house doesn’t have a Rachel-who-is-good-with-crafts, you really need to pick one up.  I think they’re at Hobby Lobby, between the Styrofoam balls and the glitter pens.

If the child was adopted domestically and looks like the parents, “passing” seems to be most common.  Adoption seldom enters the conversation.   It’s seldom a “secret.”  But it’s not advertised.

If the child was adopted internationally, or if the child doesn’t look like the parents, then the level of investment in the adoption seems to be governed by the presence of bio children.   Parents – particularly mothers – of these adopted kids with no bios seem to focus more on the attribute of adoption itself.    They don’t merely feed their kids.   If their kids were adopted from Russia, they scour the user boards for Russian recipes.     If their kids were adopted from China, they have adorable silken garments to wear for Chinese New Year.  If their kids are of a different race,  they rush to deify leaders of that race.

But if the child was adopted internationally – and/or if the child doesn’t look like the parents – and there are bio kids in the family, “blending” seems to be more the norm.  And because we blend, maybe we seem like we don’t care enough – whatever “enough” is.

Look what I found on Julia’s desk at Parent’s Night tonight.    She’s proud of being adopted.   Good thing, since we’re also proud of her.

I remember the judge in St. Petersburg asking me, “How will you be able to give enough attention to this child when you already have three children?” and my replying, “Those three children will make her life richer.  She will never lack for attention.”  And that’s been true.   Rachel, Lois and Hannah have had every bit as much to do with Julia’s acclimation and attachment as have Keith and I.

But because those three children were already here, there are lots of things we just don’t do.  Yes, yes, I took the advice of the adoption experts and scattered Russian stuffola around the house.  We hang a Russian flag for Sister’s Day.  We have somber icons on the mantle, colorful photos on the walls and decorated eggs on the bookshelves.  In fact, just this week I made Julia a collage of herself in Russia to decorate her room.

The girls’ rooms are very expressive.   Keith and I don’t much care what they tack up as long as it’s not vulgar.  We figure we’ll paint when they leave.

But our lives aren’t centered around adoption, or Russia.  We don’t belong to a single adoption support group.  (User boards?  Yes.  But there’s only one I visit regularly now, and not every day.)    We don’t cook Russian food because we typically cook what the whole family likes and makes good leftovers for lunches.    We don’t seek out Russian cultural events, of which there’d be darned few in San Antonio anyway.  Julia doesn’t own a single piece of Russian-themed clothing – and I honestly don’t think she’d wear it if she did, she’s so picky about her clothes, none of which includes a ruffle, ribbon or bow.  We’ve been invited to countless adoption-themed ministry events at different churches and – unless I was working a table for Buckner (our agency) - haven’t attended any.

I worry less about our integration of all things Russian than I do about the blending of six day-to-day lives in America.  Julia’s wanted to play soccer, but we can’t make the times work with our two full-time jobs – it’s hard to say “no,” though I told Hannah that, too, about swim team.   Julia would like to come home on the bus instead of going to the after-school program, but again, not an option for her….or for Rachel, Lois or Hannah at the same ages.

Our dinner table rocks with constant bantering.  Over spaghetti, or hamburgers, or chicken pot pie – not borscht.   With big glasses of cold water – not hot tea.   And while we wear T-shirts and shorts – not tunics and flouncy skirts.

We talk about Russia, sure – but usually, it’s Keith or me that brings it up.  I expect Julia to be insanely interested in Russia when she’s older, and when she is, we have papers, pictures and gifts for her.  We’ve even talked vaguely of re-visiting St. Pete when she’s a teen.  But today, she cares more about playing swords in the cul-de-sac with the neighbor kids.   And in the meantime….Rachel’s started college and has a job.  Lois is carrying a super-heavy load in high school and pondering the fate of the Latin Club.  Hannah is creating an eco-system project and anxious about advanced choir.

