A Moment in Time

Both of these people are now responsible adults. But for that moment in time, there was no job. There were no children. There was no one asking, "What time will you be home?"

I keep trying to explain this to the baby and I think I just frustrate him. He doesn't get it and I shouldn't force it.

Those were the days.

Olan Mills

Do you remember when everyone had their photo taken at Olan Mills? It was like buying jeans at Sears -- a given. It seems kind of quaint in this digital age.

I'm struck by the fact that they allowed you to bring your pet -- that's my childhood dog, Candy, in 1975. They allowed you to bring your signs -- that's part of my college gang circa 1982.

A few years ago, the baby and I had our photo taken at church. You guessed correctly -- Olan Mills.

Animal

What do people do in college? With the baby in midst of his sophomore year, I'm balancing asking about grades and asking about the fraternity. I remember the days and I'm trying to avoid being intrusive. He's grown. His morals are set. But he will push the limit, as most of us did. Frankly, I don't trust anybody who has never tried to get away with something.

The photo above is Animal. My boyfriend and first husband lived with him. I knew him first and he was introduced to me with this name. He used to talk us into insane stuff -- let's all go to Skinema West! He would walk through our dorm floor and shout "Taco Bell!" Some of us climbed out of our lofts and said "Yes, I could use a taco."

Lately I've been thinking about my college friends. I've lost touch with him but I get occasional updates from others.

His name is Steve. I did not know this for many years. He's always Animal to me.

Salmon, Mushrooms and Sushi

For someone who is pretty cautious about portions, there are very few foods I won't eat. In fact, I can't think of one.

Like most of you, I was raised with home cookin'. I loved it and I still love it. But I grew up and was lucky enough to travel a bit. I married a man who is adventuresome with food. I found out that I absolutely love foods that were never part of my childhood:

Salmon -- I could eat it every day. Blackened, poached, grilled -- doesn't matter.
Mushrooms -- Skip the steak, give me the mushrooms.
Seafood -- I love oysters, mussels, clams and almost all sushi. Ahi tuna is one of my favorite meals.

Many years ago, the husband and I were in NYC with my parents. My father (who would get the certificate for "Best Eater") took risks and ate whatever the husband recommended. My mother did a great imitation of Samantha on "Bewitched" and wrinkled her nose. I perplex her. I've been doing it for 45 years.

The baby went through a phase when he was young where he would announce foods he didn't eat. Today this grown-up kid eats whatever is put in front of him. Plus, he could eat his weight in sushi.

Getting Caught

I'm reliving my college days through the baby and many of my friends' children. I'm also kneeling and praying a lot. (Dear God, Please keep them safe.) College is growing up, learning and making choices. It's also a wild and reckless abandon that forces you to fall back on your morals and decide which chances are worth taking.

Some people have the magician act down. They can turn a situation -- a feather boa into a dove. Others roll the dice and decide the possible repercussions are worth the risk.

One of the wonderful perks of aging is learning from mistakes or bad decision-making. I used to think I was cursed. No matter how large or small the mistake, I will be the one who gets caught. I now consider this a blessing because something fired in my brain that reminded me, "Don't do it! You will get caught." (Not that I didn't do my fair share but I almost always got caught.)

Godparents and Godchildren

Many of us are given the honorary title of godparent. My goddaughters are two of the most gorgeous creatures (inside and out) to inhabit this earth.

People define being a godparent in different ways. Here are mine:

Legal: This is technically a guardian. You have been named to raise a minor child or children in the event of the death of the parents.

Religious: You are expected to assist in the religious training of the children. You are to be a steward. (I sat in a priest's office and made my case to be godmother, although I am not Catholic.)

Moral: You've made an oath to be there. Love them. Scold them. Hold them. Have a vested interest in their lives.

For the two girls above, I've tried to do all three. Okay, they've seen me drink and smoke. They've heard my potty mouth. They've also known that my love for them does not fail. They were put in my arms shortly after birth and my arms have a pretty long reach. They're now semi-grown. We've reached a new phase of life -- they don't need me; I need them.

Yes, I've missed games and dances. But I've been there for every milestone from the first tooth to the first boyfriend. Sometimes I've just been there by talking to their mother.

