Since I’m in the mood to share, and because it’s just two days until kick-off, I thought I would tell you about my passion for all things Buckeye.

Buckeyes, like these.

This particular bunch hangs from a shelf near my back door. Because you never know when you’re going to be running out and feel the need to put on a necklace made from poisonous nuts.

Some of these were purchased from street vendors, some were made by my father-in-law and two of them were made by my kids when they were in preschool. Sigh…it makes me weepy just thinking about their little hands working with strings, magic markers and toxic beads.

I am an Ohioan born and bred. I have traveled far, but have always lived within a few miles of the hospital where I was born. I like it that way. (Though not so much that I couldn’t be convinced to winter in Arizona. Just sayin’.) The only college choice for me was The Ohio State University.

I love me some Ohio State football. It doesn’t get much better than waking before sunrise, tailgating with good friends and family in an electric environment, watching The Best Damn Band in the Land, then having the boys play “toss the rag doll” with the likes of Michigan. Gag. Hack. Sorry. I can’t type the word Michigan without my lunch coming up.

And yes, I’m fully aware that Ohio State is the best #1 team to always end up #2. Okay, okay. We’re not so good at winning championships. It’s a lot like going to prom and instead of dancing with the cheerleaders, our boys end up dancing with their Moms who just happen to be there chaperoning. But, at least they get to dance.

That’s right. I am not a fair-weather fan. I don’t care if they tango with their great-aunt and her oxygen tank. I’ll be there to cheer them on.

Football season is about to begin. Fear the nut, people. Fear the nut.

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Near our back door, we have a rather large basket full of shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. All of which belong to the two kids. Yesterday, I told my son to go get a pair out of the basket and put them on for school. I was folding laundry in the other room, and kept yelling, “Did you put your shoes on?” He would reply, “Not yet!” And, I would say, “Well, hurry up! It’s time for school.” We did this over and over before I finally went to check on him.

I found him in the back hallway, completely surrounded by shoes. He had dumped the entire basket onto the floor. But, that wasn’t what surprised me. He often dumps all of his trains, cars, and books all over the house, so why would shoes be any different?

I stood there silently and watched him hold a shoe up to his face and smell it, then put it down, pick up another shoe and do the same thing. After he did this a few times, I asked, “What are you doing? Why haven’t you put your shoes on yet?”

He looked up at me with a disgusted look and said, “These shoes all smell like Michigan.”

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