Why I'm Counting Down: Over.It.

This is part three of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me so far this spring.

OK, so, arguably there are many things that fall into the Over.It. category right now--like people who think they're being confident when they're just being obnoxious--but an old friend helped me realize that what I'm most Over. is our country's current administration.

It's been no secret the deep unrest I've felt about the Bush administration's policies for some time now. At this point, though, I'm just restless and know I'm not alone. Many people in this country have senioritis when it comes to gun-slinging leaders from the South running our country (into the ground).

As my grandmother would say, "this is what it boils down to:" 1. Men and women have lost lives fighting in a war that has accomplished nothing for America. Maybe it has accomplished a little for Iraq, but it has certainly given our strongest enemy--Al Queda--more time and room to grow and work against us. 2. We still haven't found Bin Laden. Are we even really looking for him at this point? Do we have enough military resources to be looking for him at this point? 3. Gas is so high--and is only going to get higher as long as the demand is there, regardless of what any politician says--that people struggle to afford getting to work! 4. We are running out of food, and people are rioting overseas because they have nothing to eat. 5. There are still a lot of people who just don't care about any of this, who seem totally unfazed by it, and I feel very disconnected from them even though I may still love them.

I was reminded recently, a few times actually, how different 21 is from 27. More importantly, I've learned how different my own 21 was from my 27. I'll be 28 in November, and I'm probably one of the very few women among my peers who simply cannot wait for 30. I've always had high hopes for my 30s. And I feel like I've done what I was supposed to do in my 20s, which is to say I've done a lot in my 20s that I never expected to do at all.

"Your twenties are all about finding out who you're not." --Jim Cromie

Even though photos of family and recent photos of friends dominate my house, I still have a photo from my 20th birthday secured on a memo board in my kitchen. I see it every day. And I like having it there because someone once told me, "Don't keep the photos where you look your best. Keep the ones where you look happiest." It was hard not to have a genuine smile that day. I was surrounded by best friends, during a Saturday afternoon in college, holding a gag gift someone had bought at the dollar store for me. The aforementioned gift was a set of ceramic pigs, in honor of a well-known college dean.

I was once sent to interview that dean, whom my best friend and then-editor called a piglover. Coming from her, I assumed it was a term of endearment. But when I got to his office, with a notepad and tape recorder in tow, I immediately learned that he was, in fact, a lover of the swine. There was no place to look in his office without seeing a pig. There were pig statues, photos of pigs, pig art, pigs riding Harleys. I couldn't handle it. I was trying not to laugh. So I looked at the floor--which, thankfully, did not boast a carpet with pig prints. BUT there was a ceramic pig "crawling" from underneath the dean's desk. I started laughing in the middle of the interview. And you could hear that on the recorded interview.

Those days were incredibly easily. And I lived them fully and incredibly well.

But before I celebrated my 21st birthday, terrorism took down the World Trade Center, part of the pentagon, thousands of families and all of my idealism.

I was in Pittsburgh when it happened, watching from a 6th-floor classroom as Downtown workers evacuated our tallest buildings--a result of rumors about the flight that ultimately crashed in Shanksville was designated for the U.S. Steel Tower. I've never seen the streets so full and had no idea that so many people were even in the Golden Triangle on any given weekday.

My journalist's instinct immediately kicked in, and I was fortunate to work with the best fellow student journalists and friends all week. I did a story about how students were affected, interviewing young people from the east and west coasts alike.

A year later, I wrote a column about how it changed America and my entire life. Maybe I'll post those tomorrow, so you can read for yourselves (even though it's embarrassing to share what you wrote 7 years ago sometimes). They were both finalists for awards, with one actually winning. But that's not what I hold onto or feel proud about. I feel fortunate that I got to work with my best friends during a moment that forever changed our history. I feel fortunate that I was part of it in such a way that my children will have my voice to pass onto their posterity.

But one of the parts of the story I never told in writing was one of the most memorable: The guy in my class whom I sat next to. We'll call him J.I. He was a transfer from St. Louis, and we were sort of friends. He read all of my stories, and I went to his Pittsburgh lacrosse games. We called each other sometimes. We emailed each other sometimes. We fell out of touch. But the reason I'll never forget him is because we sat next to each other, watching as the second plane crashed into the World Trade Center.

This afternoon, we crashed into each other. Literally. I spilled my decaf coffee on him, but our attention was on catching up.

