WAKE-UP CALL

Naps.

I live for them. Due to my weird hours with work.

Every afternoon, Greg calls to make sure I'm up so I can get Griffin off the school bus.

Yesterday, the phone rang. I looked at my clock. 3:15 pm. Time for my wake-up call.

My 3-year-old was napping next to me, so I picked up the phone and whispered...

"I'm, awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake."

Greg didn't say anything.

Obviously, I didn't want to wake Hayden, so I whispered it again.

"I'm awaaaaaaaaaaaake."

Silence.

Then, an unfamiliar voice. "Hello?" It was a female.

I sat up in bed and tried to make sense of what was going on.

Who am I? What am I doing? Who am I talking to? You know, that feeling when you're awake, but not really.

I mumbled a quick apology and explained that I thought she was my husband. I'm sure her first thought was, "Fine, but you two have weird conversations." It was apparent that she thought some looney was on the other end of the line. Someone who answers phones in the same whispered tone of, "I see dead people."

She explained who she was, and I promised to pass on the message.

I told Greg about it and he laughed. Then he asked who called.

I couldn't remember.

DRIVE-THRU DILEMMA

Sleep.

I need more of it. This week, after the morning show was over, I grabbed my purse and made a beeline for the door. Gotta get to Starbucks. It's my daily fix.

On my way out, I offered to get coffee for Vicki, middays on WFMS. She's a regular, too.

I went through the drive-thru, placed our orders. Hers with "no whip," and mine "light whip." Just enough whipped cream to taste it, but not enough to guilt me into exercising later that night.

I paid the barista at the window. So far, uneventful.

The problem? I drove off.

Without the coffees.

Paid almost five bucks each and left with nothing. In reality, I paid Starbucks ten dollars for the experience of ordering through a speaker and being greeted at the window.

Ten dollars to hear a barista say, "Good morning, this is Josh, Kelly and David, what can we get for you today?

Ten dollars to tell Kelly at the window that I'm fine and ask her how she's doing as well. By the way, she was having a good morning.

Ten dollars to watch the lady behind me apply her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

I've got to get more sleep.

DINNER IN THE SKY

Honestly, the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. You are strapped into a bucket-style chair and raised by a crane 150 feet in the air.

I've lost my appetite.

The good news? If nature calls, the crane operator will lower you to the ground so you can make a bathroom run.

The bad news? The whole table goes with you.

JUST WHO WILL YOU BE?

"Just Who Will You Be?"

That's the title of a new book penned by Maria Shriver.

I love this book. Shriver talks about finding herself and having an identity. She had been asked to speak at her nephew's high school graduation, and wasn't feeling worthy. The book is the result of the speech she wrote.

It's the perfect gift for any graduate.

I didn't know who I would be when I graduated high school in 1990. I held all kinds of jobs.

Served frozen yogurt at TCBY.

Pressed men's jackets at the local dry-cleaners. And lost about 15 pounds due to the heat.

Telemarketer. But, I mostly talked to dial tones.

Nanny. In college, I cared for two boys who had more energy than they knew what to do with. Now I'm a mom to two boys who have more energy than they know what to do with.

I was a silly kid who would have loved to work as a bellydancer. As a preteen, I begged for the costume. My parents bought it and wondered where they went wrong. I danced around the house, veil and all, while my sisters would ask, "are we really related?"

Now I'm a mom and a deejay.

And no, I no longer don the veil.

OH NO

Country star Chris Cagle was arrested this week on a domestic assault charge in an incident involving his girlfriend.

One word.

Unfortunate.

"BORED" GAMES

Reba McEntire loves a good board game.

The superstar says she can't get enough, and is very competitive. On vacation, she lets her family get some pool time in, then breaks out a round of Monopoly.

School is out next week, and my boys will be on summer break. That means I'm just days away from hearing...

"I'm bored."

In an effort to keep my little monkeys busy and entertained during their days of relaxation, I've decided to peel them away from our television. Less time "watching" and more time "doing."

On the itinerary are activities such as:

Tug-o-war. 3-year-old Hayden just might give his older brother a run for his money.

Homemade popsicles. I remember filling up the ice-cube tray with orange juice and inserting a stick. Yum! Just one problem...we don't own an ice cube tray.

Making homemade ice cream. I remember doing this with my grandmother. My boys think ice cream is made at the grocery.

After the ice cream is ready, making root beer floats. Except they don't like root beer.

Building castles in the sandbox. Then dragging half of it back inside.

Puzzles. And lets hope all of the pieces are there.

Fireball. My husband's version of dodgeball. All of the neighbor kids gather around and Greg takes them out one by one. Seems a little unfair, but they love it.

We're on track for a fun summer!

And if I play my cards right, an early bedtime.

TEN TOES AND A TODDLER

Ryan Seacrest loves a good pedicure.

