Trains are funny places nowadays. Used to be, in bygone years, people would either keep to themselve or they would strike up a conversation with the person to their right or left or across from them. But these days people either keep to themselves or they talk on their cellphone or they text or they listen to music.

But when I took the Metra Electric Line to Chicago the other day, my trip harkened back to days I remember from my twenties, which is decades ago, I’m sorry to say.

I sat, facing North because I have to travel forward. A family bounded onto the train after me, Mom, daughter about eight or nine, two year old little boy, grandfather in a wheelchair and grandmother carrying a stroller. The grandmother sat across from me. She smiled and I smiled back.

“He’s never been on a train before,” she told me, pointing to her grandson. “He’s so excited.”

By the bouncing up and down and pointing and choo-chooing that was going on across the aisle, I’d have to agree.

The woman was friendly and we chatted a bit. It was nice. Her daughter was visiting from out-of-state, where they were going for the day, the weather, her husband’s illness. It was intrusive, it was friendly. It was better than texting!

Then as I too shared little bits and pieces of myself, mentioning kids once or twice, and moving once or twice, the woman said, “How old are your children?”

I knew somehow that she was not expecting me to say, “15 and 12.” We were touching on matters dealing with little ones as we chatted, and I never indicated how old my kids were, but I knew she assumed I had toddlers or elementary school age children.

“15 and 12,” I said.

“You don’t look old enough to have children that age,” she said kindly. “How old are you,” she asked without a hint of judgment.

And in that millisecond between truth or dare I knew that she was going to be surprised at my age. I don’t get it, but most people seem to be. I figured this was a rare chance to seize an opportunity for a genuine compliment from a stranger, unfettered by the desire for something, anything, in return.

“I’m 44,” I said.

I’m not sure how that came out of my mouth. I saw the number escape my lips but it was too late to get it back. I had instantaneously calculated that the shock-value would increase thereby multiplying the intensity of the compliment if I INCREASED my age by one year.

That’s right, I lied about my age and said I was older than I actually am.

And I hit it correctly.

“You don’t look 44,” she said, shaking her head. She went on and on. And on.

I nodded and smiled and said, “Thank you,” but conveniently left out two little words.

I’m not.

I’m home. Which means I’m not at BlogHer. Anymore. That was the plan all along because today I picked up my daughter after her twelve day stint at overnight camp. Daughter trumps BlogHer. Big time. But I was part of the festivities/commotion from Thursday night until Friday afternoon. I’ll take it slow, add lots of links, and tell you what I thought. For real.

My first order of business was an Imperfect Parent cocktail party at a swanky Michigan Avenue address. I’ve been writing for Imperfect Parent for a while now, as a contributor, then a blogger, then as a columnist. I love their site, the content and the way they give many parents a voice on the internet.

Prescott (Scott, as I now know he’s called) and Jessica Carlson edit/own/run Imperfect Parent. They set out a gorgeous spread of delicious food (ok, we set out the food, right Jess?). I arrived right on time, because I’m like that and because for once in my life I actually had multiple places to be in one evening. Even though I left before the party really got rockin’, I met Julie from Mothergoosemouse and The Parental is Political and Rachael from Redsy and Rugrat Reprieve, who I knew because I’d seen her shoes posted on her blog just that morning!

I left Michigan Avenue and headed via cab to Viand and the Chicago Moms Blog/Silicon Valley Moms Blog soiree. We were in a ‘roped-off’ section of the restaurant where we indulged in ginormous martini’s and decalicious appetizers, not to mention a swag bag that the California bloggers probably have to pay extra to carry home!

Living in Chicago - city and surrounding area of millions - I know no bloggers. I stand corrected, I knew no bloggers. At the party I met Jill, who started SV Moms Blog and Chicago Moms Blog. She told me that I yelled at her in a comment once on my blog. I was so embarrassed. She was totally adorable and very sweet and obviously had forgiven me. Whew! I also met Beth from SV Moms Blog and Techmamas, but we didn’t talk for very long. That’s the thing with these parties. You either flit from person to person or get enmeshed in long conversations with a few people. I tend to do the latter. I met Jordan from Chicago Moms Blog and The Wonder Wheel, Catherine from Chicago Moms Blog and Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry (which is not a poetry blog); Veronica from Viva La Feminista, Chicago Moms Blog and ChicagoParent Blog, Kim from Scrambled Cake, Chicago Moms Blog and ChicagoParent Blog and Wendy from Chicago Moms Blog and My Momtra.

I left Viand around 8:30 to head to the Whiskey Bar bash at the W with Sarah from SV Moms Blog, Robyn from SV Moms Blog and Who’s the Boss and Stephania from SV Moms Blog and CityMama. I didn’t realize that Stephania was also a total Babble.com rockstar, but she is!

We walked, cabbed, dropped off our swag stash, converged and headed to the 33rd Floor of the W, where I immediately remembered that I did not like dark, smoky, loud bars when I was 20, and now I’m 43, but I went in anyway. I must admit that despite the lovely comments to the contrary, I felt really old.

It was a lot of fun to stare at bloggers’ nametags and all-of-a-sudden realize who was standing there In Real Life. For the most part formalities were shoved aside in lieu of genuine smiles and nods of recognition and heartfelt hugs. I met Izzy from Izzy Mom and Liz from Mom 101. I met Mrs. Chicky from Chicky Chicky Baby as well, and since she doesn’t post her photo online I’ll tell you she is not only sweet and funny but she’s absolutely adorable and very friendly. Ok, blogger-gushing complete.