The first thing we talked about was politics. We've both been supporting the same candidate and working for him in different cities. I told him of my unrest. He told me of his.

"Honestly, I think maybe the subconcious reason people are so enthusiastic about this election cycle is that we're finally putting Bush behind us. And for many people in this country, that also means finally being able to put 9/11 behind us," he said.

We both recalled that Tuesday morning. We remembered the perfect weather. We remembered turning in our class assignments. We remembered that incredible September sunlight. We remembered sitting next to each other.

"Remember all the rumors that started within minutes about the planes being hijacked at the Pittsburgh Airport? The Pittsburgh Airport isn't even a major hub now, is it?" he said.

No. It's really not.

I told him about all of the things that have changed in Pittsburgh since 2001. I told him about all that's changed in my own life since 2001.

"It really doesn't surprise me that you have two kids and a husband already. You were always way ahead with everything and always kind of lived fast and passionately," he said.

"Yeah, that might be the nicest way anyone has ever described it," I said.

True to form, he asked many questions, some of which I didn't really want to answer, but did.

"OK, so tell the truth here, when everyone talks about how babies change everything, what really changes?" he said.

"What needs to change, changes. And what doesn't need to change, only changes if you let it," I said.

Some of the changes are incredible. You rediscover the world through the eyes of your child. You get the honor of watching a tiny person, a person you love most, take their first steps. You bring a child, your child, a life, into this world and get to fill it will love and knowledge. You get to watch your husband become a father--which will only deepen your love. Your whole life takes new meaning, and you truly think of someone else before your own person.

Some of the changes require sacrifice. The biggest complaint I hear from new parents is the lack of sleep. It truly is something you have to grow into, but those first days are rough. I was ready for it by the time Ty came into our lives, but it was the first time Larry was around a newborn. But the amazing thing about Larry is--even though I was breastfeeding Ty, and there was nothing he could really do to help--he got up with me at 2 a.m. and stayed awake until Ty went back to sleep. It was his way of reminding me I wasn't alone. For me, it was just one of the many moments where I knew we married the right people.

Sometimes, friendships change. Not the kind like Mary Beth and I share, which is the AWESOME kind. But the friendships that exist out of status or circumstances, those seem to naturally fade away. Occasionally, the coming and going of such a friend is surprising. Other times, it's not. And that doesn't make anyone a bad person. I've come to believe it's more a matter of relatability. After all, friendships truly develop based on like interests. And parenting is such a huge life change that friends who are not only NOT going through that, but also feel far away from even wanting that, can feel like they just don't have much in common anymore. Also, some people just aren't good communicators and thus fall out of touch. All you can really do in situations like that is leave the door open for when you have like interests again.

For the sake of clarity, Mary Beth and I have very different backgrounds, we approach many things differently, but I think we're frighteningly similar on two things: unconditional love and the value of communication. When we really need each other, there's no question. We're there. Plus, maybe I'm biased, but I have so much admiration for her. She's the best person I know, and I was once quoted as saying to her, "When the whole world goes up in flames, you will be sitting on a cloud with Jesus."

Another change is the concern for our economy and political climate. These things come to the forefront when you're a parent. You care about the educational opportunities for your children, the cost of that education and how much of that education is controlled by the government. You care about how much gas costs, and what it will cost you to drive them to school, practice, the doctor's office, the store. You care about how much gas will cost when they start buying it. You care about what kind of energy we will rely on when they are your age. You care about the future of this planet.

And even if you're not a parent now, but want to be someday, or have younger family members you deeply love, you're probably starting to care about these things too.

I had both of my children during the Bush administration--perhaps the two best things to come out of the last seven years.

One day I will talk to them about all that I remember of it--the history-making election between Gore and Bush in 2000, the terrorism of 2001, the unforgettable SNL episode hosted by Derek Jeter, the beginning of a war, the narrow election between Kerry and Bush in 2004, rising gas prices, the worst economy of my lifetime--one that has been compared to what preceded The Great Depression, and how I worked on a campaign for the first time during the 2008 election--in which the democratic party nominated a black man or white woman for the first time.

Most of all, though, what I want to be able to say is, "They were tough times, but our country pulled through, we pulled through. Just look how strong we are today."

And I hope Cienna and Ty know, and all of our children know, the kind of perfect beauty and innocence and hope of a sunny, September morning that is without pain, tragedy, stress or war.