I love them, too, but I'm too cheap to pay for 'em. Instead, I'm a do-it-yourself-er.

Minus the vibrating chair and thirty minutes of quiet, my version isn't that much different. Or is it?

I recently polished up the piggies. Here's how it went:

Get the kids a bedtime snack and turn on American Gladiators. Remove old toenail polish.Put cap back on nail polish remover and have Hayden ask, "What's that smell?" "Remover," I say. "I don't like remover," my 3-year-old bluntly announces.

Apply a clear coat of polish. Let dry.

Fill out permission slip for Griffin's field trip. Check toes, and remove a dog hair that became embedded in clear coat on left big toe. Lay out book to read to the boys.

Apply summery-looking pink polish to my toes and let dry. Trip and stub three toes on right foot while going to retrieve boys pjs, and return to bathroom to re-polish. Let dry again.

Dress the boys, read them their book, and share our favorite part of the day.

Check toes. Apply final clear coat of polish. Help boys brush their teeth.

Press lips together and hold in my frustration when my toddler marches on my left foot and smudges toes.

Tuck boys in, and return to bathroom. Remove polish all over again.

Repeat process and wonder why I didn't just pay for a pedicure.

TOO CHICKEN

Chi-chis.

That's what Amy Grant's daughter calls the things that a seamstress wanted Amy to wear in her evening gown. To, ahem, enhance her attributes. Amy told me, Jim, and Kevin that those "things" look like chicken cutlets.

She asked if I'd ever heard of them. HEARD of them?

I own a pair.

Thinking about those "cutlets" reminds me. Two weeks from now, it is Zoobilation, the big summer event in Indianapolis.

Last year, Greg and I were there. I had my enhancers on.

I grabbed a friend and headed for the dance floor. We shimmied to the music, and you can imagine my surprise when I realized something had, well, moved. My little secret was now...

...on the floor by my feet.

For everyone to see.

How do you discreetly scoop up something that looks like chicken and shove them in a purse? I had to laugh, but I learned my lesson.

Leave 'em at home. Amy Grant agrees.

LOST AND FOUND

Ever lost something?

Its happened to all of us. Yesterday, I felt the pain of a woman who walked in to McCallister's Deli.

She explained to the girl behind the counter that she had dined there two weeks ago and has not seen her credit card since. She was hoping they had recovered it. No such luck.

I've lost all kinds of things.

Keys probably top that list. Followed by cellphones.

My ex-boyfriend's class ring. Talk about feeling bad.

My 3-year-old is already following in my footsteps. We custom-built a remote-control car at the mall, and can't find it anywhere! We've looked under every mattress and dresser. Nothin.

Most recently, I lost one of my favorite pairs of earrings. Silver hoops. Hoping it would turn up, I saved the other one.

One month later, Greg finds my missing hoop down in a crevice of my car. Whoo-hoo! Now I can wear them again!

I am excited to reunite the pair. But, there's one problem.

I can't find the other one.

PURSE-ONALITY!

What's in your purse?

I recently read a magazine article that says what you carry in your purse reveals hidden truths about who we are and the roles we play.

My husband calls my purse my "duffel bag." He finds it to be a tad too big. He also knows nothing about fashion.

On any given day, here's what can usually be found in mine:

Lipgloss. It's an addiction.

Baby wipes. Perfect for our trips to get donuts or spills in the car.

A can of tuna. Odd, I know. But, it comes in handy when I get hungry at work and I'm out of change for the vending machine.

Cheap toys from those fast-food kids meals. It never fails. My boys get bored with them in ten minutes, and I'm asked to hold them in the middle of Target.

7 debit receipts that I haven't written in. Greg HATES when I do that.

Sugar-free gum. And about 9 wrappers the boys left behind.

A juice box. Just in case.

A digital camera. Don't want to miss those moments that I can't get back.

Finally, about 7 "things-to-do" lists. I have a bad habit of writing these down at work, then forgetting about them in my purse. Guess they didn't get done.

The article says I am a practical, self-sufficient mom who doesn't like messy situations. Hey...not bad.

Sounds better than "A mom who is too lazy to clean out her purse."

DEAR DIARY...

A food diary?

That's what Carrie Underwood says she carries with her, using it to jot down every morsel of food she puts in her mouth. She says it helps her keep track of what she eats, and serves as a reminder to make healthy eating choices.

No wonder she can wear barely-there outfits like the one at this week's American Idol finale that played peek-a-boo with the front row. (I'm not envious or anything.)

I got to thinking, what would my food diary say? Let's take today, for example.

Breakfast...1 1/2 donuts and the tallest non-fat white mocha I could get from Starbucks.

Mid-morning...3 bites of cookie dough I didn't finish from baking two nights ago. It's been wrapped up in foil in the fridge and CALLING my name.