The baby has some godparents. Neither of them has seen him in years. It's probably for the best -- he has enough parents. But I do get annoyed that this honor was taken so lightly. He's grown now and they've missed out on a lot.

There's a reason "God" is part of the title.

Seven Years

In one of my favorite books, "Nineteen Minutes," by Jodi Picoult, she opens with a few sentences about what can happen in nineteen minutes. Some are frivolous and some are profound.

Today is the seventh anniversary of the most devastating terrorist attack on American soil. I'm applying the same logic. In seven years, I've been through the mundane and the scary and the heartbreaking. So have you. Such is life.

Seven years ago:

I had a different dog. Also a maniac.
I had the same husband, the same parents and the same friends.
The baby was 13-years old and had no clue of the magnitude of that day.
I did not turn off the television for one solid week.
The oldies lived in Mississippi and they were those in-laws I visited once or twice a year.

During the past seven years:

I've lost several friends to cancer, car accidents and plain ol' old age.
I've cheered the baby through high school and caught a glimpse of the incredible man he is becoming.
I've held hands with someone having a biopsy and I've had my hand held.
I've witnessed marriages and divorces and welcomed new babies into my circle of love.
I've reconnected with some old friends.
I've screwed up. A lot. Repeatedly.
I've watched attorneys become judges and other people grow businesses.
I welcomed the oldies into our home and learned about love, loyalty and stubbornness.

I've become older, grayer and hopefully smarter. I think my heart has grown. And I will stop today to acknowledge the people who did not get the chance to grow older, grow grayer and welcome new babies.

The Sophomore Year

The baby is back in school. It's his sophomore year and I am jealous. I think the sophomore year is the most fun -- none of that freshman panic and none of the junior and senior year pressures. Here's what's great:

You know your way around.
You've made new friends that you can't wait to see again.
You have a better understanding of your own study habits and how to accomplish your goals.
You're not low man on the totem pole -- freshmen seek your advice.

The pictures above are from the first night of returning to school for my sophomore year. We spent the summer apart, working our little jobs and doing family things. On that night, we all agreed we mostly spent the summer counting down the days until we could be back together. We did not have email or cell phones. No one had ever heard of texting because it hadn't been invented yet. So, we got through the summer and when we met up again, we danced.

In the movie, "Groundhog's Day," Bill Murray lives the same day over and over. If I could live one year over and over again, it would be my sophomore year of college.

Actual Sentences Said to Me

This has been a weird year and we're only three quarters of the way through it.

It started in January when the Belle made it clear, in actions and in words, that she was done. She wanted to die and I believe she willed herself to die.

The Captain was a lost sailor without her. He would often tell me or the husband that he wanted to die. He did.

A friend told me that she's reevaluating her life and doesn't need friends.

My father said he wasn't feeling well. In my opinion, he was receiving inadequate medical care. I jumped in and now I'm sure my parents want to knock me out of the way.

The husband told me the other night that we need a new adventure. I'm not sure what planet he comes from but my life is already an adventure. I want him healthy and happy. I want my parents healthy. I want the baby to excel in college. I want my girlfriends to be able to take a deep breath without worrying about children, parents, grandchildren, etc.

Someone said to me, "I don't like your husband sometimes." If there's a person that you like 100 percent, all the time -- my bet is that you don't know that person very well.

Barack and the Technicolor Democrats

This is a line I stole from one of our local columnists, Matthew Tully. He was not being derogatory but I think it sums up the Democratic National Convention quite well.

I (pretty much) watched the entire thing. I will do the same for the Republican convention. I'm a news and politics junkie. Lucky for me, the cable stations rerun the coverage from prime time in the middle of the night so if I happened to miss a few hours, I caught it between 2:00 and 5:00 AM.

The Republicans have a lot to live up to for their convention. The Democrats had:

Political Royalty: Ted Kennedy's speech and the video about the Kennedy dynasty.

Spontaneity: Obama's daughters talking to him and asking, "What city are you in?"

Female Power: Nancy Pelosi, Michelle Obama and Hillary Clinton all gave powerful speeches and whether I agree with their politics or not, I was impressed with how far we have come as women.

