Two Down, One to Go

Twenty-three years ago, I had a beautiful baby girl and another on the way. But I did not have a college degree. When Kristen was three years and Courtney was eighteen months old, I went back to school. I wanted my daughters to have the best education, the best life possible. Because kids tend to do as they see, not as they're told, I knew that I had to lead them by example. Kristen and Courtney were there when I graduated first from college, and then from law school. And although I went without sleep for the seven-plus years it took me to do it, I became the first member of my family to graduate from college. But I'm not the last . . .

This is a very smart girl.

Following in her big sister's footsteps, but blazing her own trail to be sure, Courtney graduated from college yesterday, and she earned her degree in two majors in four years.

Three chicks with college degrees.

Family photo op

"I am so bored. I hope this graduation
is over soon.
I want to go home soon now."

Three "hot" chicks in Tucson.

Laura, you're next, and I promise not to whine too loudly when officials at the university of your choice pry you away from my Kung Fu grip. Thankfully, we have another decade before you leave me, and I'm going to savor every moment of it.

Way to go Coco!!!

Beauty in the Shadows

Comes now PROMPTuesday, Exercise #4. Click on over to visit Deb at San Diego Momma to read the other entries or, even more fun, create one. Go ahead. It only takes ten minutes.

Beauty in the Shadows

Well he was just seventeen. You know what I mean? His eyes were brilliant blue, his nose was ever so slightly crooked, and his brown hair was perfectly feathered. He sauntered when he walked, and it played out even if he didn’t wear Levis and did wear button down shirts with an understated pinstripe to school. He was new to the school, from Des Moines, Iowa. He was cool because he wasn’t a surfer, or a stoner, or a soc, or a jock, or a nerd. He was cool because he was just a guy from Iowa. With perfectly feathered hair and brilliant blue, staring eyes. He stared at me in Beginning Guitar in first period. He stared at me in U.S. History in sixth period. His staring blue eyes were a pair of bookends in my school day. I wondered whom he stared at in periods two through five. But one day at the end of period six, he told me he like my gold, heart-shaped Monet earrings. He said they glowed from across the room when we watched films in class. We became high school sweethearts. But I knew one thing that none of the other girls knew. Feathered Hair McBlue Eyes was a mama’s boy. And mama didn’t want her boy to have a girlfriend. Just like my earrings glowed in the darkened classroom when we watched history films, our love glowed like beauty in the shadows of his mother’s watchful eye.

Mother's Day in Review

From Tom

Because he knows his own strengths . . .

. . . and weaknesses,

rather than opt for my PLAN A, he went with his PLAN B, a winning approach:

From Laura

I got this spectacular photo, drawing, and poem:

From Courtney

As if this weren't enough . . .

. . . I also got this in the mail:

From Kristen

And from the child who was the first to turn me into a mother, I got her first post ever on our family blog.

Dear Readers, tell me about your Mother's Day.

I Sure Hope He Didn't Take it Personally

Tom: "Would you like to go out to dinner for Mother's Day?"

Me: "Not really. I think I'd fancy avoiding the crowds."

Tom: "Would you like me to do something special for you for dinner at home?"

Me: "Yes."

Tom: "What?"

Me: "Fly Adam in."

A Trip to Derfwad Manor is a Trip

Dear Mrs. G.,

Thank you for having me over for a visit. I especially love your hawt garden gnome.

Love, Cheri

Battle of the Sexes

Last Saturday night, we played the board game, “Battle of the Sexes” with our friends Katy and Jay. If you haven’t played it before, the name of the game really says it all, kind of Billie Jean King versus Bobby Riggs, but with cards instead of tennis rackets and a game board instead of a clay court. The players divide into two teams, men versus women. Each team must answer gender-based trivia questions – designed so that women are asked questions that men would stereotypically be able to answer and vice versa.

We learned a lot more that night than how many lug nuts are on a typical car wheel or what the “Green Monster” is in baseball. You’ve heard of the phenomenon in which the menstrual cycles of women who live or work together tend to synchronize? Well, we found out that a similar phenomenon occurs between men who play together on the same team, but without the maxi pads, of course.

They Point and Read Together

They Brace Themselves Together

They Fold Their Hands and Pray Together

If you think Tom and Jay were fun for us to watch – they were even more amusing to hear. Here are a few snippets from the conversations between Tom and Jay as they would think out loud while trying to answer questions:

“Why do I know so much about Barbra Streisand? I’m scaring myself.”


“Silk comes from a spider.”


“Celion Dion, the bane of all male existence.”


“Who are the other people who've won Best Actress?
“Well . . . there’s one every year.”


“What would you be doing if you were instructed to cast on?”
“It’s got to be climbing, fishing, or sailing.”
“Dude, this is a question from a female card.”
“D’oh!”


“What does a milliner do?”
“I think it’s a drill bit thing.”
“Dude, this is a question from a female card.”
“D’oh!”


“[Expletive. Laughter.]”
“Whoa. There are children in the house.”
“Well, they should be upstairs.”


“What is toile?”
[Beavis & Butthead voice] “Heh, heh, you said toile.”
“Do you have any idea what toile is?”
“If I did, I’d be bummed.”


“Wasn’t she the actress in Jerry’s Maguire’s Diary?”

So, if you are wondering if Katy and I were able to represent and claim victory for the female gender, no. We lost by the narrow margin of one question. But that’s only because in addition to answering harder questions, we did the cooking, took care of the kids, cleaned the house, did the laundry, and earned 69 cents on the dollar compared to our male counterparts in the workplace. You know what I mean? ;-) Even so, the men won . . . so next time we will call in reinforcements! Billie Jean? We need you!

Over the Threshold

I’ve been a dweller on the threshold, like the one in Van Morrison's song. I have a story to tell, and although I haven’t hidden that there is a story, neither have I told it. I didn't go to bed last night planning to wake up and write about it today. So I don’t know if I’m “ready” to tell it, if there even is such a thing as “ready” to tell something like this, but since all of the pieces are in place, are in me, I suppose I can keep sorting and putting them together as I go. Isn’t that how life works anyway? So if you keep reading, you might be tempted to think that it is tragic, but don’t cry for me. The tragedies do not define me, the victories do. And the victories are what I want to share, what I typically focus on, especially the sweetest victories, which are the easiest to find and the most profoundly felt. They are in the everyday joys, laughs, loves, and goodness that are in this world. I see them in the light shining from the eyes of every child. I feel them in the embrace of a friend. I smell them on the scalps of my babies. I treasure them in the soft caresses of my husband’s strong hands. The thing about my story is that it doesn’t just have a happy ending, it is a victory in progress, and I get to share it, and take delight in it. Although I didn’t get to write the first chapter of my story, I am the author of the rest of the narrative. And for each and every one of us who have a story such as this, and there are so very many of us who do, we get to decide what we do with it.

So, dear Deb at San Diego Momma, I didn’t expect PROMPTuesday to lead me to this place today. But today I am going over the threshold.

Behind the Door

The door opens to a neighborhood near LAX. I walk past duplex after duplex until I stop in front of one. The black metal numbers next to the front door read 8433. The screen door is unlocked. The front door is wide open. I step inside and smell stale cigarette smoke. There are glass purple grapes on the coffee table. There is a bed instead of a couch. He sits in a black, vinyl recliner. His arms are hairy and tattooed. He wears an old white t-shirt and blue sweatpants. The little girl sits on the floor, too close to the black and white television set in front of them. He tells her that Daddy wants her to come and sit on his lap. She’s a good girl, she always gets As on her report cards, she memorizes a Bible verse every week, she obeys her parents.