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.

On the middle left – my mom Wyoming, the high school yearbook editor and member of the Butler University yearbook staff.  Her college roommate sent one of the first notes I received.

But I kept those cards and notes.   I’ve reread them often, each time viewing another slivered reflection of who my mom really was.

“When my (own) mother died, Wy came over and cleaned my house.”    “Wy loaned us $100 when we really needed it.”   “When we bought her (the baby) home, Wy was the first one at our door with a good meal.” “Your mom could take anything and make it funny.” “There was never a better friend or neighbor.”  “Her ‘misplaced Baptist’ opinions in Sunday School always made me laugh.” “If  anybody had read the book – it was Wy.”

In some form or fashion, all of them said – “She’ll be missed.”

Yes.  And I miss her still.  Especially on Mother’s Day.

My dad’s mother and my mother – Bessie and Wy Hoffman. My cousin Clyde – with whom I recently reconnected on Facebook – shared this photo with me. When Rachel saw it, she exclaimed, “Grandma was a fox!”

I’d love to honor my mother on Mother’s Day but…  I can’t send her a card, or run by with a corsage.  She doesn’t have a headstone at which to lay flowers.  No university boasts a  “Wy Hoffman Chair for the Domestic Arts” wheedling donations.   The families of my sister and I don’t gather at her former home,  joining hands and harmonizing “Kumbaya.”

Mother’s Day 1983 – Judy, David, Sarah and me, with Mom in the background.  Yea baby, my ‘fro was hot.

So how to honor my mother on Mother’s Day?

I think I pay it forward.

If she could strap on David’s artificial limbs morning after morning – I suppose I can remember to reorder Julia’s asthma inhaler.

If she could mop the church floor – I figure I can attend a committee meeting or two.

If she could bring sick kids to our house from (her employer) daycare when their working moms were delayed – I guess I can make our home available to those who might need to escape an advancing hurricane.

That’s the best I can do.

Which is what she did all the time.

So tomorrow’s hon-or is on-her.

Paid forward.

And she’s never had a cavity!

Rachel started our family’s Sojourn to Straightness on December 20, 2003.

In April, 2004, Rachel chose “Fiesta Colors” for her bands.    Talk about a party in your mouth!

We had two in braces at once with Rachel and Lois, then later with Lois and Hannah.  Because we could see this coming, we joined a DMO when we moved here.  Belonging to a DMO means you don’t have to cruise as many dimly-lit convenience stores to fund those grins.

I had two “Full Metal Daughters” in February, 2005.

So today marks the end of seven years and four months of making the orthodontist’s office our second home.

Three kids in braces spread over seven years plus Rachel’s 17 broken brackets necessitating an extra year of treatment  – I estimate we’ve parked here about 150 times since December 20, 2004.

I’d like to say we’re finished but…..

I suspect we’ll be back in two or three years.

So – what the heck – we might as well smile!

Really?  Hmmm.  This reminds me of people who have told me I’m not a real mother because I work outside the home, or aren’t a real Texan because I was born in Indianapolis.

There’s plenty I understand about adoption.

I understand that all kids have behavior problems.  That’s because they’re kids.  It’s our job as parents to correct them.  Not every behavior problem is adoption-related.  A three-year-old who tantrums in a public place needs to have his attention re-focused on his parent so that parent can correct – whether by words, or forcible removal, or perhaps warming the child’s bottom.   He doesn’t need an ooey-gooey, “Oh, Mommy knows you have problems because you’re adopted!  Mommy is here for you.  Let Mommy make sure you don’t hurt yourself as you annoy everyone within earshot and totally destroy what could be a pleasant experience for everyone else here.”

My first picture with minutes-old Rachel.  Easy baby – at least compared to those to come (preemie Lois, then 11 lb., 6 oz. Hannah).  I boiled the water used to mix Rachel’s formula for her first year.

I understand that all adopted kids have attachment issues to some degree or another.  We’ve dealt with some ourselves.  More may emerge later during those delightful teen years.   It’s just part of the package of nurturing a child you didn’t birth.   Attachment issues, though, can’t be allowed to define a child.  Neither can height, weight, birth order, intelligence, physical abilities or whatever crazy aunt that child resembles.   You can’t throw your hands in the air and whine, “Well what can I do?  He’s adopted.”  It’s just part of the package.  Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

My first picture with Lois – and the first time I was allowed to hold her.  She was two weeks old and had just come off the ventilator.  I used bottled water to mix Lois’ formula for her first five months.