Lunch...Some strawberries, half of a ham sandwich with mayo, and a glass of orange juice. Do I have to count the handful of peanuts I munched on while making that?

Two hours later...a sweet tea (hold the lemon!) from McCallisters.

Mid-afternoon...Several Cheez-Its. In fact, I'm munching on them now as I type this, which means now I need to clean the keyboard.

Wow, what an unhealthy day. Maybe this food diary thing isn't such a bad idea.

In the meantime, what's for dinner?

DISNEY OR BUST

A brunette.

Tim Mcgraw once told me and my co-hosts that his wife Faith Hill wore a wig and he also donned a disguise when they took their kids to DisneyWorld.

Disney. The place where magic happens.

David Cook recently won American Idol, turned to the cameras and said, "I'm going to Disney World!"

Me, too.

Almost time for summer vacation. And that's where we're headed.

I think most parents will admit that after a vacation to Disney, you need ANOTHER vacation. To recuperate.

I have to smile when I recall our last trip. Our toddler at the time was hooked on Buzz Lightyear, and after meeting him, had to be peeled away from his leg. He screamed and bawled when it was time to leave.

Magical? Not so much.

Or the time when I bought that spray-on version of sunscreen, and sprayed it right into my son's eyes. He bawled. People stared.

Magical? I think not.

Or the time we closed the park one night, took the shuttle to the parking lot, but exited at the wrong location. We carried two sleeping boys for what seemed like a mile to our car.

Not feelin the magic.

Still, you take the good with the bad, and I can't wait. Memories and meltdowns.

Are we there yet?

CURIOSITY HAS ME PEAKED

I have a problem. I'll admit it.

I'm obsessed with hairlines. More specifically, widow's peaks.

Let me explain.

A friend of mine pointed out that he had a widow's peak. I had never heard of the phrase, and didn't really know what it was. Apparently, I'd been living under a rock.

The best way to describe it is the little dip the hairline makes in the center of one's forehead. I'm sure Websters could provide better details.

Since learning about a widow's peak, I can't stop noticing them. Kind of like when you buy a new car, you begin to notice every car of the same make and model that passes you on the streets.

Check out Leann Rimes photo. She has one.

The morning news reporter has a widow's peak. And I've watched her for months.

A friend of mine in Georgia has one, too. I'm envious.

I went to my sister's house to visit my new baby nephew. He's adorable. Yet, I found myself telling my sis, "You have a widow's peak!" Oh, yeah, and Jackson is a cutie.

The guy at Starbucks has one. So, does the girl working the register where I get my clothes dry-cleaned.

And my neighbor.

If you catch me staring, it's not you. It's your cool hairline.

DANICA SUITS UP

Bathing suit season. UGH.

Most women dread it. Unless you're IRL driver Danica Patrick. She posed for Swimsuit Illustrated this year. The rest of us are posing in our mirrors, looking for evidence of that cheesecake we ate last week. Yep, it's there.

I chatted with Danica, and she was rather frank about some things.

The interview was set on Indy's northwest side. She arrived in a black Lincoln Towne car with tinted windows, and a large security team flanking her side.

She pushed her long dark hair out of her face, and I must admit, nearly crushed my fingers when she shook my hand. I pretended not to notice, but secretly wanted to submerge them in ice.

I asked Danica some fun questions to get to know her better. And here is what I learned.

She would rather wax her legs than shave.

She enjoys dining out at a restaurant over ordering in.

She loves pizza more than Chinese.

And if given the choice, Danica would pick wearing her racing suit over a bathing suit. She says its more comfy.

A racing suit? Now that sounds more like it.

Can I wear one to the beach?

WHATCHA EATIN'?

Fruity Pebbles.

Kenny Chesney's favorite breakfast cereal. During a visit to the morning show's

"Pickin Parlor," Kenny admitted to craving the cereal, but says he doesn't often indulge. He takes the healthier path most mornings.

Last week, my 6-year-old was watching tv and saw a commercial for a new cereal. He only needs to see a commercial once before having the entire thing memorized. He found me in the kitchen, and asked if we could buy some Frosted Flakes Golden.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"That commercial I just saw. It's a cereal called Frosted Flakes Golden." Still didn't know anything about it. So, Griff explained...

"Mooooooooooooooom, you know. Long-lasting energy flakes made with sweet golden honey and a good source of fiber."

Impressive. He'd make a great salesman.

What was that again?

"Long-lasting energy flakes made with sweet golden honey and a good source of fiber." He awaited my answer eagerly.

I was so impressed with his sales pitch that I bought a box the next day. He loves them.

I'm not usually such a pushover.

Did I mention its a good source of fiber?

EBAY FRENZY

"A little disturbing."

