If I ever leave my husband, it'll likely be for Nicolas Feuillatte

That's funny because:

A. I'm never going to leave my husband;

B. He introduced me to ol' Nick;

C. Nick is champagne.

One of my favorite champagnes. And to celebrate Mother's Day, we broke a bottle out.

It's just one of the fabulous things in my life thanks to JMR. He's one. Alison Reed is another, of course.  At 14, she has to settle for Sparkling Red Grape of the House of Welch but it won't be long before she samples a bit of the vino, I"m sure.

It's been a great day in a busy month. Ali's first production of Time Machine was Saturday, as was the Angie's List Grand Prix. Friday was Book Club. Tomorrow it's Ali's first Spotlight, then a tribute to JOB on Tuesday, another play productionon Friday and Alison's delayed birthday party on Saturday. I'm just going to revel in what's left of tonight.

After dinner with Nick, of course.

I will confess that I'm always a little conflicted on Mothers' Day. My own is gone, as is my mother-in-law who was probably the best mother ever. I know so many great moms -- some who gave birth and some who just provided such unstinting love and support to children they didn't actually birth they should be in the Mom Hall of Fame anyway.

While I honor every woman who went to the trouble to make a life, I don't consider the act of actually birthing a child to be the definining moment of motherhood any more than I consider the act of conception one that defines fatherhood.

It's in the rearing where the real parents shine. I fail every other day. It's frickin' hard to parent well. God knows I try, but I don't always get it right.

Here's hoping (yes, I'm raising my glass) that I (and you my fellow parents) get it right more often than we get it wrong and that our kids forgive us for the times we hiccup.

In its 14th year, this threesome going strong

I'm trying not to think of how we're going to survive May 2015 but I will admit that it's off to a fabulous start. Even a stupid $20 parking ticket hasn't damped the fabulosity of this weekend.

This month of craziness started at the end of April with an early screening --on a school night! -- of Avengers Age of Ultron. Between YAT practices, we've had a wedding and an early birthday sleepover in these first three days of the month, highlighted with the reunion of a threesome first formed in the infant room of Day Nursery.

Before Memorial Day weekend dawn, we'll have May crowning (a catholic thing I don't quite get but understand is a pivotal moment) the Angie's List Festival of Service and Grand Prix, more YAT practices and 3 YAT productions with Alison in them (and others her friends are focused on) Book Club, Spotlight (Ali's first year to go) a Judy O'Bannon tribute event, Ali's actual birthday and a party with some of her friends from school, a trip to Washington DC for Ali and me and to Portland, Ore. for Jeff, and Ali's 8th grade graduation (a bigger deal than most schools because this is the end of her CKS career.)

Deep breath, right?  It's kind of terrifying me.

This weekend saw me flying down to Greene County -- top down all the way baby and thank you law enforcement community for being where I wasn't -- to see Annie and Justin Williams tie the knot. She, of course, was a stunning bride and it was a too-short trip. I'm not sure I've seen my family looking so consistently attractive. Annie should get married more often. 

Or maybe we should just clean up more. 

In helping me get ready, Ali had warned me to flash my wedding ring a lot for fear of being overrun by suitors. She was overly concerned, although I did meet a man named Moose who I still think I have met before. Couldn't figure it out.

I even got to talk my cousin Beth in to the church after she got lost in Linton, of all places. It's been a few years since I was familiar with Linton and it seemed like evertime I told her a landmark, someone would tell me that it isn't there anymore. Jack Wheeler Ford isn't there! Who knew? The Dairy Queen remains.

Beth and her son Christopher coasted in just as the bridal march got started, but it was OK. And wouldn't you know it, Christoper --born and raised in Columbus, Ind. -- had friends on the Williams' side of the aisle and no one had realized the connection before. 

I sadly had to miss the reception (which may still be going on for all I know)  to rush back home for the first round of Alison's birthday celebration. She'll be in play practice for the actual day and we won't get to her official party for a couple weeks. As it was, the sleepover couldn't start until 7 when she got out of play practice. 

We got a bit of a bonus though, including Hannah Ogden (she and Ali are in The Time Machine together) in the first phase -- dinner at Pizzology and then a carriage ride downtown with the threesome.