If Julia was “the only one” – I’m sure we’d celebrate Victory Day, drive to the nearest Russian Orthodox church every Sunday (it’s in Houston, BTW) and slurp vodka every night.   But she’s not.  We swirl in a blender of activities.

We don’t deny where she was.  But we also know where she is.  And who she’s with.  And what everyone is doing.  And it’s all gotta blend.

This year – four kids in four schools.

Hannah – 8th grade, her last in Middle School.  Julia – 3rd grade, she has to take the TAKS test this year (we’re already thinking about it).  Rachel – Freshman at UTSA.  She was there today to buy books; her classes start Wednesday, but her job in the KIN program (after school care) began today.  Lois – Sophomore in high school.

Homework started today, too.  Check out Lois’ pre-calculus pre-AP math assignment. Good thing she doesn’t need any help.   College calculus was the only class that ever made me cry.  I was soooo lost – the term “standard deviation” still makes me shudder.  I came home from UH that night and sobbed to my mom that I’d never understand calculus, I’d have abandon the whole BBA thing and become a ditch digger.

Sarah’s daughter – my great niece Laura – started kinder in Pearland today.  Nothing cuter than the kinders!

Send Sarah some Kleenex, I think she’s out now…..

As I was making breakfast for Hannah and Julia this morning, Keith reminded me – “This is your 14th year of doing this.”  Wow.  I guess it is.  Here’s what I’ve learned:

1.  Have all maintenance items current before that all-important first day.   Laundry, mail, bill pay, errands  – all of it.  Be ready to punt.

2.  Backpacks packed and ready to go the day before.

3.  Fund the lunch accounts online and early.

4.  Mondays are hard.  The first day of school is doubly-hard.  Plan on a good dinner to soothe the re-entry.  Tonight we had tacos with all the fixings.  Why?  Because we all like them.  And let me tell you, our dinner table rocked.

5.  Take a first day of school picture every year.  These were so, so handy when I created a graduation book for Rachel of all her school stuff.

6.  As soon as school is out – get next year’s medication administration forms to your pedi, all filled out and ready for signature.  Then hold them until August, when you deliver them to the school nurses w/the appropriate medications the week before school starts.  If you wait until August to consult your pedi – forget it, he’s on vacation or tied up in physicals.  If you wait until the first week of school to deliver the forms and medications – you may miss the nurse, or your kids may call for the Advil before you get it up there.

7.  Really important:  Have your pen, check book and clear return address labels ready.  Huh?  You don’t know about that?  READ THIS!

We’ve only been back in school one day, and just like Ferris – I’m ready for a day off.  How about you?

Anyone?  Anyone?

Special and eternal thanks to my brilliant niece, Sarah, who knows how to throw a party – unlike her hopeless, clueless aunt (that would be me.)   She’s even willing to drive for 3.5 hours with two small children to do so.  Sarah was 19 when Rachel was born, and our children adore her.  (Me, too.)

Like, she brought these cool graduation tablecloths, napkins and decorations with her from Houston for fellow grads Paul, Emma and Cat to enjoy at our Saturday fajita feast….

….and she alerted me to these cool photo cakes at Sam’s, which I had never noticed in my rush to the fabric softener.

For the first time – at Rachel’s graduation party – we actually ate on the deck overlooking the pond   Whoo-whoo!  The koi appreciated the attention of our friends’ kiddos, I am sure. So they got fed tortilla chips and Sarah’s famous pico de gallo – is that a problem?!

Ronald Reagan High School in San Antonio was the first public school named after him.  Nancy Reagan offered these printed congratulations to the grads.   Which thrilled me because….

RR was my president, as evidenced by this 1984 photo at the RNC in Dallas.  He and Nancy were on stage during this balloon drop.  Be forgiving – I was way to heck far away.  I took the week off to enjoy the RNC.  That was when – as Lois tells me – I  “used to be hot, before you got boring.”