Those were Keith Urban's words when the morning show told him we held onto a water bottle he left behind during an interview. (Ok, it was one of our relatives who kept it.) Keith laughed when he said it, but can't quite understand why anyone would be fascinated by that.

After a recent interview with Alabama's Randy Owen, he grabbed a candy bar that I had on the table. He tore the wrapper a little, then laid it back down. Even Randy joked that I should put it on Ebay now that the candy contained his DNA.

I did some research, and believe it or not, people buy this stuff. Why, I don't know.

Jessica Simpson threw her gum in the trash on the set of a movie, and an "extra" claims to have put it on Ebay. Highest bid? 455 bucks.

A security guard who claims to have dug through a garbage can after Britney Spears hocked her gum wants someone to buy it. Some fool was willing to pay $14,000.

Christina Aguilera's gum was only drawing a penny. Ouch.

For the record, I didn't put Randy Owen's candy bar on Ebay.

I also didn't bid on Brad Pitt's half-eaten eggsalad sandwich.

HAPPY DANCE

The boy had to go to the bathroom. BAD.

I'm talking about a boy on the opposing baseball team that Griffin played against last night.

A coach yelled "time out," and soon a boy doing a silly dance with his hands in a certain place made a beeline for the men's room. All the adults had a little chuckle.

Imagine my predicament this morning as I was in the studio with my co-host, Kevin, and I realized I had a full bladder. Oops. Darn Starbucks.

We were just starting an interview, and there was no time to make an exit. Suddenly, I felt like that boy on the baseball field.

And Kevin enjoyed it a little too much.

My dear friend grinned from ear to ear, pointed to his watch, and gestured that he would ask a few "extra" questions.

9 minutes later, I'm doing a little happy dance. And I'm 35 years old.

After what seemed like forever, we said our goodbyes, turned off the microphones, and I ran to the ladies room. I also nearly ran over a new sales girl that I hadn't yet met.

Mom always told me I only get one chance to make a first impression.

RACIN'

The Indy 500.

It's the big event of the year in Indy, probably the biggest.

The morning show got a unique opportunity to experience what it is like to circle the famous oval in a two-seater car. I immediately declined.

Can't really explain it, but there's something nerve-wracking about that. The guys were thrilled, and jumped on board. Reluctantly, I followed.

I signed a waiver that mentioned my death, suited up, and took a call from my mom on my cell phone telling me I was crazy.

I walked toward the pits, certain that I would need a port-o-let when I got there.

Once in the car, I began to hyperventilate. I was feeling claustrophobic.

The engine revs. And off I go. The driver in front of me shows me no mercy, and soon we hit speeds of 180 mph. I CLOSE MY EYES as we hit turn 1, and begin saying over and over, "please be done, please be done." The driver slows, and just as I think its over, he goes for a second lap.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Once finished, I realize I just got the chance of a lifetime. I'll try anything ONCE.

This would fall into that category.

NO ONE LIKES CHANGE

Nicole.

That's the name of the college girl who will be helping us with the boys over the summer. A few hours each day.

She's very nice. Responsible. Good morals.

She came to the house yesterday to get to know the boys. Within minutes, Hayden walks in and announces that he "needs changed."

Our feisty three-year-old refuses to do his business on the potty, which explains why we are still buying pull-ups.

It's an ongoing battle. I tell Hayden that I'm not changing him, so he'll have to (tongue-in-cheek) do it himself. "I don't wanna. That's gross," he says.

He shoots Greg a glance. "You gonna change me?" Greg shakes his head no.

Hayden scans the room, and zones in on Nicole, whom he JUST MET. He points to her and says...

"Can SHE change me?"

I was hoping Nicole would leave thinking my boys are polite and independent. Instead, I'm hoping she comes back.

BIG FOOT

Big feet.

I've got 'em. I've learned to accept it.

Imagine the laughter that ensued in my family when I got a call from an acting agency to audition for a foot commercial. Har-dee-har har.

One look at these pigs, and I was told, "don't call us, we'll call you." Except, they never called. Hmmmmm.

Mom always told me growing up that I couldn't have petite feet. They wouldn't hold me up, since I'm 5'8. I always thought that was her way of trying to make me feel better. Now, when others tease me, I find myself saying, "But, petite feet wouldn't hold me up because I'm tall." I stop before I get to, "My Mom SAID."

I'm proud to say my nephew, baby Jackson, has adorable feet.

I wanted to share them with the world.

WHERE IS IT?

Dierks Bentley has nothin on me.

He owns a couple of dogs, and talks about them quite a bit. Even his fans know the names of his pets. But, I'll bet he's never had this happen...

Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting upstairs on the computer, which sits next to a window that looks over the front lawn. It's nice out, so the window is open. And then I hear my husband yelling my name.

"Hey honey, you there? Can you look out the window a second?"

I do.

I ask Greg what he needs. He is standing on the grass with a plastic grocery bag in his hands. Then came the laugh of the night.