But, on the flip side, not being a “popular” blogger I did feel like I was on the fringe, and I did say hello to a few people who stared at me with a “Yeah whatever” kind of look, but I won’t link to them because I’m not like that. I figure that in the fog of martinis and with the lure of the swag they didn’t realize they were passing up the opportunity to talk to me. That must have been it.

I was heading back to my room around 10. I knew that was not what I wanted to do, so I took Daring Young Mom, Rocks in my Dryer and Good Is Enough up on their offer to hang out in their room. Not knowing any of them, Rocks in my Dryer, whom I’d met that afternoon, I went anyway and we chatted for a bit and that was a lot of fun.

I’m definitely a small group kind of gal, but when they wanted to turn in for the night, I headed back upstairs and had the pleasure of meeting Kristen from Motherhood Uncensored and kazillion other places in the blogosphere. I feel like I know Kristen. Yeah, everybody feels like they know Kristen. But maybe that feeling is why I had no problem asking her for three of her very special swags. Why would I want three you ask? A single 43 year old woman who has never in her life purchased condoms and who then has the opportunity to receive them, in public, free of charge AND embarrassment, well, I’m sorry I didn’t ask for more! And yes, they were attached to lollypop sticks with bows - and a Motherhood Uncensored sticker, but in a bind (no pun intended, Mominatrix) a blue condom with a bow will just have to do. So thanks, Kristen!

Again, it was fun, but big crowds are not my cup of tea (that saying in and of itself dates me, doesn’t it?) I finally headed back to my room - wrote a blog post or two and realized I was starving. While the appetizers at Viand were delicious that I’d only eaten one bite of chicken and one dumpling three hours before. So, I ate right out of the swag bag! JIF peanut butter and gluten free cookies washed down with a $4 funky bottle of W water.

Hot blogger in the city, yep, that’s me.

Bloggers actually resemble their online photos (actually most of them look better)!

I survived the torential rain and thunder storms and took a train downtown today. My first stop? A trendy Chicago restaurant for lunch with a favorite friend from real life. And while I was drinking my Kiwi Melon Mojito I looked at her and said, “I’m going to this thing and I don’t know anybody!” That thing being BlogHer.

Thank goodness for Mojitos.

Next, I took a cab, arrived at the W, checked in and scanned and surveyed the lobby for familiar faces. Nothing. I went to my room. I logged onto the internet. I went back to the lobby. I perused and sauntered. Nothing. I went back to my room. I found some yummy body butter. So I lotioned up my legs and hands because bloggers should have smooth skin, and then went back to the lobby. And wouldn’t you know it but on my third pass through, there she was! I didn’t poke her in the arm, but I did go up to her — and she knew who I was! She introduced me to two other really wonderful women bloggers and they were all gracious enough to include me in their drinking and carrousing delightful conversation for an hour or so.

And guess what?

Now I know people!

So, I rest my case. Just walk up to bloggers and say hello. They always say hello back!

By the way, I saw these bloggers from afar, but they didn’t see me.

There’s always time later!

Draw your own conclusion about the weather in Chicago this morning.

When I read post after post (no links, I’m not like that) written by bloggers who say their husbands are letting them go to BlogHer, I feel old. Some go on to gush, others merely state the fact. Don’t get me started on the fabulous fathers who are babysitting for their own children and walking on water because they make two nights of mac ‘n cheese.

That makes me feel old because to me, those women seem really young, even if they’re not. It makes me feel detatched, even if I’ve felt connected.

More than anything I think they have a long, long way to go — and that the destination is much farther away than Chicago.

(Ok, so I want to be popular like some of my favorite bloggers, I admit it.)

Look for a crazy linked-up post tomorrow. Just what you need before you start packing, right?

Win a FLIP video camera over at Chicago Moms Blog!

Not to be morbid (but I’m so good at it) here’s the situation. My ex-husband died at age 40 without a will, without assets and without savings. This past week one of my friend’s ex-boyfriends died at 46. Without a will. It appears he did have assets, but nonetheless guys, WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON HERE?

These things happen EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

When my ex died it created a huge tide of life insurance uppages in my community, revamping of wills and trusts as people were smacked in the face with their own mortality.

Even if you are a working mom with scads of income, even if you live on a modest income, you need to have your shit in order. You need a will documenting everything. You need life insurance that will cover funeral expenses, paying off a mortgage, college for as many kids as you have and factor in there your income for the next, oh, 30 years. If you are divorced make sure your ex-spouse’s life insurance is “for the benefit of” the children. If he (or she) leaves it to the child(ren) they get it when they are 18 (at least in Illinois) and you probably can’t use it to raise them.

Healthy young people die all the time. It’s a fact. It’s your responsibility to take care of these things before you wish you had - or before you wish someone else had.

I get sick thinking about all I went through because my ex did none of it. I get sicker knowing there are zillions of unprotected women and children.

It’s morbid, daunting, sad, nauseating and really, really scary.

Do it anyway.

I was skipping stones around the blogosphere and found the lovely Mocha Momma who suggested that we take 10 seconds for a short-order introduction, whether we’re going to BlogHer, or not.

So, although I’m probably past the 10-second reading time already, here’s an intro for those of you who don’t know me.

I blog as a vehicle for writing. I’m a 43 year old, divorced, Jewish mother of a teen and a tween living in a very married, small Midwestern suburb. My ex-husband died almost three years ago, so I’m my children’s only parent. I’m a published freelance writer who’s writing blog posts, essays, articles, and when I dare — a book.

Time’s up! How’d I do?