We have a lot to thank Day Nursery for. Jenna and Ali were friend in utero of course, but we met Bree there, as well as Alex Ogden a year or so later. Hannah, his older sister, came along later. With two years on the others, she's always been the cool older sister. She and Ali will be at Herron High together next year.

The first shot below is Ali's 1st birthday party. Jenna was the only one who'd eat the no-sugar, carrot cake birthday cupcakes I made following the advice of What to Expect the First Year, my bible for Ali's first years.

This was them last night:

Through the years:

While there were tons of fun moments -- Jeff (who's mother would have been appalled) played with his food. Jenna claims I walk "fancy" when I have on heels. Bree thinks she should get to borrow them. We almost died in the parking garage a few times (according to the drama queens) and Jenna hid and jumped out at Ali, causing a blood-curdling scream. It may not have been a coincidence that a police officer drove up as we were driving down. He was talking to us as we passed but the girls were loud and all I heard from him was "yada yada yada." He didn't follow us out so it must have been something like that he was saying...

The girls played a game of Sweet-and-Sour with passersby while in the carriage. Bree won when she got not just a smile but a high five from some random guy.  

  

My favorite moment was when we were walking back to the car. The girls all held hands as we walked across Monument Circle and Jenna grabbed mine and we did a little "off-to-see-the-wizard" silliness. 

Had I not been wearing my wedding outfit, I might have actually fooled some folks there in the early dark of the evening -- we're all about the same height. And in the dark, neither my roots nor wrinkles was showing.

I love those girls. I love them individually, and I love them together. They're just goobers. Laughing and screaming and telling each others secrets like they've never been apart. 

They've never gone to "real" school together but those 6-weeks thru 5-years at Day Nursery were foundational. In those rare times when I pray, I pray that foundation will get them through high school and the rest of their lives.

  

We drove home with the top down, of course. Jeff had ditched us to get Hannan home before her parents realized we'd kept her longer than expected. Once home, they opened gifts, found the ice cream and descended to the basement for a night of bad movies. I found them sacked out this morning with the soundtrack of Beauty & the Beast still playing from when the movied ended.

They've woken and are baking. Because that's what you do on Sunday mornings. Batter for breakfast before Bree and Jenna's soccer game. I won't be surprised if they blow chunks on the field.

Maybe I should stay home and let Amer deal with that....

An afterglow to remember

Some of you may remember my angst over whether the Young Actors Theatre board would allow me into their hallowed midst after a particularly ungraceful entrance to a play last year. Whether it was desperation or true forgiveness, I'll never know, but they let me in and this weekend, I spent a few hours at a board retreat and was just blown away by a couple of interactions with some of the current crop of students. 

How blown away? So blown away that I laughed off news of that idiotic Texas woman, who both shares my first name and profession, and believes the only women in the White House should be cookin' up or serving dinner. More on that later. The YAT kids are far more important. 

I am most familiar with YAT's Playground productions, which interpret traditional works in ways that would never occur to me. I have known of the Court productions, which are focused on teen issues and which almost exclusively have a teen audience.

I'm not an educational expert, but every school in America should be calling up YAT to find out how their kids can see a Court production. Hell. Everyone should see this stuff. 

When a bunch of teenagers can make a group of adults hang on their every word and gesture (and ask for more) well, it's just awesome. It's enough to make you think you might still have time to make a difference in this world. Enough to convince you that these kids actually will. 

The Court productions focus on real-world teen issues like bullying and the effects of overdosing on social media. The one we saw focused on violence in Indy and the world in general. One line -- "There's just so much violence it made it hard to focus the show" -- was as profound as it was telling. 

The production is the story of a young man full of promise who is fatally shot and ponders what led to his death and could it have been prevented. It was amazingly well done. My friend Amy came to Ali's last Playground production, which was a twist on Beauty and the Beast. It WAS quite a twist and at the end, she looked at me and confessed, "I don't really get it." 

 he'd get the Court. Seriously. Check it out and then beg your school leaders to find a way to get a class trip to downtown Indy. 

I was actually surrounded by youth all weekend. I stood in for Grandpa at the CKS Grandparents Day on Friday. It started with a mass that include K, 4th and 8th grade. I knew I had to start off in church but I was curious about what the day would bring. 