"Can you look out the window and tell me if you see where Darby (our black lab) left her business? (Left her business is code for going to the bathroom.)

You've got to be kidding me.

Greg explained that he saw her squat, ran in to get a bag, and couldn't "find" it. He needed a spotter from the second story of the house. Man, are we backwards.

I'll bet Dierks has never done that one before.

If you're wondering, I couldn't find it. Looked and looked, and nothin.

Maybe its time for Greg to cut the grass.

WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

Huck.

That's what Brad Paisley calls his son, William. His name is William Huckleberry. They don't call him Will. Brad told me he and his band have dubbed his precious boy Huck, instead.

When I had my first child, Griffin, a logical nickname would be Griff. We use that when referring to him in conversation with someone else. But, when I talk to Griffin directly, I call him...

Bubba Lou. You read it right.

Bubba Lou. One day he's gonna kill me.

Not sure why those words even came to me, either. When he was a toddler, I remember the phrase rolling off my tongue and it just seemed right. I've called him that ever since. Every once in a while he shoots me a look like Mom is off her rocker.

My name is Deborah, and for some reason my father has called me Doober since I was a kid. He still does to this day.

Hayden calls his big brother, "bubby." We affectionately call Greg "Daddio."

Our black lab isn't just "Darby," she is "Darby-dog." Growing up, I called my older sister Michelle "Shelley belly" and I've called my younger sis "kid" for as long as I can remember. Something about being older and wiser, though she'd debate me on the latter. My boys and my nieces call her "Aunt Kiki," since they couldn't say Kristen.

Seems to me my family doesn't much use real names, but that's ok. Loving nicknames are fine with me.

I've been called worse.

WHO NEEDS CHUCKY CHEESE?

Alan Jackson goes to the grocery store once a year.

Once a year. That's what he told me when we last talked. And the only reason he goes is to see the newest products being sold.

I can't imagine that. I make at least two stops a week, sometimes three, to a nearby supermarket.

And dare I go alone.

Hayden has figured out that a trip to the store is as fun as visiting an amusement park. He begs for the "driving carts," those fun little car-like attachments that kids ride in, complete with a steering wheel and seatbelts they can remove on their own. Cant they get those fixed?

Then there is the "copter ride," as Hayden calls it. Kermit the frog sits next to the child and the chopper moves slowly, all for the price of two quarters that I NEVER have in my wallet. Hang on, buddy, Mommy needs to get change.

Oh, and while I'm getting change, might as well get another quarter for the shiny and tempting gumball machine. Hayden watches as the golf-ball size gumballs swivel around and around and land at his feet, waiting to be picked up by his dimpled fingers.

Way too big for his mouth, I nearly break a tooth trying to break it in half, reminding myself its the last time we get the gumball.

As I buckle Hayden in the car, he kisses my cheek with sticky lips, and asks...

...Can we come back tomorrow?

READY TO RUMBLE?

Dolly Parton is a fan of CSI.

That's what she told me, Jim, and Kevin when we chatted with her yesterday. She also says she likes to shop from the magazine Fredericks of Hollywood...but that's another story.

CSI isn't usually on in my household. But, everyone has a favorite. Lately, my boys, a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old, have been hooked on the new version of American Gladiators.

Oh, and me too.

It's not exactly "Leave it to Beaver," but we find ourselves cheering for the red or blue "contender" with popcorn on our laps. It's nerve-wracking at times.

A few months back, a commercial for American Gladiators aired, featuring Dad contenders competing against each other. I casually joked, "Griff, you think your dad could do that?" Of course, he did. Greg laughed, telling our 6-year-old that if the show ever came to town, his dad would be the first to try out. Of course, he knew they weren't hitting Indy anytime soon.

Greg in spandex. Gulp.

Cut to the next day. Griff's teacher calls me to say Greg is a hero among all of the boys in the room. They are so excited to learn that Griffin's daddy is going to don a helmet and too-tight shorts to be on the show.

I quickly informed her that we were merely kidding, though Griff didn't see it that way.

Greg may not be a contender on tv, but he certainly is in the eyes of a special 6-year-old boy.

Hey honey, try these on...

DEAR DEB...

If only I'd known then what I know now. I've caught myself saying that many times over the years. It's only natural. We are much wiser in our mature years, and learning as we grow.

Kimberly-Williams Paisley, wife of country star Brad Paisley, was asked to contribute to a new book titled,"What I Know Now: Letters to my Younger Self." Each of the celebrities included in the book write letters to themselves in their younger years, now knowing how their life turned out. One thing that stayed with Kimberly is "being treated as a dork will color who you are forever."

I got to thinking. What would MY letter say?

Dear Deb...

Don't worry so much.

