Fall doesn’t officially start until college football does. At least in my mind it doesn’t. And it doesn’t matter that the temperatures here are still in summer range – once Game Day shows up – it’s fall.

There’s nothing like college football. And it’s not even the game for me. I know nothing of line ups and offensive strategies and who’s debuting their new running game this season. None of that matters – except maybe the winning part. I’ve had the luck and gift of being able to sit and root for my team in one of the largest and loudest stadiums in the country and one that is a bit smaller, but filled with some of my favorite people on the planet.

It’s not the game.

It’s the friends.
The cold.
Walking to the stadium, not driving.
The flask snuck in a well-worn boot.
The blazers on freshman and their striped ties.
The kiss when a team scores.
The cheers.
The band.
The tears that come when the team runs in.
The cheerleaders flying.
The dance team sparkling and full of bump-its.
It’s furry mascots that jack with the crowd.
Alumni that come back every season for fifty years and sit right next to you if you’re one of the lucky ones.
It’s rivalries, not money. It’s pride not endorsements.
It’s your mom or dad’s alma mater when you’re nine.
Then it’s your school. Your memories. Your stories.
Then it’s your alma mater that you teach your nine year old about. All decked out and face painted.
It’s just one more shade of color on a magical time.

You can keep your pro sports. I love the heart of college football.

It’s a lot to comprehend, you guys.  There was a lot of discussion on the days (hell, weeks) leading up to it.  Questions about wardrobe, worry over being the “new girl”, the “non-mom” girl, the “single” girl – or any combination thereof.  I read and saw it all and really had no idea what to expect.

2400 women in one place.  You can imagine what could happen.  I’m sure a lot of the expected drama did happen.  We women are like that.  But I can only comment on what I experienced – and it was really, really interesting.

I had party invites – and only went to a few.  I had sessions mapped out for all of Friday – and only went to one.  I had some sessions mapped out for Saturday, too.  But you wouldn’t find me in the hotel Saturday until later.  I missed the whole day – almost the whole conference if you looked at it on paper.

But I missed nothing.

I went to one session – the one on fashion blogging.  I manned up and asked a question and heard from some bright, talented and stylish businesswomen who were kind enough to indulge a newbie.  I met a woman who represents a store that holds great sentimental value in my mind – and helped me loved fashion and shopping at an early age.  If you’ve ever undressed in a common dressing room, you’d smile along with me about this.

Out of that session and through a strange turn of events I had a chance to have dinner with the powerhouse named Nichelle Page – StyleMom.  I don’t get surprised often, but here I will admit something.  Much like many others have written, I am ashamed to admit that I wasn’t sure if any of the “rockstar” bloggers on these panels would really be generous enough to spend time with some of newbies in their niches.  You would think at (shortly) 40 years old I’d have learned differently.

Sometimes I’m an asshole.  It doesn’t make them one.

I so enjoyed meeting Nichelle.  She is tough, bright, smart and we spent endless amounts of time talking about old school glamour, manners and style.  And, yes, these kids need to pull their damn pants up.  I hope we get to do some collaborating this year – something tells me it’d be an awful lot of fun.

Out of that dinner came laughs with two other fantastic women – the precious Lindsay from Gemvara and yet another Nichelle G from 55SecretStreet.   Confession: Nichelle and I spent Saturday walking the hell out 5^th avenue.  She indulged me in my need to walk through the magic B’s of New York: Bendels, Bergdorfs and Barneys.  We talked about the fashion publishing industry, the city, the market and about a hundred things in between including how we were pretty much convinced we were best friends in a previous life.

Then there were more surprises.  Aimee being one of them.  Oh, my lord, how I love this woman.  She is my sister soul in many, many ways.  I had no idea how I was going to meet her (and, oh, how much I wanted to).  Thank G-d for the Chevy Volt charging station and having to sit and watch people walk by – ‘cause she did.  Random introductions became a date for pizza later and with Aimee came the force of nature called Jorja.  There just are not words for this woman.  Go get to know her – your life and your heart will be better for it.

My life and heart are better for knowing and spending time with my roommates – Jennifer and April.  Three different women from three different cities and three different backgrounds who laughed and giggled and strategized and OMG’ed each and every day.  I’m pretty convinced April is going to take over the world – and Jennifer will pick the finest wines to celebrate when she does.  We have nothing and everything in common and I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in many, many years.  

Was it all glitter and rainbows and unicorn farts?  No.  I think the swag was not only overdone but poorly conceived in many ways.  There was a point at which I wanted a button that simply said, “Pitch me your blog and I’m going to punch you in the tits.”