I understand that you cannot love adopted kids and bio kids “the same.” But really – you can’t love bio kids “the same” either.  They’re all different, born to you at different stages in your life with different appearances, and talents and characteristics of their own.  I throw up in my mouth when I read of some nanny-laden celebrity blithely quoted as, “Oh, I don’t even remember which of my kids are adopted and which are bio.”   That’s not cute, or touching.  It’s just silly.  And to me – it gives adoption a tinge of shame, like there’s something disgraceful about an adopted child that must be hidden.  I don’t see anything wrong with responding to invasive inquiries with, “I’m not sure why you’re asking,” or “If you my kids want you to know that, they’ll tell you.”   But to place bio and adopted kids in some murky, ill-defined stew of “sameness”  is as foolish as trying to force Child A to be a great artist because Child B is, or telling Child C that she has to dye her hair the same color as Child D.  Kids are different.  And – at different stages in our lives – so are we parents.

My first picture with Hannah, who was five months old.  By the time the third one comes along, you say things like, “Honey, didn’t we used to have a camera?”  and “I rubbed her pacifier on my jeans, so it’s clean.”  Hannah started off on tap water.

I understand that many adopted kids have gaping holes in their history – and that stinks.  I hate writing “unknown” on Julia’s medical history forms.  It’s irritating to respond, “I don’t know” to a doctor’s questions.   Mostly it worries me to be ignorant of what might be lurking in her genes.  Is that stray “my tummy hurts” comment just the result of too many malted milk candies, or should I worry about a family history of stomach cancer?  Were bio mom and dad in glasses by age 12 so I better be watching for vision issues?   I often tell Rachel, Lois and Hannah – “Aunt Judy and I each had our high blood pressure diagnosed at age 42, and high blood pressure killed your Uncle David at age 42.  Have yours checked – especially in your 40′s!”   What can I tell Julia like that?  Nothing.  I want so badly to protect her, and to teach her to keep herself safe.  The lack of a birth history is painful.

My first picture with six-year-old Julia, who chose us as well as our choosing her.   That’s a lot like marriage – and a whole lot different than giving birth.

I understand that adoption comes with its own birthing process.  Instead of watching a test strip for a color change that may or may not ever happen, you’re watching a phone that may or may not ever ring.  Instead of  feeling kicks, you’re feeling anxiety.  Instead of labor pains, you have bureaucratic pains.   Instead of stretch marks, you get stretched finances.  Instead of  “She’s got your dad’s nose” comments, you get…..well, you get other comments.  Some make you smile.  And some….well, some like “you don’t understand adoption”  – those comments make you lift an eyebrow and retort, “I do understand.”

So here goes – tuning to Channel Glad now…..

The sad news from a Sea World last week made me glad Shamu didn’t see us as bathtub toys in 1998.  Though maybe Rachel had a few doubts at the time.

I know many friends really enjoy the Olympics – more power to you.  But personally – I’m glad they’re soon to be over.  They’re preempting “The Office,”  and that’s a show the girls and I watch together.  The last time I watched the Olympics was the 1972 night the Russians stole the basketball game via repeated do-overs.  I vowed I’d never watch again – and forgiving soul that I am – I haven’t.   U-verse – btw – has had a terrific application for the Olympics.

My continuing rancor at that travesty of a game is kind of funny since my favorite basketball player now is Russian.

There is little that makes me more glad than to hear my girls sing.  Tonight was Hannah’s pre-UIL concert.  That’s her – top row, far left.

“Walking in Jerusalem” really made me smile.  I just finished the book of John in “Faith by Hearing” yesterday.  I wonder about John.  What made him so beloved?

About two years ago, Julia caught a snippet of “Ben Hur” on TV and has pestered me ever since about seeing the whole movie.  “Mom, when are we going to watch that Jesus movie?”  I really didn’t think she was ready for it until recently.  I bought it last week (if I’d just waited one more week, I could have recorded it for free on U-verse – sigh.)   She and I are watching 30 – 45 minutes every few days.  Well, we probably watch 30 minutes, and have 15 minutes of questions.  She’s gotten the concept down – Judah Ben-Hur was a man whose life intersected with Jesus’ at different times, but Judah didn’t know who Jesus really was in those early meetings.  Last night, she told me, “Mom, that’s like us.  Everybody knows Jesus’ name but they don’t know who he really is.”   I was very glad to hear her say that.

