First

Sam is "dating." Apparently, that's what it's called in eighth grade. When I was in eighth grade, we "went together" -- although I'm not really sure where we ever went. He'd be mortified if he knew I was blogging about this. That's why I've advised all of my children not to read my blog until they're at least 21.

SAM, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, STOP NOW! YOUR 21ST BIRTHDAY IS ONLY SEVEN YEARS AWAY. BE STRONG.

His new girlfriend is a sweet, pretty, quiet girl. I hope she doesn't get eaten alive in this loud, obnoxious, irreverent family. Her primary interests are reading and writing. Yup, I love her already. And I absolutely adore her parents. Mama is very, very happy with this Big First.

I'm treading lightly around this even though I'm bursting at the seams for DETAILS, DETAILS, DETAILS! I did find out that he actually talked to her when he asked her to "go out with him." Thank God Almighty this is not a text-based relationship.

When he told me about his new love interest, his face turned at least ten shades of purple. But he offered the information up freely.

I like the way this has gone so far.

His new girlfriend's mom texted me after tucking her daughter in to say, "she had a sweet smile on her face" when she talked about Sam. Sweet smiles and purple faces. Love, love, love it!

I talked to him today about being respectful, about treating her like a queen, about not caving to the whims of his eighth grade friends. "I'm not dumb, Mom," he said. "I know, Sam, but you ARE thirteen."

The best part of this whole deal so far? Mary Claire's reaction. She came busting through the garage door on her way home from school today yelling, "OMG!! I can't believe you have a GIRLFRIEND! I thought you were going to be lonely FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!!!"

She then followed that outburst with an adamant, "I would NEVER date you!"

Good idea, Mary Claire.

Another One Bites the Dust

Summer, that is. Today marks the beginning of grades 8, 6, 5, and 3 for my tribe. A new school year, many life changes in store, lots of excitement to look forward to.

Blogging has been light lately. I know. I KNOW, JODY. But I'm making my comeback. Here's a quick run-down of where we sit in our lives...

CHRIS: 45 pounds lighter, job change, finishing his dissertation, soon to be called "Dr. Willis," new business venture with some pretty fantabulous partners, goatee, lovah, on the edge of 40.

KATRINA: 60 pounds lighter, training for a marathon, just finished VIA with the amazing Indy 58, peddling her memoir (Table for Six: The Extraordinary Tales of an Ordinary Family) to agents, finishing up her next novel (See How They Run), applying to Bennington College (alma mater of my beloved Donna Tartt) to pursue an MFA in Creative Writing, five sizes smaller than this time last year, still wrangling 4 unruly and surprisingly fun children (who knew I'd love the elementary and middle school years so much?), summer blonde hair that's bordering on "Pamela Anderson-tacky," madly in love with my goateed spouse.

It's the Year of Reinvention for the Willis adults.

We've been on an off-road journey for the past six months or so. From contemplating a move to Washington to nearly hosting a "For Sale" sign in our yard on numerous occasions, from crying about the unknown to embracing whatever adventures show up at our doorstep, from worrying about scarring our children for life to teaching them to see through a different set of eyes, from preparing to pack up and leave all that we've ever known and loved in our wake to beginning a new business right in the safety and familiarity of our own backyard, from a breast cancer scare to visiting two of our parents rooming two doors apart in the ICU -- it's been a wild ride, indeed.

And what have we learned?

Well, lots.

Most importantly, we've learned about What Matters.

And as a classic over-sharer, I've learned the beauty of mystery and intrigue. When people knock on my door or accost us at the Farmer's Market with questions and comments and stories about our lives, I've learned the thrill of an enigmatic, Mona-Lisa smile that says, "Go ahead and have your own story." I feel a little Cindy Brady-ish. I sometimes want to chant, "I've got a secret! I've got a secret!" But so far, I've been able to refrain.

Because, after all, our stories are just stories, aren't they? Like one big game of "telephone," we hear a few tidbits, process them in our own unique way, and pass them on to the next person who gets to start the process all over again. I'm no longer about taking away someone's story. It's not mine to take.

But they're damn entertaining to listen to.