Jen's column / New Year!

Welcome to the New Year — and to Year No. 3 of Jen's World. That's right: This week marks my two-year anniversary of hanging out with you on Wednesday afternoons.

That's what writing Jen's World feels like, I have to tell you. Putting together this column is like chatting up a good friend over coffee every week. (Except that I don't actually drink coffee. I'm more of a cranberry juice girl. But you know what I mean.)

The greatest surprise of this whole adventure has been that our conversation isn’t one-sided. It may be my words on the bottom of 1B each week, but you're sharing your stories and experiences, too. You let me know when you agree with me — and when you decidedly disagree. You make me think and, sometimes, you even make me laugh out loud.

When I sent my youngest son off to kindergarten, you were there with encouragement and stories about how you survived the transition. And, yes, you delivered some warnings, too. ("Two weeks ago we delivered our fourth and last [child] to college," one reader wrote. "Get ready, that day is much worse than sending them off to kindergarten!")

When I wrote about my aging grandfather, you shared memories of your grandparents. When I told you my "running out of gas" stories — not once, but twice — this year, you wrote to tell me to keep my tank above the half-way mark already.

I loved the online reader comments for my November column about kids' reactions to the Iraqi war. "These are more insightful comments than I've heard in any of the debates," wrote one reader. "Seems like the age limit to be in office should be lowered to 4 and be no higher than 10," wrote another. That's just funny.

I'm not sure I've ever gotten as much feedback as I did when I wrote the "zit column" in September. That's when I met my zit double — a reader named Angie — who felt the pain of my matching chin zits because she had them, too. We got together at Whistle Binkies to commiserate — but ended up talking and laughing for two hours straight instead.

And then there was the man at the Golden Generations show this year who made my day by stopping by the Post-Bulletin booth just to give me a hug. How nice is that? (Incidentally, that's the same day another man stopped by just to say, "You know you're nuts, right?" I think it was a compliment.)

It's not all laughter and hugs, of course. Sometimes you don't like what I write — and you let me know. I’m actually proud of how you handle your ire, though. You are, almost exclusively, respectful even when your opinion differs.

There was the April column in which I asked shoppers to give parents of tantrumming toddlers a break. For the most part, readers responded with big, fat thank-yous. But there were a couple of people who thought I was, and I quote, "way, way off base."

But that is nothing compared to when I wrote about chicken bowling on our backyard ice rink last January and one woman was so offended that she threatened to cancel her subscription.

For the rest of you, thank you for still reading me. Thank you for being interesting and fun and kind. But most of all, thank you for being a friend — for hanging out at my kitchen table and talking to me over coffee (or cranberry juice). I couldn't be having any more fun.