From sad and mad to glad. 

Thanks, Mom.  I’m feeling better already.

David and me with Carl in 1965.

Judy and Sarah have been blanketed with comforting calls and cards, each offering condolences and offers of support.  But to a grief-shocked wife and daughter – at least for now – they’re just words.    And right now, words just aren’t enough.

We lost Carl as the tragedy unfolded Haiti, with more than 100,000 killed.   Every news report – every K-Love special announcement – as I traveled to and from Houston ladled on more buckets of Haitian misery – thousands of falling buildings.  No food, clean water or medical supplies for the hundreds of thousands injured.  And while a still-reasoning reservoir in my mind processed the magnitude of those numbers – I felt no desire to “do something.”   Except pull into my sister’s driveway.

Who and what  matters most are those in your heart.   So as incredible as were those Haitian numbers, they impacted me far less than the one.  Because just like words are sometimes not enough – neither are numbers.

Count your blessings.  Name them one by one.  And go give them big hugs.

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 grew up with stories of my Hoosier mom – Wyoming – and her three sisters – Arizona, Oklahoma and Nevada – plus their four brothers – Hugo Denver, William S. Hart, Texas and Kirby.   My mother’s father – a despicable hillbilly drunk – was enamored with the American West.  My mother’s mother – a long-suffering Quaker – acquiesced to his moniker choices.

(l-r) Oklahoma (Mary), Wyoming (Wy), Nevada (Neva) and Arizona (Zum) in the 70′s.  To tease my mom, I’d say, “Oh, Wyoming, you’re in such a state.”

We lost Mother in 1998.  Mom’s four brothers died long ago.   Her last sister – Mary – died in the wee hours Monday.

Aunt Mary and Me in 2007

Mom and her sisters – including Aunt Mary – did not let their bleak childhood circumstances define them.   They all attended college or completed professional training; all reared/encouraged their children, nieces and nephews; all used their creativity, generosity, wit and intelligence to leave this world a far better place than they found it.

The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve marveled at what they accomplished.  They truly were “The Greatest Generation.”  I wonder if I could have done the same.   I know I’ve been given more, and accomplished less – that is not false modesty,  it’s simply truth.

I’ve grown weary in recent years of adults whining about their parents – perhaps because I tired of it in myself.   What our parents did.  Or didn’t do.  What slights, hurts and psychic sores we’ve picked at for decades.

When do you just grow up and let it go?  Seriously.  When do you?

Maybe it’s when your parents – and their siblings – are all gone.

Because then there’s no one left to blame.

You’re “it.”

I spoke to Aunt Mary at least once a week, and listening to her was sorta like hearing my mom again.   I loved her chuckling through stories about my family.  Our family.

Those stories have helped define me.  I know now, too, that the threads that weave family ties don’t always have to be knit in the same pattern.   And those threads can span generations, and even worlds.

Mom and her sisters always hated to say “goodbye.”  So I won’t.  I’ll just say, “Your life was a great story, Aunt Mary.  I’ll make sure my girls hear it.”

I miss you already. But you know that.

It was the week before Thanksgiving (according to me.)

But either way – we married November 18, 1989.  So we’ve been married 20 years today.

My brother David walked me down the aisle at Westbury Baptist.  We had practiced in street clothes, but not in my dress – which fed up into his electric wheelchair gears about 3/4 of the way to the alter.  I was gouging his back hissing, “Reverse!  Reverse!” while he countered  “I can’t!  I can’t!”   My brother-in-law Carl and Keith slowly extracted my dress from the mechanism.  When we made it to the platform, my wonderful Uncle Jim – the Methodist minister who married us – produced a gynormous white handkerchief for Keith to wipe his greasy hands upon during a lengthy prayer.   Uncle Jim later told us, “I always carry it.  You wouldn’t believe what it’s wiped up.”

My brilliant niece Sarah and Keith’s best friend Kurt attended us.    I was in Houston this weekend to celebrate the 65th birthday of my sister Judy (Sarah’s mom).  Sarah surprised me with an anniversary gift to share with Keith.  Pay attention to our faces in the picture below…….