I’ll get around to your blog – I wanted to know YOU.  Not your platform.

But am I glad I went?  Yes.  Absolutely.  I am so looking forward to continuing all the great discussions that just started in New York.  These moments – filled with insight and inspiration and compassion and generosity and humor and LIFE.

Those are the best swag of all.

And she’s right. For all the great things social media and this digital age brings there is a side that can feel defeating. Isn’t it easy to see who’s traveling the world, holding the dream job, saving lives, making policy, making people laugh and building a second home?

There’s the girl who became beautiful long after you lost touch. The quiet boy who is now smart and handsome. The technology innovator you never knew. The stay at home mom who looks like she has it all together. The one who had a book published. The one who is working with rock bands.

It can be unnerving, our friends’ success. The second guessing of choices. The “what ifs” that creep in at the weaker moments.

There is a movement going around many blogs asking people to write a letter to their 20 year old selves. It’s an interesting exercise, isn’t it? In many cases sites like Facebook bring you virtually face to face with your life as a 20 year old. How does it look 20 years later?

I think it’s that mirror effect of Facebook that’s so hard sometimes. I don’t begrudge other people their success – and I know that for all the openness and rawness that makes the Internet so compelling and interesting we’re all still putting a measured picture of ourselves out there. It’s the daily exercise of facing old decisions – good, bad or never made – that can wear on you.

Living in the present is hard. Hell, there are times where living in the moment is damn near impossible. But trying to integrate that “life as a 20 year old” with “a life today” – well, it’s still a work in progress.

You guys! Want to help me cross off a life list item?

OF COURSE YOU DO.

While at BlogHer ’10 in New York City, I want to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s not only a Life List item for me, but also right before I turn 40 and, really? I think celebrating in NYC is the way to go. Also? What better time to accomplish it than at BlogHer! The lovely Amber is going to join the fun because helping someone complete a Life List item is on HER Life List. See how this just gets cooler every sentence?

OF COURSE YOU DO.

I’m thinking the weekend is jam packed with exciting things already, but perhaps all who are interested can gather that Sunday morning (August 8th) for the stroll before heading out of town? If you want to join the party which may include other fun things yet to be determined, leave me a comment or find me on Twitter and we’ll see what kind of hungover brave group we get for the event.

(I’m looking at you, ladies of 1970!)

This is gonna be awesome. Join me!

Ahem.

Don’t let anyone tell you that the whole MommyBlogging thing is a waste of time. They lie. If it were not for this little red piece of the internet, the Mom2Summit and Twitter, I’d have never met Ellie who is now squarely on my list of Most Awesome People in the History of Ever. Her husband and kids, too.

Because we continued to crack ourselves up on Twitter every day and “me, too” the hell out of things, we decided to meet “in real life”. Most amazing for two women is that we decided to meet in real life IN OUR BATHING SUITS WITH LITTLE TO NO MAKEUP ON. (The chicks understand that statement.)

So we met at a public splash park near her house. Benjamin and Leah were convinced it was like going to Disneyworld. Buckets that dump water! Spraying water fountains! Snow cones! Water slides!

Let’s talk about the water slides. There were three to choose from. A small kiddie frog slide, a medium sized tunnel side and a big, two-story one. My kids would go on NONE of them. Well, not entirely true. LEAH would go on only the kiddie frog slide. Benjamin WANTED to go on the huge one, but they wouldn’t let him because he wasn’t tall enough, much to his dismay.

But the mommies did. Oh, YES WE DID. And I’ve got the pictures to prove it.

Top of the slide tower

Ellie’s slide

My slide!

After the splash park we headed over to Ellie’s home for more kiddo playing, some killer margaritas and some equally badass thai shrimp pasta. Not surprisingly the Husbands had some fun hazing us about our prolific internet and iPhone usage and have now decided to form a Non-Blogging Husbands of Mommybloggers Support Group. There may be shirts involved. And maybe a hunting trip. The details are a little sketchy, but Ellie and I may or may not be looking for that URL as we speak.

You should also know that Ellie is a masterful face painter and Leah wanted to sleep in her fairy makeup forever and ever and ever. Benjamin’s Thomas the Tank Engine was a highlight in his little life…until he hung out with Ellie’s oldest daughter who he now has a crush on. He digs the older chicks.

Best Memorial Day weekend in many, many years. It’s hard to beat new friends, good food and a water slide.

But, yes, I am back on it. I got guilted into it by a few friends who were touting how fun! and exciting! It was to reconnect with people. And now I get tackled with nostalgia every time I open my inbox.

