My idea of dressing up is scrounging around in the back of my closet for the one nice dress I own, putting on the necklace and matching earrings my husband gave me and brushing my teeth.

So it’s a bit odd that I absolutely adore watching the glitzy Oscars. From the time I was a young girl, I’ve been glued to the television on Oscar night. I always sat on the couch next to my mom where she’d deliver a running commentary on the lives of all the stars.

“Oh, there’s Liz,” she’d say, spotting Elizabeth Taylor in the crowd.

I was mesmerized by this dazzling movie star who traded husbands like I trade in my sneakers. Even on our RCA black-and-white television, there was no downplaying Liz’s vibrant smile and the star quality of those bigger-than-life actors and actresses.

I distinctly remember the year “The Sound of Music” was up for Best Picture. My mom played that vinyl record constantly, and I knew the words to “My Favorite Things” and “Do-Re-Me” within a week. My mom and I were both rooting for our favorite movie to walk away with the Oscar, which it did.

Nineteen sixty-eight was a turning point for the Oscars with controversial films like “In the Heat of the Night,” “The Graduate” and “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” up for major awards.

My mom didn’t care about the controversy, and neither did I. We were simply hoping for a glimpse of one of our favorite stars, Paul Newman, because he was up for Best Actor for his role in “Cool Hand Luke.”

Between wondering if Liz was happy, if Paul’s eyes were really that blue and if Cary Grant was as debonair in real life as he was on the screen, my mom and I critiqued the writers, the musicians, the costumes and the make-up artists.

One of the last years I watched the Academy Awards with my mom was my senior year in high school. When 1972 rolled around, quite a few things had changed – the country was in an uproar over the Viet Nam War and my friends were burning their bras.

I was anxious to start my own life and, like many teens, I wanted to get out of the house and pretend to be an independent nomad.

But on that last Oscar night we spent together on our plaid couch, Mom and I went right back to my childhood, keeping our fingers crossed under the afghan, hoping Topol would win the award for Best Actor for his role as Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof.”

That movie reflected so many events that were happening in our family, and, to this day, “Fiddler on the Roof” remains an Hebert family classic. My mom made sure all of her children received a cassette tape of “Fiddler on the Roof” to listen to in our cars and we all own a copy of the movie.

When we moved to Texas, Mom and I couldn’t be physically together for the Oscars, but we always discussed the categories in depth prior to the show, and this year’s Oscar was no exception.

Every year, when I sit down on our couch and cover up with an afghan my mom crocheted, I know that without our traditions – as simple as watching the Oscars and dreaming about Paul Newman – our lives would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.