About tornados, about that terrible boyish-looking haircut you received as a teen the same week you got braces, and don't care so much what other people think. Your stutter will soon disappear, and you will surprise yourself with the career you choose. Realize that your closest friends will always be your two sisters. Know that your parents strict curfew and monitoring of your activities will turn you into a responsible adult, and eventually, a good parent. Get over that high school relationship, for one day, you will take separate paths, for the better. Spend more time with your grandparents before they are gone. Finally, remember that life is short. You are not guaranteed any tomorrows. Something that happens in your mid 30's will remind you of this very important fact.

What would YOUR letter say?

YOU WANT WHAT?

Cooking soda. Ever heard of it? Me neither. But, my 3-year-old has. And he wants some. Now. He's "thirwsty."

So, I began playing process of elimination with my strong-minded toddler.

He shook his head "no" at every guess I had. I was getting nowhere. Finally, he went to the fridge and grabbed a Sprite. Is Sprite the cooking soda?

I poured a little in a cup, and instead of taking a drink, Hayden put the cup to his ear. Why...I have no idea.

Then, I heard him say, "it sounds like cooking."

Of course it does.

Hayden hadn't been given soda before, and the carbonation sounded like something in a frying pan. He was fascinated by it. I sat and watched him, alternating taking sips and putting the cup to his ear.

It had been a rough day, and this little moment was all I needed to remind me what life is all about.

The small things.

Wait till he gets his hand on a bowl of Rice Krispies.

THAT'S A CROC!

Toby Keith owns a pair of Crocs. The shoes that have the world in a frenzy. Toby recently told me and the guys on the morning show that he wears his Jibbitz-free Crocs around his pool, but not out in public. He says they are comfy. But, dorky.

I can't relate. I do not own a pair of Crocs. Not because I'm trying to buck the trend. My feet are big enough, without encasing them in big portions of squishy rubber. So, I stand alone.

But, that doesn't mean I didn't used to fall for just about every trend that came my way. Remember these?

For those who had pierced ears, wearing one stud earring, and one loop.

The ever-so-fashionable look of wearing your collar UP. My grandmother would always turn it down, saying, "that thing keeps flipping up on its own!" Little did she know.

The scarf wrapped around our hips and tied on the side.

Blue eyeliner and/or blue mascara. Hey, isn't that back in style now?

One lacy glove...a la...Madonna. Talk about regrets.

The hot-looking banana clip we wore in our hair. No further comment needed.

These are fun memories, just don't break out any photos.

Dreadful.

TAKE A BOW!

Griffin sang in his school's spring show last night. Little did the audience know, the "show" was actually in the 8th row. How come?

Hayden.

We arrived early, and waited eagerly, ready to snap some photos of Griffin on stage. He told me he was the blue of the rainbow, whatever that meant.

Within the first five minutes of sitting down, Hayden decides he has to potty. I throw my jacket over the seats I'm saving for family, and run him to the restroom. We return, and Hayden wants to sit on my lap. He begins to swing his legs, all the while kicking the chair in front of him. I warn him several times to stop, realizing its going to be a long evening.

The show hasn't even begun.

Cut to the opening act, which is a group of fourth graders. All this waiting, and Griffin isn't the first to go. Hayden begins to search their faces, and yells, "Bubby? Where are you Bubby?"

We tell him to whisper.

My niece is sitting next to me and she nicely tells Hayden not to yell. "You don't say stop to me. YOU stop."

Great. Nothing better than a 3-year-old with an attitude, in a quiet auditorium.

I correct his talking back, and he grabs the gummi bears out of my purse, spilling them on the floor. Greg is wondering how fast we can get out of there. The curtains open again, another class...no Griffin. "Bubby? Where IS he?" Hayden searches, and yells "Hi Bubby," hoping his big brother will yell back.

Realizing it may be awhile, Hayden stands up and loudly announces, "I need a SNACK. Let's go."

Hate to break it to ya, bud...but there is no concession stand.

Finally, we get lucky, and its Griffin's turn. He files in, and smiles proudly. Griffin takes his place.

But, Hayden's no longer watching. He's eating gummis off the floor.

A FOOT OR TWO?

Ouch. Kenny Chesney crushed his foot as he opened the show for his new tour. Talk about bad timing. His foot got stuck between the stage and a lift that rises, just as he was about to sing his first song. Yet, he still went on with the show. He's nursing that injury now.

A foot. An injury. Pain. That reminds me...

When I was a teenager, a friend of mine rode with me to take my car to the carwash. This was one of those carwashes that you drive through. So, I aligned my wheel to the track, put it in neutral, and before long, my gray Camaro was shiny clean.

At the end, 2-3 employees usually swarm the car and towel-dry any spots that are still damp. It is customary that one signals you when its time to drive away. So, I waited. Got the signal. And put the gear in drive.

That's when I heard someone yell, "my foot!"