Racial Pride: When Barack Obama accepted the nomination, he made history as the first African-American. Pans of the crowd showed African-Americans openly weeping.

There's much more that grabbed me. Joe Biden's personal journey after losing his first wife and his daughter in a car accident. His two sons who make a point of correcting any reporter who refer to Jill Biden as their stepmom. They acknowledge the loss of their mother but they are quick to say about Jill, "She's my mom too."

I did not give birth to the baby. My heart still sings when I answer the phone and hear, "Hi Mom."

Light-colored Carpeting

When we renovated and moved into this house 12 years ago, we chose light carpeting. I have no idea what we were thinking. The baby was 8-years old -- an age that involves climbing trees and lots of muddy exploring. We had a big, black dog and now we have another one.

For three years, we had the oldies with us. That involved multiple stains of every imaginable type.

The husband's drink of choice is red wine. He routinely knocks it over while reaching for glasses or the remote control.

In 12 years, we've had lots of parties. There's an old saying, "It ain't a party until something gets broken." In our case, it ain't a party until something gets spilled.

I don't need photos to remember our years (so far) in this house. I can look at the carpeting.

One of my friends is trained as an interior decorator. She also owns several homes. As you can imagine, they're all beautiful. She told me once that carpeting should be in one of three color palettes: sand, sea or grass. If I ever buy new carpeting, I will take her advice.

Little Notes

The husband is traveling this week. He's probably thrilled to be out of town because my dad had surgery and then I'm having a birthday party for the maniac dog. He's had enough of hospitals and the idea of 8 to 12 dogs in our back yard would make him crazy.

I helped him get organized with his packing -- golf clothes, food, etc. Then I had the baby keep him busy for a few minutes so I could tuck little notes everywhere.

It's fun to go away, especially when it's a friend trip. It's fun to reach into your suitcase or your pocket and know that someone is missing you back home.

When he called today, he said some of the other guys are jealous.

Bad Advice

The Baby is moving into the fraternity house. I went to college; I've seen a few parties in my life.

Last night we spent some quality time together while the husband was messing with the music and packing for his trip. Most moms would reinforce the necessity to study, be responsible, keep your ethics, etc.

After I hugged him to death, told him how very proud I am and smothered him with kisses, I had this advice:

If a party gets out of control, jump out a window and run like the wind.
If you don't know what's in it, don't drink it.
If a girl passes out, don't have sex with her.
Don't wear a toga without a lot of safety pins and clean underwear.

I hope you realize this is our quirky sense of humor.

My gift was one statement. The baby said, "I think you've raised me better than that."

The Boys

I have lots of boys in my life. Okay, most of them are grown men but I think of them as "my boys." The top three are the husband, my father and the baby. Houseboy (a nickname he tolerates) is one of my boys. So are my uncles and many of my friends. They advise me and make me laugh.

Today I accompanied two of my boys to the doctor. By some fluke, they had back-to-back appointments. I was invited to one and barged my way into the second. Intrusive people know that they are annoying but we can't help ourselves. I need to hear the information first hand. I need to see the scans and have the doctor explain it to me like I'm a 5-year old.

I've got to keep my boys healthy. There are some surgeries in our future but they're relatively minor. When I dropped in on the husband's visit, he said, "Who invited you?" I planted myself in a chair.

Texting

I am a dinosaur. I try to keep up with technology and then I get overwhelmed. I am so far behind the times it becomes absurd. I think I'm really hip (no one says that anymore, do they?) that I know how to blog and post comments.

Yesterday, the baby showed me how to send and receive text messages. I don't know all the lingo or shortcuts but now I'm a mad woman on a mission. I also (half way/sort of) learned how to program my phone.

My iTunes library had lots of duplicates so I worked on cleaning that up. It was definitely a techie day. Several of my friends will be relieved that I am trying to catch up with the times.

Car Rides

My goldies get car sick. There's something about the backseat that does in people with motion sickness. They bargain with each other for shotgun. This is one of the few afflictions that doesn't affect me. I can read or bop to the music and the motion doesn't bother me. Plus, it distracts me from the husband's driving.