I asked Ali, who'd paid zero attention and had little info for me. "Just go to the school and follow the old people," she suggested. 

That's pretty much what I did. I was lucky enough to walk in with another non-Catholic who'd driven in from Madison, IN. I'm always amazed at the lengths to which some grandparents go for their grandkids. I knew when I moved away from home that my parents wouldn't travel to see me, but I never factored in how that would affect Ali. 

My new friend from Madison may have adopted me. She's going to help me get over my 20-year grudge match against the town, which I admit is totally unfair and totally the Captain's fault. Speaking of idiotic behavior: Cheryl Rios. 

She's the Texan and alleged PR pro who says God doesn't want a woman in the White House and "...the woman should cook the meal for the man, like I believe in staying home when you have your child." 

Normally, comments like that would have set me off into the ether like a rocket. But I learned of it as I was basking in the afterglow of those YAT kids and probably a little bit left over from my trip to church and Grandparents Day at Christ the King. 

Ali doesn't remember my parents and with Gary in Maine, we've never paid a lot of attention to Grandparent's Day events at school. I don't know if it's that she's always just spent glorious time with him in the weeks just prior to the event or what, but it's never been an event we noted. This year, the school reached out specifically, asking for a representative. Maybe this is the first year they've focused on her grade... 

In any event, I suffered through church. She and I snuck down to the art room to see her latest project then joined in the gym where we feasted on bagels and donut holes before going to the classroom portion. Part of that had the kids intro'ing their guest and each sharing something they love about each other. One granny complained that her granddaughter needed to be less shy before allowing she was a sweet girl. Another told of her grandson turning to her for help with spelling and asking, "Grandma, did you even GO to school?" (English is not her first language.) It was really a sweet exercise.

I had to go first and was totally unprepared but said I loved that Alison is always true to herself. Middle school has been a challenge for Alison. Despite that,she's not pushed down her real personality in a bid to just fit in. It's been hard for her at times, and I can't say how proud I am of her for being herself through it all. And I can say how grateful I am that YAT has helped her realize that she's a wonderful, valuable person whether the sassy CKS girls see it or not. I wish I'd said so much more about how proud I am of the things she's accomplished and how I can't wait to see what she does next. 

Her response? She loves that I'm always there to support her. 

Now, my failings as a parent are legion. But I'll forgive myself if she truly never questions my love or support. Not in an enabling, failure-to-launch kind of way, mind you. 

We HAVE had the discussion (more than once) that while I think the chances are slim that she'll become a serial killer, if she DOES turn criminal, I WILL rat her out. I'll still love her. I'll probably even visit her in prison. 

I'm pretty sure it won't come to that. Unless, of course, I have to follow the dictates of that silly Cheryl Rios. Then Jeff and Ali will be visiting ME in prison.

These are not trick questions

Why do adult males wear baggy cargo shorts that for particularly short men seem droop to their ankles?

How is it that the moss in my yard expanded exponentially while under cover of the longest, coldest,ickiest winter in history?

How can I remember what underwear I was wearing nearly 20 years ago when I inadvertently informed a then-single Jeff Reed that the summer fling I thought we were having had overtaken me but I can't remember the names of my neighbors and coworkers if I run into them in places other than where I normally deal with them?

As  you may have surmised, I'm not in a very focused frame of mind. Don't know why, exactly. Spring has sprung and I worked in the yard today and we even soaked up some Indiana sun at Victory Field where the Indianapolis Indians emerged victorious. 

I skipped writing last week because I think I tired myself out traveling down to Jasonville -- Coalmont really -- to see the family for Easter. It was fun. Got to see Kaitlin for the first time since she was in the hospital. It was great to see her on the road to recovery. Thanks for all the prayers and good vibes. 

Our Easters don't involve pastel dresses anymore -- more like bare feet and outdoor silliness. But there are piles of food and good company. 

We had Alex Ogden over Saturday. He and Ali have been friends since they were 2. Not much has changed there, either.

Alex was supposed to be making soda with Ali's Soda Stream and the word, "maximum" came up in the instructions.

Alex started muttering "Maximum.Maximum"  Ali exclaimed and said, "Don't say that!"

"Why?"

"It's a sex magazine. For old people."

"Gross," they said in unison.

