We've been through a rocky few weeks with Julia, who's been battling a still-undefined virus that penetrated her spinal column.  After several difficult procedures at Methodist ER on Wednesday, then three days of hospitalization at Baptist (denomination switchers that we are) Hospital, we think she is finally on the mend.  She's home as of this morning to a house caught up on laundry and with food in the fridge, thanks to Sarah coming in from Houston Friday. 

Julia will be on meds for awhile, and wearing an eye patch for a few weeks (or months), and may have to have a few painful, necessary evils performed... but those are trivial inconveniences compared to other outcomes.

As Keith and I hunched over her ER bed Wednesday attempting to digest the possibilities and probabilities looming, he said, "Boy, I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then."

Yes.  Exactly.  Exactly.  When Julia started getting sick a month ago, I didn't know anything about "bilateral sixth nerve palsy."  And I wish we hadn't needed to learn about it last week. 

I was stunned when we were told baby Lois would be premature.  A preemie?  Us?  No way.  No one in my family had ever had a preemie.  I always skipped right over those sections of the pregnancy books, smug in the certainty that crazy stuff like that applied to "other people.".  And suddenly - in the midst of trying to keep two jobs, rear a two-year-old and prevent me from hemorrhaging - Keith and I became those "other people," furiously reading about how to delay her birth, and what to expect after it occurred - information I never, ever wanted to have.  I wanted a Gerber baby.

When Judy and I could no longer manage to keep our mother in her home, we started researching assisted living centers.  I would physically and emotionally clench as we visited sites, gasped at horror stories and evaluated cost models.  I didn't want to know anything about this depressing stuff.   No!  I wanted my mom in her own home, where I could plop down in the comfy chair by the kitchen and talk the latest Nero Wolfe or James Mischner.

Time after time in life - like everyone else - I've been forced to learn what I never wanted to know.

As Mick Jagger sang, "You can't always get what you want.  But if you try sometimes you just might find  - you get what you need."

Right now, I find myself thanking God for two things:  First, I thank God all four of our girls will be sleeping at home tonight. Second, I thank God for the things I do not know.  Because I can't always get what I want.  And only God knows what  I need.

Shutterfly - one of my favorite sites - has a pretty cool little ap out there now:

(To confirm the suspicions of more observant friends:  Yes, that's Julia's cropped facial shot from the Power Rangers entry below.)

Right now, this virtual adventure (spread by viral marketing - appropriate) is about the only activity in which you'll see her.  She's had some kind of virus/weirdness that has slowed her down for almost three weeks.  The rest of the family is fine.  And she seems to be getting better.  So I am hoping her next "Alphabet Adventure" will be back in class, because she's missed a week.

ABC - I prefer "A Bright Child" to "Another Batch'o Crud."

See Julia.

See Julia in her pink Power Ranger jammies.

See Julia watch Power Rangers on AT&T U-verse TV.

Self-taught remote control expert...this is definitely Keith's daughter....

Stop, Julia, stop!  Use the remote to stop Power Rangers and write down the URL you saw displayed. 

Run, Julia, run!  Run upstairs and enter the URL on Hannah's computer.

Tell, Julia, tell!  Tell your (surprised) mom all about it.

Dick and Jane have nothing on you.

When our kids are not feeling well, they generally sleep in our guestroom - the bedroom next to ours where the "sick bell" (a wedding gift of my parents') can be easily heard in the wee hours.  The sick bell rests atop a side table constructed by my great grandfather from a barn beam.  Also there:  An clear acrylic cover over a Kleenex box featuring my mom's favorite pictures.  She decorated the box cover herself in 1973, and it sat by her bed on this very side table until it came to my house in 1998.

Rachel and I are allergic to everything.  I don't want to hunt for a "tissue."  I want a box of Kleenex within arm's reach all the time.

Julia's been sleeping in guestroom lately as we've both been fighting a cold - the gift that keeps on giving.  Last night, she asked about this box - and its pictures - for the first time.  We addressed her questions photo by photo as she turned the box in her little hands.  That pretty baby really is Aunt Judy.  Yes, my brother's arms and legs were sort of "broken."  No, I don't remember what kind of birthday cake it was.  Yes, my hair used to be very long. 

