Appreciating the Best Part of Being Mom

I was in a hotel somewhere, Milwaukee I think, watching Diane Keaton on some talk show, and she was having the best time ever, reading a transcript of the phone conversation she'd had earlier that day with her kids. Oh, I thought, so this is what I put people through every day.

(Have you heard the one, for instance, about how when we visited the little faux village of thatched huts out in back of Versailles, where Marie Antoinette spent her happiest hours pretending to be a shepherdess, my Della's comment was, "It's kind of like Bush on his ranch, isn't it? Say, "baaah,' Barney.' Sadly, all of my friends have.) But you know, we late bloomers can't help ourselves. And really, we don't even want to.

When I read about all the angst women go through, trying to be the perfect mom, I have to say I can't relate. I'm no arts and crafts wiz either, and have at least as many insecurities as the next person. But as a mother? No, I got started so late - 37 - that I literally don't have time for that.

Lucky me, I tell my kids every day. "Oh-ho, you just wait,'' is what everybody tells me, when they see me still all goo-goo over my 11-year-olds. (Same as they advise pregnant women to "Sleep while you can.') But "No, thanks,'' is what I'm thinking in reply. I waited already, and this is the good part.

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