That wasn't the high point of my weekend. But to tell you that, I'd have to tell you why I was remembering my underwear collection. And I'm just not that kind of girl.

Paradise Lost

We spent the past week in paradise and before I go further, just let me say thank you to Gary Reed, the best grandfather and father you'll ever meet. 

It was his decision to give his family memories rather than money in his golden years. And oh what memories. Thanks to Gary, Jeff, his siblings and their partners and Ali and I spend a week together in Turks & Caicos under a benevolent sun where the most difficult decisions are beach vs. pool and where to have dinner. It's such a great time that Alison has never once complained that she's the only kid in a group of old people.

Her unprompted message to Grandpa after we got back was, "I love you. I love you. I love you." And she does. Ali has grown up in a world where color doesn't matter and love is love. No matter what. She simply doesn't know another way, and if that's all we ever give her, then I'll be happy that we gave her what matters most. 

The Reed family is a great one inside or outside of paradise. If you can swing it -- even if it's just a dinner out somewhere -- I highly recommend making memories over leaving cash to your kids. We all cherish our time in Turks, just as we cherish the idea that we all look forward to sharing time together as a family. 

I'm grateful every day to have been taken in by this group of folks. They're truly keepers. I travel in cold weather to see them, too. It's just as great with them in Maine at Christmas. Well, as great as it can possibly be when you trade sand for snow and bikinis for parkas.

I could spend the rest of this post complaining about what we found when we returned from paradise. 

In a nutshell, Indiana's governor and all but one GOP legislator approved a bill that has been widely perceived to be permission for businesses to discriminate against those they believe are an affront to the business owners' faith.

The bill is really a legalistic bit of verbiage that mimics federal and many other states' laws. But the way it was discussed and signed, and the people who pushed it -- one of whom chortled to his followers that never again would an Indiana business have to serve a homosexual if the owners didn't want to -- was just awful. On national television today, the governor said protecting the rights of the LGBT community wasn't on his agenda. He refused to say the new IN law wouldn't allow discrimination. 

The words that make up the law no longer matter. People across the globe are now assured that Hoosiers are bigots who believe the LBGT community's rights are not equal to others. Clearly, some of us are. 

But I like to think that most of us are not. It's not that we believe one group deserves more freedom than others. We believe everyone deserves the same share of freedom as everyone else. Color, gender sexual preference simply shouldn't play a part in how you divvy up the freedom pie, the rights pie, the humanity pie.

Seems to me that the sect that pushed this law is OK with the world as long as it is the majority power.  Treating everyone equally means that they would be equal, too. How terrible. 

There's a lot of talk now -- at least in the circles in which I move -- that this is the step too far that will reset the clock and bring the state political system back into sanity. 

One can only hope. Pray maybe. But to whom? 

Paradise seems lost.

 

Never try on swimsuits with your daughter

Few women past the age of 40 look forward to swim suit shopping. I'm sure of it. I'm not even sure 40 is the magic age, but for most of us, there comes a time when you'd rather have your toenails pulled out by gypsies than face the dressing room and a pile of rayon strings.

For me, there was no way out. Spring Break was days away and I was down to one worn-out swim suit. I made the mistake of going with Ali on my first venture out.

She's two months away from 14. I, well, I am not. She's a small on a bad day. I, well, I am not.

Yet we found ourselves there together in the same swim suit collection talking about colors and styles, two-piece or one and what the hell is a tankini anyway.

She quickly found some really cute suits. I was struggling to figure out how the back fat I was sure I'd sent packing had found its way back. It was only as I contemplated making a noose out of one of the strings that realized I'd been trying on the wrong size. 

I brought home a couple one-pieces, which did not win rave reviews from the Captain. He didn't say he hated them, but the reception wasn't fabulous.  So, while Ali went to her YAT session and I'd worked out Saturday, I walked over to the mall and ended up trying on  -- in my size -- a few more. I sent pictures to Jeff and called him to alert him to give me advice.

"Cool," he said. "Porn on my phone."

It wasn't porn. Let's just be clear about that. The reception to them, however, was much better. The one-pieces went back.