Yes, we were younger, thinner , a lot smarter and had disposable income.  Note the antique elephant on top of our cake, a gift from Keith’s mom because we met at the Republican phone bank and spent the following evening together at the George R. Brown Convention Center, waiting for #41 to make his triumphant entrance.   See our faces?

See them again!  “Becky & Keith,” “11/18/89  20 yrs!” and line art of our faces as scanned from the cake-cutting picture.  Sarah and Judy custom-ordered these M&M’s in our wedding colors – shades of pink and wine, heavy on the mauve – which David always described as “a color not occurring in nature.”  We served M&M’s in big bowls at our reception.

We fantasized about all kinds of honeymoons, but ended up in Galveston because I had a Gold C coupon for the Hotel Galvez – most certainly an indicator of behaviors to come.

Keith totally stunned me when he asked me to marry him.  In fact, I responded, “Are you crazy?”   Now he lives with five woman so if he wasn’t crazy then, he’s got to be now.

Lots has changed in 20 years, but not everything.  I still like mauve.  And elephants.   I love Keith more than ever.  And when the evenings get stressful and there’s just too much to try to jam in,  I try to remember those big bowls of M&M’s at our reception and think:  Let those harsh words just melt in my mouth.  Because I’ve got the one I love to hold my hand.

Happy Anniversary, Keith!  Are you surprised?!   Or just crazy?!  I opened only one of the three bags of custom-printed M&M’s to take the picture, and nibbled only two of those I photographed.  So there will be plenty to sample when we get home tonight!

5’11″ no more….Hannah is taller than me now.  And as for 150….well, maybe in each thigh…..  Here’s what I look like now.

For my corporate anniversary gift, I chose diamond-crusted bling .

I love the big analog dial.  I can read it!

Very early in my career, I read three op-ed pieces in the Wall Street Journal that influenced me greatly.

First, I read a piece by Peter Drucker (the father of modern management, we learned at UH) that espoused co-workers had taken the place of neighbors.  He advocated human investment in the work place – to remember we were really people – neighbors, as it were.

The Ones to Call On:  Dennis – creator of the “Disbursement Family Feeling” – and long-suffering Vicki, who tolerated many  jokes and jolts in the 9051 Parkwest neighborhood.  I’m glad we’re all three still virtual neighbors.

Second, I read the results of a decades-long study that concluded children with two parents who worked outside the home were no more or less happy and productive than children with one parent working outside the home, providing a single critical condition was met:  Mom had to be happy at work.  If Mom wasn’t happy, nobody was happy.

Mom Lisa – who helped get blood donors at work for me and preemie Lois – has always been the best at finding something in which to rejoice.

Finally, I read an article that basically said, “You can’t do everything for or with your kids.  Find what is most important to them – do that – and don’t stress about the rest.”  Easy to say.  Hard to do.  But I’ve tried.

Early on, I noticed Mom-friends like Konen planning wonderful family beach vacations, baking for the school, etc.  Konen taught Vicki how to curse,  me how to be a gracious winner and everyone else how to quilt.   She claims no credit for imparting my mad fashion skills, like wearing vintage political campaign buttons (William Howard Taft with campaign ribbon shown here.)

The 1986 set of 40th birthday nails I painted in Konen’s honor bemused her.

Here’s what 30 years at AT&T has taught me.  Don’t expect to view this litany in the Wall Street Journal, as I did those three influential articles

1.  The 70′s divas were wrong.  You can not have it all.

When I graduated college, I  passionately embraced the feminist mantra of “You can have it all.”  I could birth or adopt brilliant children with naturally straight teeth, sprint the corporate ladder with book-smart ease, enjoy  leadership positions in a dozen community organizations, grow spiritually and support my church piously, whip up gourmet meals effortlessly every night – all while completing my MBA in my spare time.  Nothing could stop me.  Except,  of course, reality.

2.  It all has to balance, but family rules.

It is very, very tough to keep work life and home life balanced.  How late do you stay when your kids expect you to not only eat dinner with them but also to cook it?  And what’s more - you want to.

When Rachel was seven years old, she contracted a rare case of strep throat.   On the way home from the pedi, we had to pass the office….so I thought just a few minutes to check e-mail…..next thing I knew, it’d been a hour and Rachel was asleep on the floor of my cubby with give-away T-shirts cradling her feverish head.   I was disgusted with myself.  What was the matter with me?  I coded vacation, scooped her up and hurried home.  And never forgotten it.