After we'd discussed all 15 pictures, she quickly flipped the box from side to side, pointing to everyone except my Aunt Mary, Judy, Carl and Sarah, saying, "Dead.  Dead.  Dead.  Mommy - where are they?"  So we talked about heaven, and whom I expect to see there including Julia herself because - as I explained - one day, I hope to hear her say that she, too, believes in Jesus.

She pondered that for a moment and then whispered in a small voice, "Jesus is not in a box." 

I was tempted to reach for one of those Kleenex.

Summer is over (sigh.)

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

She still looks just like this - at least to me.

Non-profits and government are the sole bastions of Stone Age administration with whom I interact.  Any other organizations, vendors, etc. - you give them piece of information once, and they then sort, slice and dice it as needed.  Smart ones then tailor communications and offers to you, based on the information you provide.

Schools - which are part of government - are not among those "smart ones." 

The first few evenings of the school year, I count on spending at least one hour per child on nothing but administrivia, re-appending the same information manually that I have offered year after year, child after child, with no option to verify, create or submit online, just mindless hours of drone work.  Most of this information does not change and requires me to scurry around the house checking innoculation records, our Yahoo! family calendar, our home phone list, etc. 

My joy is boundless.

Here are three words that make the process more bearable:

CLEAR ADDRESS LABELS

There are my favorite "motherhood tip."  I often give the labels as baby gifts.  They have saved me scores if not hundreds of hours in 16 years - at school, at church, at Scouts, in the doctor's office, at trade shows - everywhere.

I keep a roll for each child and myself in my desk upstairs, in my admin drawer in the kitchen and in my desk at work.  I keep several for each child and myself folded and tucked in my wallet.   When I am anywhere that I am required to append name/address/phone number for any of us - I whip them out and slap them down.  I don't care if I have to stick 10 on one piece of paper.  If someone is irritating enough to ask me to repeat a name 10 times, a sheet fulla labels with full name/address/phone number is their problem. 

The trick is to have them the labels you need them.  If you don't have them handy, you won't use them, and then you're stuck trying to cram your child's name, address and phone number onto the 2" line on the hideous blue form you can barely read anyway.

When I sit down to do the mountain of kids' school forms, I assemble:

   -  Clear, block-print return address labels w/home phone number for each of us

   -  Good black pen, checkbook, reading glasses, home phone list (ours is six single-spaced typed pages), stapler, paper clips.  Scissors would often be helpful, but the urge to use for them other than their intended purpose is too great.

   -  Cordless phone for reaching daughters secreted in their rooms to inquire, "What is your advisor's name?" or "Do you want a Green Out shirt?"

   -  Wastebasket for 90% of it.

   -  Diet Coke early in the evening; red wine when the air turns blue

The kitchen becomes mysteriously deserted as I begin to wade through the administrivia swamp.  Everybody knows to stay outta my way.  In addition to the full NEISD packet'o'stuff per child, Rachel also brought home a separate 16-page envelope just for choir.  My first check of the evening was for $70 for Lois' "not mandatory but strongly encouraged" choir outing - with nine pages of information to complete.  Yes - nine pages for one outing.  I am so proud Lois has done well in choir.  I love hearing the Bush Middle School choir.  The teacher is one of the very best I've ever known.  I don't begrudge the $70 at all.  I want Lois to go on the outing.  But nine pages of questions I've answered year after year?  GeeeeeROAN!

At the end of the evening, I eventually survey a completed packet (or packets) for each child, plus a stack of loose papers with dates circled when I then take upstairs and enter on our Yahoo! family calendar, and often our calendars at work.  Usually a few emails to teachers are required, too.

This year I slapped down 182 clear return address labels.  I wrote 11 checks totaling $349.  I posted 15 dates to calendars, and sent three emails to teachers.

I have long believed motherhood is less about ooey-gooey professions of devotion than it is about day-to-day management.  I spend at least 10 hours on maintenance (washing, transporting, nursing, cooking, cleaning, shopping and admin'ing) for every hour of way-more-fun quality time.  Everything I do to reduce time spent on maintenance is more time available for quality.  So I really think three little words like this:

CLEAR ADDRESS LABELS

are sticky expressions of three little words like this:

I LOVE YOU

I'm off to rummage through backpacks and shoulder bags, gathering up the next batch of admin.  In the meantime....three other little words....