Today after taking Ali to a movie with a friend, I ventured back out there. At Macy's, I stumbled onto the $150 "Miracle" suits. They're guaranteed to shave 10 pounds off you then and there. Somewhat of a doubter to begin with, I have to say I started to think about trying one on. And then I thought about my niece Kaitlin who's starting down an amazing recovery process after being in a terrible car crash.

And then I got offended. 1. because you shouldn't through around words like "miracle" as if they're penny candy. 2. because I'm sure lots of women actually shell out $150 for a piece of fabric that temporarily squishes their flab with Spanx-like compression. But it's not a miracle and it doesn't fool anyone into thinking they're suddenly ready for Sports Illustrated.

So I didn't buy it. I did, however, find some bargains over at TJ Maxx for $20 each that the Captain declared successful.  More important, I think they're OK and I'll be able to hit the beach as confidently as any woman my age can. 

It appears I have survived shopping for swim suits and come out the other side. It's the first top-down day of the year and Kait is home from hospital.

Now those, are miracles.

Oh, also Jeff and I got all dressed up and went to a party last night hosted by Pattern magazine. It's a fashion magazine and how I'm involved with it is a very long story. What's important is that we seemed to fit in just fine and came away from the event -- it was held at IMS -- with a gift for Amy Tokash. Or maybe Tom. All I know is Tony Kanaan probably doesn't cringe when swimsuit weather approaches.

Of endangered nipples and regurgitated panties

We were struck by good fortune this weekend and got to have Alex and Hannah Ogden over. With them came Gladys, a guinea pig the size of a small rabbit or a large rat, which, while squeaky, was mostly well-behaved. Certainly less boistrous than the children.

Except when they decided she should be released from her cage. Alex was holding her and decided she might like it inside his shirt. She rooted around a while. He giggled. Alison giggled. Hannah went to apply her make-up as the girls were soon due at a YAT class downtown.

When Alex invited Gladys to leave his shirt, however, she declined. She wiggled into his left sleeve. Then explored his tummy. Then his right sleeve.

Alison thought a carrot might lure her out. "Hee-re Gladys. Come on Gladys. Come on."

A nose emerged. It wriggled. A head followed. Then teeth. They latched onto the carrot and quick as a bullet, she disappeared back into the shirt, carrot firmly in her teeth.

"She overpowered me," Alison claims.

A second carrot was dangled in front of her. Then a third. It's worth a reminder at this point that Gladys is not a small guinea pig. She probably weighs five pounds. But she normally only gets three carrots a week. So not only was she warm and snuggly, she had a steady and unusually robust supply of snacks.

Then, she found an even tastier treat.

"Gladys! No! Don't bite my nipple!" came the repeated call, accompanied by much dancing around. "Hannah!"

Some might have dropped the rodent then and there but Alex is a gentle soul. He cradled the thing with one hand to protect its fall, using his other hand to protect his parts.

For her part, Hannah paused while applying her third coat of mascara. She considered the situation, cocked her head and listened a while. Then continued with her application.

Getting Gladys back in the cage ended up taking all three of their efforts, and one more carrot. 

I inquired if there was blood involved.

"Not from Gladys," I was told.

***

Alison and I had some shopping to do Saturday. Her for school, me for my niece Annie Strahla who's getting married. Her bridal shower is tomorrow so of course I shopped today. I'd planned to stick to her bridal registry list, but we started our shopping spree at Michael's for Ali's homework assignment.

While searching for part of Ali's shopping list, I stumbled across a really cool item that can't possibly be on Annie's registry (but should.) Two women were in the aisle talking up a storm. I took the item down, studying it while I mentally debated the ettiquette of going off the list. They didn't budge and were clearly devoted Michael's shoppers.

"Oh that's just darling," one of them said. (They turned out to be Bridget and Stephanie who goes by Jewell at work. We're very good friends now, and if Annie hates her gift, Stephanie/Jewell wants it.)

But it's not on the registry list, I reminded them. 

"That doesn't matter. She'll love it. Trust us."

OK then.

On the way home, I was talking about Annie and that led to a story about her dog, Bo who once had a habit of eating her panties. He stole them from the laundry basket. (I think.)

"Were they nice underwear?" Ali asked.

"I don't know," I responded. "I know she never wore them again."

"Well she couldn't," Alison said. 

"Oh, they came out again," I explained.

"Well she shouldn't," Alison said amended.

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