One of the guys didn't realize I'd been given the green light to leave, and hadn't stepped out of the way.

I had run over his foot.

Panicked, I put the car in reverse to try and fix the problem, only to RUN OVER HIS FOOT AGAIN!

Fortunately, he survived without any real injuries. And I decided a clean car isn't really all its cracked up to be.

Hope its a quick recovery, Kenny.

EVER WONDER?

Billy and Tommy. Those were the names of the two boys I nannied while plugging through classes at Butler University. I took the job for extra cash, and ended up loving it. The boys were full of energy, one loved to brush my hair, and the other tried peeking through the old-fashioned keyhole of the bathroom door when I was on the other side. I still have their house key. It's been 15 years since I quit that job.

I wonder what ever happened to them? They would be 20 and 22 now. Hard to believe.

Thinking of them brings up other names from the past. I wonder what ever happened to...

The security guard at Butler's radio station who spotted my car after I'd been broadsided on the way home from my late shift. Unconscious, he rode with me to the hospital until my parents arrived. I thanked him later, but we lost touch after graduation.

The cook at my sorority house, in college. She always had a smile on her face, and never cared that I would sneak in to the kitchen and steal frozen discs of cookie dough. Boy, it was good.

Last, but not least, my first college roommate. I decided to take my chances and get paired up with someone I didn't know. She opened the door, looked me over, and said, "I'm Valinda, with a "V." I smiled and said, "I'm Deborah, with a D." It lasted two weeks.

After warning me not to touch her collection of Metallica t-shirts, I figured becoming tight friends was out of the question.

WHAT'S YOUR STORY?

Wynonna Judd says she has a fear of going out in public. She once told me that during an interview where I asked her to tell me "something about yourself that most of us may not know." There was a long pause. Then Wynonna took a breath and said...

"I have this thing...where I'm supposed to be somewhere and I'll say...I'm just not going." Wy said she often doesn't feel good enough about her appearance and what she's wearing. I was impressed by her ability to share something so personal.

I've since asked that question to other stars we interview. Other answers have been more comical.

Jack Ingram ratted out Brad Paisley, telling us Brad is a Trekkie nerd, and knows a little too much about it.

Carrie Underwood admitted to having a tattoo, but didn't care too elaborate where its located. She says her dad didn't speak to her for months.

I figure everyone has at least one "unknown fact" about themselves. I racked my brain trying to think of mine, since I'm pretty much an open book.

Then, one came to me.

I often wear socks that don't match. Greg can't stand it, but after doing laundry, I throw them in my third "sock" drawer. I try to find a matching set, but if one white sock has a gray toe, and another has a red seam, that's ok with me.

They're SOCKS.

I feel better getting that off my chest.

CAN I HELP YOU?

I fulfilled a childhood dream tonight. No kidding. I worked the concession stand at my 6-year-old son's baseball game. And I LOVED it! Let me explain.

When I was younger, my sisters and I would "play store." That meant acting as though we worked in a clothing store, and doing fake "transactions" with play money. I thought I was way cool. I even begged my mom for one of those bungee bracelets and put some keys on it. (My keys opened my make-believe cash register.)

I honestly asked my parents for a real cash register for my birthday, several years in a row. I used to be envious just watching an employee use one. I know, weird.

Oddly enough, the jobs I held during my college years never lead me to a cash register. I was the yogurt girl at TCBY, I pressed men's jackets at the local dry-cleaners, I was a nanny for two silly boys, and even called college alumns as a telemarketer...but I never got to work the register. The injustice.

Now, I'm 35, and tonight they asked for volunteers at the concession stand. You would have thought I'd won the lottery. In no time, I was turning hot dogs, preparing pretzels with cheese, and helping kids choose their favorite flavor of Laffy Taffy.

The payoff? Getting to say, "that'll be $2.75...and flipping up the metal levers that hold down the crisp green bills. Gotta five? "$2.25 is your change...come again!" Sigh...I felt like a kid again.

Now where's my bungee bracelet?

DON'T CALL RANDY!

Randy Travis says he doesn't own a cell phone. Never has. Never will. Or a laptop, while we're on the subject of technology. Randy told me he never needed one in the past, so why bother now?

Good point.

He also says he doesn't feel like he's missing out on anything.

I use mine so much, I don't know if I could ever go back.

I'm guilty of having one of those phones that does it all, even logs on to the internet. Which means, it comes in handy in times of need. Such as...

The time when the checkout lines were 8 people deep at Kroger, so I browsed my email while leaning over the cart.

When Griffin had to get poked with needles for allergy-testing, I was able to send Greg a quick "its over, he's ok" to put his mind at ease. He worried less from that point on.

At the Superbowl last year, I exchanged texts with my friends watching at home. "I just saw Nick Lachey!" I just saw Tom Cruise!" Their responses were filled with excitement. I sent another one. "I just saw Doogie Houser." They wrote back, "Who?"

