“Let’s take a picture.”

This was my response when realizing we were sharing a family moment. Our family is no longer an ordinary family.

I’ve always had a comfortable relationship with time.

When asked to name a positive attribute about myself, this typically comes to mind. However, I don’t always say it.

Instead, I give another answer that is true but fits more neatly into the expected answer box.

I wrote this story in 2012 about my family’s 2002 CWS experience. The story was published in the Omaha World Herald on June 27, 2012. The College World Series will always hold a special place in my heart and my boys.

“Look, Steamworks is over there!”

This was the third time we made this observation as we directed our cart to the beer station. With five kegs on tap, Steamworks, a favorite local restaurant and brewery, provided the Girls Gone Golfing with this free fairway treat.

I sat in my car waiting to go into my gym on a stormy fall night in Omaha. The rain pounded the pavement the cracking of lightning filled the dark sky. I was on the phone with Garrett, who was at the time, my friend from Denver. This was in late October 2009.

“In 2009 when I first met my Colorado husband…” was how I began my song request.

The concert was here in Durango and the band was a favorite of ours from Omaha. Thrilled to have my two lives from two different cities converge, I signed my request sheet “Sandy from Omaha”.

My youngest child, Grant Russell Lane, was born on April 14, 2000. A highly negotiated third child, my husband thought two was a good number whereas I was insistent on three. Grant came into the world loved by all. The baby of our family. Born after an easy labor and with a great disposition that has remained with Grant into adulthood.

I started this story about a dress in 2014. It was actually a story about two dresses. Dresses of different prints, but with the same accessory, which led to my obtaining dress #2.

As things happen with me in writing, I jotted down a draft of this dress story while it was fresh on my mind. Then time moved on and I never finished the story.

One of Garrett’s favorite stories to tease me with was my (purported) question to him “Garrett, what’s a hike?”

That is his recollection. Mine is a bit different. I remember asking “Garrett, what kind of a hike are we going on?”

“I love your boots”

This is a comment I had grown used to hearing since the purchase of my red cowboy boots in 2005. I hear it from friends, strangers, and comments on social media posts when wearing them.

So Baby has graduated. Yes, it is true. The last Lane boy birdie to leave the nest. And the weekend has been nothing short of a whirlwind of events, from baccalaureate to party to commencement. All in about a 24-hour span.

A boy and his dog.

I have thought of this phrase often observing Zach and his brothers with their dog, Jimi (the Hedrix version of the name). Although I have always loved this sweet dog, he was not mine. The boys' dad added Jimi to their family shortly after we divorced. But it didn't take long to fall in love with this amiable canine personality.

Stealing a phrase from a friend of mine; 'we have a situation' at my house. I live with Felix and Oscar. The Odd Couple. For those of my age and older, you completely understand of whom I am referring. For those younger and confused, check with your friend, Wikipedia.

Grandma Gib would have been 96 years old yesterday. With our age spread of exactly fifty years, I have always remembered her age with ease.

In response to the current Facebook folly of listing a number of things people don't know about you, here is mine. This was way too tempting as I have enjoyed reading everyone else's over the last few days. My ten in no particular order...

I am a sister. I wear that like a badge. My brothers have been a part of me and a part of my identity. People would know us collectively by our names; Matt, Mark, and Sandy. There wasn't one without the other. Each born a year apart, we were a troupe of three.

Mary L. Wagner...Mary L. Wagner...Mary L. Wagner...

I have written (and practiced) that signature many times as a teenager.

This morning was a reminder to me of the signs of summer that infiltrate my house each year. Although these signs have changed a bit as my boys have grown older with driver's licenses and new interests outside of play dates and water fights; a five minute stroll through my house provides clues as to what the summer days and nights look like for them.

I just experienced a new first in parenting. After years of getting phone calls informing me of sick children...babysitters worrying about fevers, daycare noticing a strong cough, pink eye alert from the grade school nurse, high school admin calling with a sick teenager in the office; instead the call was directly from my college son. He had gone to the UNL medical office after getting considerably sick and was diagnosed with a severe case of mono. So instead of trekking to the daycare or grade school, I drove to Lincoln to bring my oldest home for some needed rest and recuperation.

In the Midwest, we all know that our ordinary summer days can quickly turn into tornado scares with greenish colored skies, blowing winds, and screaming sirens. With this last weekend full of tornado warnings throughout most of the Midwest, memories of seeking shelter filled my mind.

I met Fr. Mel in the summer of 2007. He was the new priest at my church, St. Wenceslaus, where I was one of two church trustees. Father came to us after spending a comfortable and happy twelve-year existence at the popular St. Margaret Mary parish in mid-Omaha.

This story was written in 2012 when Grant was 12. He and I went on a trip to Arizona together and I wrote this little story on the things I love about Grant (which, of course, there are many).

It is Game Day in Nebraska. Does it get much better than that? A spectacular day shared with 85,000 of my closest friends as we watch our Huskers inaugurated into Big Ten Football. Did I just say ‘our’? Yes, this girl from Iowa sitting amongst a sea of red has long claimed this team as her own.

This is a coming-of-age story. That time in your life when you are transitioning from the cute kid to the young adult. But you really miss being the cute kid. My coming of age was when I was around twelve. This story took place in the middle of the summer at my grandparent’s farm in Iowa. My mom is the oldest of nine Pick children. As the oldest grandchildren, my brothers and I were doted on by our many aunts and uncles.