The original three -  Hannah, Rachel and Lois – we spared Julia tonight, leaving her with good friends and an evening at Vacation Bible School.  We heathens are missing it.  I will confess to wanting a better camera before it’s Lois’ turn in three years.

Keith’s parents came in for the actual ceremony, which qualifies them for sainthood.  There are a lot of graduates’ names before “Woodworth….”

A sea of green…..Rachel was in the back row.  Being 6’1″, she’s used to it.

One of my favorite parts of this evening:  Lois texting Hannah (who was sitting between us) – “Dear Lord I would kill for an Ipod.”  Long ceremony was it, Lois?   I also chuckled aloud when Hannah commented “I hope she has to walk home” when a school board member – who successfully fought our bus service to middle school – spoke.  Amen!

At the conclusion of kindergarten, Rachel received a self-defined award for tying her shoes. (“What the kids are most proud of.”)    I remember that day, as I will remember this on – proudly, happily, and with a touch of wonder that my baby has come so far.

I first experienced this beautiful blending in 2003 with sixth-grader Rachel.  I’ve missed two performances.  In 2005, Keith called me on his cell (discreetly hidden in his lap) so I could harmonize in a lonely Chicago hotel room.  In 2006, we were in Russia.

My three favorite altos, on the end in the back – as Woodworths often are.  The seven-part “Amen” speaks to my soul.

It’d be nice to think Julia might join the choir in a few years, but – as Keith so aptly commented during a road trip when all four girls were singing – “So, you think art for Julia in middle school?”

Until next May, choir – The Lord bless you and keep you, too.   I’ll see you then.  And you’ll see a big wad of Kleenex catching eight years of memories.

Julia is convinced they’ll fly back to visit.

They may come back to the pond to drink.   San Antonio is in a prolonged drought.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how our family is changing with Rachel’s upcoming graduation from high school.  She’ll be only half-ours when she’s in college and after that – she’ll be responsible for her own food and shelter.  I’ve spent a chunk of every day worrying over this first baby bug – feeding her, making sure she wasn’t too hot or too cold – putting her near the light when she needed it.

Senior Awards last week – DECA State Competition in Fashion & Apparel, School Store Manager and Choir – Woot!  She was the very last of  300+ honorees (whew!), so, lots of applause!
Lois and Hannah are coming right up behind her, with Julia bringing up the rear.

You rear them to let them go.

But I, too, am hoping they “flutterby” often.

The scholar and her parents. With three teenage daughters around, Keith and me, we ain’t too smart right now.  Most evenings, we are totally void of any intelligence, say our progeny.  But we’re a figurin’ we’ll get a whole lot smarter in ’bout 10 – 15 years.…

Keith usually stays home w/Julia (strict bedtime) on Wednesday nights while the older girls and I go to church.  Tonight, Rachel and Lois had to take Julia with them.  Rachel was so afraid she’d forget to run by the children’s room and pick up her youngest sister that she wrote “Julia” in what she thought was erasable marker on her hand.  Well, it was a Sharpie.  Fail! Honorable intention, though….

Still no real answer – but some Honorable Mentions….

Speaking of “Fail” – well, I still don’t have an answer to this puzzler.  Friends contributed some Honorable Mentions, but none of the answers sang to me.  Connie, Aimee and Lois all thought it might be the objects’ ability to make sounds.  Well…they do….but dang, the boot is a stretch.  Aimee and I also pursued an oil thread.  Whales were hunted for oil, you have to oil a piano and a train, there is polishing oil for boots and it turns out even penguins have oil in them.  But why not a spouted can?  Or a dipstick?  Or Jed Clampett?  Mayme was thinking maybe they were the “largest” of something which they could be, but….  Vicki – who teaches – said based on her experience, a student’s real-life answer would be “ummmm…..”    Renee – always the pragmatist – questioned whether teh bottom left object was really a penguin at all.

I’ve got a copy of this puzzler in my inbox at work and at home.  I can’t file it or delete it until I’ve got an answer.  Just can’t.  It’s a matter of honor now.