Ok, bad example.

What really matters are the heartfelt ones.

Like when Greg wrote, "love you" at a time I really needed it.

When my sister sent a photo of her 1-day old baby that read, "I love you! Night!"

I saved the one my Dad sent a couple of months ago. It said, "Gr8. Love you."

I was impressed by his creativity.

TODDLER TALK

Toddlers believe its their way, or the highway.

Parents always have a tough time getting kids to share. I laughed out loud when my niece gave me the following rules, handwritten by an 8-year-old. It's called the "Toddler's Bill of Rights."

Could you imagine?

1. If I like it, it's mine.

2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.

3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.

4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.

5. If it's mine, it should NEVER appear in your hands anyway.

6. If I am doing or building something, it's mine.

7. If it just LOOKS like mine, it's mine.

8. If I saw it first, it's mine.

9. If you put it down, it AUTOMATICALLY becomes mine.

10. If it's broken, it's yours.

AND BABY MAKES THREE!

18 hours after walking through the hospital doors, my younger sister gave birth to her first baby, Jackson Andrew. What an ordeal. Jackson was a little stubborn. Gee, he gets it honest in this family. My entire extended family camped out in the waiting room...which means we overheard several interesting comments.

Such as...

Hayden asking me, "Where are we going to keep him? At Papaw's house?" I explained that he gets to go home with his mom and dad.

Hayden also asking, "Is HE a GIRL?" Uhhhh...no. HE would be a boy.

After I ate a doughnut for breakfast, Greg told me I had accidentally sat on a sprinkle, which was stuck to my behind. I asked my older sis if she saw something, and she responded, "Yep. It's pink. It's there. And, I'm not touching it."

You're a blanket hog! (One adult to another!)

Hayden saying at least 9 times, "When do I get to "pet" the baby?" We explained, "You pat a baby. You PET a puppy."

And what its really all about...

My 4-year-old niece saying to baby Jackson, "Hi, Jackson. It's Maddie, nice to meet you."

SHE'S NO BRITNEY!

Taylor Swift gets it. She's young, yet mature. She realizes she has young fans who follow her every move, and is not about to screw up. I like that about her. I like that she isn't so caught up in herself.

Case in point, Taylor says when she is signing autographs and sees a six-year-old girl wearing a Taylor t-shirt with her mom by her side, she never forgets that image. It is stored in her mind for whenever the time comes to make a decision. Gotta love that.

When the morning show won our first CMA award last November, we each received handwritten notes from Taylor in the mail. Mine read, "See you at the show. Now go out and buy yourself a cute dress!" Her parents have taught her well.

My mother has always been big on thank-you notes. As a result, I buy plenty of stationary. I'm teaching the boys to do the same. It's a slow process, especially when Griffin says, "Can't you just write them for me?"

Where were the Taylor Swifts when I was younger? My mother threw a fit over the POISON poster I hung on my wall. At the time, I didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Four men wearing makeup. Eyeliner, no less.

Ironically, Taylor wears NO makeup in PEOPLE magazine's 100 Most Beautiful People issue.

WHAT'S THAT SMELL?

Sniff, sniff. That's my 3-year-old son detecting an aroma of some kind in the air. He has the world's greatest set of nostrils. Really.

The boy has a very sensitive sense of smell. I've never seen anything like it. Over the past month or so, he's been bombarding me with questions about things that he smells.

Tonight, we walked into Carrabba's Italian Grill, and he said, "What's that smell?" Obviously, it was the aroma of Italian cooking.

Yesterday, driving in the car, the exhausts of other vehicles could be detected. Within seconds, Hayden asked, "What's that smell?" Drive over a skunk..."What's that smell?" I spray air freshener in the house, "What's that smell?" Chopping boiled eggs for tuna salad, "What's that smell?" Walk into a furniture store that sells leather sofas, "What's that smell?"

Nothing gets by him.

Funny, at times he'll have an "accident," and I NEVER hear him say...

"What's THAT smell?"

WHERE ARE MY KEYS?

I lose my keys. Often. Some people have freckles. I lose my keys.

I'm often teased at work about it. My friends have suggested I wear one of those "janitor" style key rings on my waist. I'll get right on that.

Shopping at the mall last night, I tried on a few things in the dressing room. Didn't like any of the items, so I gave them to the attendant and headed to my car. But, I was locked out. My keys were gone. Again.

I retraced my steps, and guessed they were probably laying in the dressing room. Returning to the store, I found them on the floor of where I was changing.

I've also left my keys in the produce at the grocery store while inspecting strawberries.

One morning, I was later than usual for work because I couldn't find my keys at home. Kevin asked me why I didn't just use my spare set.

I couldn't find those, either.