Lots of people have learned that a crying baby can be calmed in a car. To this day, I can count back from 60 and the baby will be sound asleep.

I feel safer with the dog in the car. When I run errands, I usually take her with me. Yesterday, I met my mother, ran a few errands and did the normal daily stuff, but I didn't have the dog. At one point, I was cleaning out the car. Maniac dog had planted herself in the passenger seat (she called Shotgun!) and was looking at me with great expectations.

We went for a long drive.

My Home Town

For many years, the husband's agency handled Indiana tourism. We used to joke that "Indiana Tourism" is an oxymoron.

While my niece Kelly was here, we visited many of our city's attractions. It's very easy to forget all the arts, culture and sports available here. I was invigorated to show off our city.

The husband says Indianapolis lulls you. It is known for hospitality and sports but we don't get enough credit for our love of the arts. We don't have an ocean and we don't have mountains but we have a lot. In some ways, we're the most southern town of the Midwest. Hospitality is our game. We do it well.

As a young person, I had big plans. I was going to go to NY to dance. Didn't do it. I was going to either coast and make something of myself. Didn't do it.

The husband has lived in many cities. I have not. The daughter has spread her wings and flown to Texas. The baby will probably do the same, with a city that he chooses.

As you know, I love to travel. I also love it when the plane lands and I'm back home again.

My Love for George Foreman

I'm obsessed with George Foreman -- the grill, not the man. Although I'm mighty impressed with him for bringing it to me. In my little pea brain, I don't understand how people live without it. (Sort of how I feel about my iPod.)

Now that we have lost the oldies and the children have grown, I'm mainly concerned with cooking for two people. I'm quite capable with the grill but why would I want to deal with the cover, light it, stand over it in a sweat and run back and forth to the kitchen?

Especially in the summer, our idea of dinner is some piece of grilled meat, veges and a salad. Two of these three are accomplished quickly, thanks to my George Foreman.

I use it for other things. We make little egg sandwiches when the baby's here. Sometimes I make a grilled sandwich for lunch.

But my favorite part is this. If you make the salad ahead of time, you can have dinner on the table in 4 to 7 minutes.

Body Parts

Men used to announce, "I'm a leg man." Or, "I'm a breast man." I have no idea if young men still do this -- I'll have to ask the baby -- but it always stuck with me.

Many body parts betray us as we age. Some parts get wrinkly and droopy. Others just diminish, like eyesight or hearing.

I am not a young person but I'm not an oldie either. One of my favorite things about the Belle was her absolute refusal to be old. Kicky clothes and kicky shoes made her happy. She was the Queen of Accessories. I was taking notes.

My mother asked me to stop writing about our weird legs. Sorry! You can't tell me what to write. I have been fighting these legs my entire life. Throw in a major dose of middle age and suddenly, they're not just weird shaped. Now they have wrinkly knees (too much sun) for added fun.

When I was a child, my friends Kim and Angel had beautiful legs. I haven't seen Angel in years but Kim still has them. Jan has gorgeous legs. My friends Mickey and Cynthia have serious gams. I've made the mistake, more than once, of being photographed next to one or all of them in a swimsuit.

Lately I am surrounded by young women with these gazelle-type legs. My goddaughters, my neighbors, my niece Kelly and daughters of friends. I stare. I drool. I know it's a sin but I covet them.

I still wear shorts and skirts. Leg men would run away. Deal with it.

Is there such a thing as men who are attracted to arms?

I See Me

Most parents look at their children and see a part of themselves. I look a lot like my mother but I've decided lately that my predominate physical traits come from my father's side of the family. (Other than the legs.)

It's not just DNA.

I watch the daughter push herself in a challenging situation. I see me. I watch the baby make mistakes and have to figure it out. I see me. Plus, he's the most helpful person you will ever meet.

My goddaughters are these amazing young people. Both are beautiful and I don't envy them for that. They will be judged first on their looks which is unfair. People who bother to look below the surface will find some really smart women. When their good and bad traits come out in full force, I see me.

My maniac dog hates the word "No." She will get in your face and bark herself silly. I see me.