Lois - 8th grade; Julia - 1st grade; Rachel - 11th grade; Hannah - 6th grade

First day of this new school year!   Their pencils are all sharpened.  Their lunch accounts are funded.  Everybody got new clothes and a backpack - though I found out Friday afternoon Hannah won't get to use hers, at least for school.  Sixth graders get lockers, but are not allowed to carry backpacks because they get books for school and home.  We made a rushed trip to Academy for a Dickes shoulder tote for transporting homework.

Hannah and Lois will get one year together in middle school.  Julia had last year in elementary school with Hannah, but won't be in school with a sister again.  Makes me a little sad - but I am so thankful she and Hannah were together last year.

Julia chose a Dora the Explorer shirt for this important first day, and ate her scrambled eggs from the Dora the Explorer plate using themed utensils.  When Rachel asked (in jest) if she could use the plate and utensils, Julia replied, "No.  You do not look like Dora, Rachel."  Word!

The girls' excitement offsets my - ummmmmmm - lack of enthusiasm for the amount of parental self-discipline the school year requires.  But hey - We've been doing it for 11 years, and we have only 11 more to go.  So.....

Saw a casual friend this week who knew us when we started our adoption paperchase in 2004.   As she fingered a wallet photo of the girls, she asked, "So which ones are yours?"

Hmmmm.  Which ones are mine?

Rachel, Lois and Hannah will always be mine because I birthed them.  Half of their DNA is mine.  Nothing will ever change that.

They're also mine because they slept countless nights curled up on my chest in the formula-stained rocker we still use.  They're mine because I lugged their diaper bags, burped them and watched "Barney."

Yawwwwnnnn.....that's two-year-old Rachel and preemie Lois her first night at home, after 37 days in the NICU....

A young woman in Russia birthed Julia.  Half of Julia's DNA is hers.  Nothing will ever change that.

I never rocked Julia as an infant, or toted her diaper bag, or burped her or endured "Barney" for her.  I can't change that. 

I can, though, cuddle her in that same (somewhat crusty) rocking chair now.  I can help her pick out a new rolling bag for her occassional spend-the-night with friends.  I can fix her cup of hot chocolate every evening.  And I've been known to watch a few minutes of "Power Rangers" while folding clothes.

I think Julia is mine not because a judge in a distant courtroom said so, nor even because she lives under this roof.

She's mine because Keith and I promised before God to rear her not like our own, but as our own.

So which of those girls is mine?

As I told my friend - "They all are."

Cowabunga,dude - I've just Simpsonized our family.

Here's the Mister.  D'oh!

And moi in da kitchen.

And Rachel with the "I just straightened it" hair. 

Lois could knock out a few scripts for Itchy and Scratchy in an afternoon.   And they would disturb you.

Hannah and Lisa could be friends, braced - uhhh - united for social justice.

And Julia the soon-to-be-first-grader, who would love to have a turn with Bart's skateboard.

There's a bit of irony in a hamburger chain promoting a movie whose central character rose to fame saying, "Don't have a cow, man." 

But still - you gotta love Burger King promotions, like this Simpsonizer, and the Subservient Chicken.  You don't?  Really?  Well remember what Marge Simpson says:  'Listen to your heart and not the voices in your head."

It's raining.  Again.  Really unbelievable for Texas in August.  Hannah  and Julia - stuck indoors all day  - applied their artistic talents to "after the rain" and "during the rain" colorful creations which will soon grace my AT&T cubby wall.

Daddy's old shirts prove most excellent painting attire....

Rain....It's Grrreeattttttttttt!  Of course, Tony was himself dry inside Wal-Mart tonight, where we went during a lull to break the monotony.

Lake Woodworth with grass islands in our front yard....

Three of the girls - including these two drizzly pups- have been to the doctor with sinus infections in the last 10 days.  If my cremated mother had a grave, she'd been turning over in it, seeing them all wet after carrying in groceries.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

But being the Mom who never seems to get to bed 

There's a lot to do

So

Come grab some bags and just keep on a'goin'

Groceries aren't free

Don't complain to me.