And it is fun. It is. It’s amazing to see who is doing what with whom and where. It’s fun to see who has grown up, who has come out, who has led, who has followed, and who has jobs that are truly enviable.

But for all the laughs that come with the remember whens, there are things that break my heart. The girl with devastating breast cancer. The guy who died last year. The friend who is now a widow at the age of 37.

And it doesn’t matter that it’s been 15 or 20 years. In that instant my head and heart feel like we’re back on campus and I hurt for my old friend like not a day has passed, when, clearly, so many have.

I’ve been thinking that this notion of time is interesting. It is impossible to catch someone up on the past 15 or 20 years of your life. All that remain are the residual feelings – and that’s where you pick up. Except in the most extreme instances, who can remember why someone lost touch or why you might have stopped talking?

In catching up with some old friends it has become very clear that my memory has big holes. But my heart remembers almost all of it. I couldn’t tell you the address of my sorority house, the details of a party, why we broke up or even whether I made a trip to visit someone. I have photographs in my mind, little tiny treasures of moments that flash when I think of someone, but the whole story isn’t there any longer. At least not the narrative.

But I can tell you how I felt about that person. I can almost in some cases physically remember and feel the bond of friendship or respect or love that was there. And more often than not it is both astounding and reassuring.

So maybe that’s how we pick up where we left off. Old friends tempered by time and circumstance. A little awkward, but always warm. And sometimes through tears.

Normally, I would simply feel sad, send a silent prayer out to the family and keep going. But something was different this time. Something bothered me about this more than usual, so I decided to look up this coach’s obituary in the paper to see if I could make sense of this.

As it turns out, I had met him. And his wife. And his entire family though I never knew their name. His oldest daughter (5) was in dance class with The Swimmy. I began to realize that he left behind daughters ages 5, 3 and a little boy named his junior who is only 2 months old. The mom is a teacher, they have enormous extended friends and family.

But the thought of this mom having to lose her husband, deal with two grieving daughters so young and a little boy who will never know his dad is crushing to me. Intrinsically I know that, if that were me, as a mom I would have to rise to the occassion and deal with the awful situation to help my kids. But as I allow myself to consider that position there is a huge part of me that thinks I never could. And that is so utterly unnerving that I have no words to describe it.

Hey, look at me. No words.

While the kiddos navigated through diplomatic and developmental minefields, we grown ups enjoyed massive amounts of food and drink, oh, and conversation. Here’s list of things that were consumed this weekend:

Asian-glazed, grilled salmon

Caesar salad (made the most rockin’ tofu based dressing I never thought I’d ever eat let alone make)

Asian-marinated, grilled portabella mushrooms

Drunken shrimp (Grilled. Think margarita and you’ll get the idea.)

Feta, tomato, green onion and cucumber orzo salad

Tons of ice cream. Tons.

Garlic dip

Hummus

Salsa fresca

Cheese. Jesus, the cheese.

The freshest strawberries and blueberries G-d ever made

Chocolate chip cookies

…And anything the kids didn’t finish

It was awesome. Just like the company.

This morning brought a carpool ride to the airport with the first stop being the Swimmy’s first day of camp. Oy.

She was very excited to start camp. Much like her Mommy and Daddy, her favorite part of the morning was deciding what in the world to pack for lunch today!

Because she is now in camp with some of the older kids, she gets to swim twice a day: instructional and just for fun. The parents’ manual said we should send two bathing suits and two towels for this. And a change of clothes. Perhaps two. Uh, do you have any idea how big a bag she’d have to take to accommodate all this shit? Right. Here are two bathing suits and one towel. Deal with it. I’ll be ecstatic if they both come home.

And she ran right in, which is so awesome. But, I keep thinking, “I hope she’s made a little friend. I hope her counselors don’t suck. I hope she actually SWIMS today.” And? I kinda miss her (eventhough she’s never home during the day because of school) – and wish I could go over to her camp and just peek around a corner to see what she’s doing.

I think I’ll go find those chocolate chip cookies.

And finally, news from Little Rock. After a horrible stretch up there, it appears the sun is beginning to shine and my folks may actually get to come home shortly. Dad is hoping they’ll get sprung by Saturday. This time the treatment was an awful stretch. The kind of awful where you don’t think you could possibly do that again (which she is supposed to do). But, The Battle continues.

Luckily, once they’re released, they get to come home for two whole months. An eternity! And this stretch of home includes meeting their newest grandchild next month (holy shit). Not a bad “reward”. And the Swimmy is ready to see them again as well. Hell we all are.

Well, how’s that for four days? Sorry for the break in posting – more to come later today!

Hope your weekend was fantastic.