You do your job.  You do it well.  But the job isn’t life.

3.  If you can’t be with the ones you love – love the ones you’re with.

I’ve often been uprooted from jobs, people – even a city – I really liked.  The strange thing:  There’s always been somebody good on the other side.    I would have missed meeting some really neat people if I hadn’t moved around – voluntarily or involuntarily.  My closest friends – the ones who have embraced me at my lowest – started out as work buddies.

4.  Have fun when you can.  Because you can’t always.

Look for the fun.  Take the fun.  Make the fun.  Be the fun.  While you can.

Looking for more bars in more places:  Dancin’ in the Dark with the Station 90.51 crew – Natalie, Me, Gaye, Tim & Linda

Reach Out and Touch Someone:  “Ghostbusters” debuted  while we were preparing for Divestiture.  My unit danced through the building in our hand-decorated T-shirts, jam-boxing the movie’s theme song and handing out candy on Halloween. For Christmas, we stuffed pantyhose with wadded paper, affixed a pair to each of our heads like reindeer antlers and shared candy canes.

Our units gathered for doughnuts when Natalie snipped my hot pink rat tail before I interviewed for the Rotary trip to India.   My rat tail matched my eye-scorching pink jellies and florescent pink tie – which my boss Vicki endured with raised eyebrows and a bitten tongue. That’s Margaret looking on fearfully, probably afraid I’d leave the dyed locks on her desk, like “someone” left (and photographed) the Baby Ruth in the women’s room to taunt that month’s beleaguered “Quality of Work Life” manager.

I had to be at the Astrodome for a promotion anyway….so why shouldn’t Rachel and Lois run the bases?!  Rachel also fondly remembers my pulling her out of school early for us to go “check the signage” at SBC’s “Race to the Red Planet” promotion at Space Center Houston in 1998.  She also flipped the symbolic light switch at Uptown Holiday Lighting in 1996.  And clapped for Byonce and Destiny’s Child at the Southwestern Bell African American Arts Festival.  Big fun!

5.  Do what you have to do when you have to do it.

There is never a convenient time to have or adopt a baby.  Or take vacation.  Or visit with extended family.  Or attend a funeral – as I failed to do for Judy’s  father-in-law on a Saturday afternoon when I thought SBC would crumble if I didn’t supervise cleaning up a payroll mess.  What an idiot.

6.  If you’ve not had your time in the barrel – you will.

Everyone has an “off” time at work.  If it’s not happened to you yet – it will.  Sales declines.  Monthly close bombs.  Grievances.  Outsourcing.  Health problems.  Significant issues at home.  Whatevah, baby.  It will happen.

7.  Even when things aren’t so great – take deep breaths – you don’t know what’s around the corner.

In 1984, I truly thought working on Outside Plant Divestiture would be the “biggest thing” in my career.

I worked every day from early August 1983 to mid-January 1984 with two days off – Thanksgiving and Christmas – thanks to Divestiture, Hurricane Alicia, late September flooding and a three-week labor stoppage.

Well, in 1987, I represented Southwestern Bell with Rotary in India for six weeks and even spoke to a crowd of 5,000.  “Well, that’s it.  That’s the big one.”  I thought.

Enterprise magazine featuring my favorite photo

In 1991, I politicked hard to be sent to do stories and a photo shoot on the combined Bell forces working Hurricane Andrew restoration.   Got it!  Multiple telcos ran my stories and photos.  “Wow, that’s it,” I thought.  “It’s all downhill from here.”  I could have stayed in Employee Information for many more years.  I loved it – my favorite job of all time -  but later came sports and events marketing, and I loved that, too.  And then launching up2speed in 2001 – my baby.  Plenty of jobs between all this stuff but finally -  U-verse.

U-verse has been the bomb.  It’s the culmination of everything I read more than 30 years ago, when I was slugging through books and magazines for the owner of Remco TV Rental.  Not every day is a picnic, and I don’t know what’s after U-verse – but I know the potential for something good is out there.

We may have been the only Comptrollers  Section Staff  in town, but we tried not to act like it.

The potential for something good has always been there.

This has been my 30 years – my career to date.  Delivered.