Open House

Mrs. G. planned an Open House over at Derfwad Manor, and she asked the following:

“Reader, where is the heart of your home? What room in your house makes you breathe easier-makes you feel genuinely content?”

Mrs. G., that hostess with the mostest, has folks all over the Blogosphere opening their front doors so we can peek inside each other’s homes. There are links to these open doors! Go see! Go see them all! But first . . .

Welcome to our home. We spend most of our hang time in the family room, which adjoins the kitchen and from which we have easy access to the place that we spend many happy hours with family and friends, our pool. And near the family room/kitchen, in what is supposed to be the formal dining room, is our pool table.

I have helpfully provided photos and a number key to guide you during your visit. ;-)

The Family Room

1. This painting (sorry about the gaze-obstructing glare) is by Kristen, the oldest daughter, which she did in high school. It is my very favorite painting on Earth. I have other very favorite paintings on Earth by Kristen, hanging in other rooms.

2. These shelves are not usually so clear and tidy. They typically hold tons o’ family photos in frames. The photos were packed away in favor of “staging” a more open and less personal appearance when we thought about moving recently. We decided against moving, and the photos are going back on the shelf . . . when I get around to it. In fact, lest anyone be deceived by the absence of piles of crap in each of these photos, it is merely a result of said staging. I used these photos (taken a month or so ago during said staging) rather than taking new ones today, so as to avoid photographing the piles of crap strewn about the place (And by crap I don't mean "crap" in the literal sense. We don't have pets, except for the fish, and all of us are potty-trained at this point. I mean piles of shoes, sweatshirts, dolls, papers, jump ropes, school papers, DVDs, DVD cases, WiiMotes, art projects, markers, games, junk mail, actual mail, etc.)

3. This television set was left behind (yes, really) by the previous owners. It looks much more impressive than it is. The screen is a nice size, but you have to sit smack dab in front of it for the picture to look any good. How we suffer. I keep hoping that a WiiMote will fly into the screen and provide us with a proper excuse to get one of those big honkin’ plasma deals.

4. This is the rocking chair that I got when Kristen was born, over 23 years ago. I am saving it to give to her when she has her first baby. I’m saving it right here, in our family room.

5. This is where Tom and Laura play chess. Tom has played in tournaments and has a rating and stuff. In Kindergarten, Laura was the youngest and only girl in her after-school chess club. Tom and Laura are like that.

6. Um, so, you can't really see the couch, more like just an armrest, but it has the best view of the television, second only to the love seat, of which only another armrest can be seen next to Laura's recliner (number eight). The couch is my favorite spot to watch Everybody Loves Raymond reruns.

7. Tom’s recliner.

8. Laura’s recliner.

Attached to the Family Room is the Kitchen

9. The Ya-Ya Sisterhood held a smudging ceremony when we first moved into this house. These are the feathers that we used in our ceremony.

10.-12. These are kitchen appliances of some sort or other. I’m not sure what they actually do, but they were here when we moved in.

Just Outside of the Family Room is the Pool

13. While the family room may be the heart of our home, our place of refuge and comfort, the pool is our place for frolic.

Near the Kitchen is the Dining Room Billiard Room

14. Why have a dining room table in your dining room to use once each year on Christmas, when you can have a pool table to use all year long?

Thank you for stopping by!

Splendid idea, Mrs. G. You rock the Blogosphere!

Guest Post #1: From “The Middle Child”

Courtney Really is . . . Independent!
Written by Courtney

I pay my own rent, car insurance, gas, groceries, beer, cable, electricity, and now cell phone bill. After graduation, I decided that if I were to get a number local to where I live it would mean that I would need to change my phone number. Some may say that this is not that big of a deal. I beg to differ. Actually I don’t beg, I will just differ. I had my old phone number for roughly nine years. This wasn’t just any phone number. The last four digits of the number was my birthday. So I have been really attached to that phone number.

You would think that moving your phone number to another account would be easy. But with a particular cell phone company (can you hear me now?), it is anything but easy. For almost a month I have been talking to Can You Hear Me Now to determine how best to get my number released from Mom’s account and put on a new account. Every person I talked to would tell me something different. My mom’s only instruction was for me to figure out how to take care of it myself.

So finally I thought to myself, “Self, what if you just disconnect the number and get a new account?” Genius!!! Grant ordered the pink LG Venus for me and I got to pick the prefix of my number! Then, since my old number was on my mom’s account, I had to get some information from her, because Can You Hear Me Now wanted only the account holder to make changes to the account. So, with the information I got from Mom, I called them pretending to be her, the real account holder.

My pink beautiful phone arrived via FedEx. I activated it. Then I called Can You Hear Me Now? Magically I was Cheri. I spoke to a very nice phone lady. Our conversation went something like this.

Courtney: “I would like to disconnect the phone number xxx-xxx-0508.”

Can You Hear Me Now Lady: “Oh, well sure we can do that. May I ask why you want to disconnect this number?”

Courtney: “Well my daughter [*trying not to be found that I am actually the daughter*] just graduated from college and lives in a different state. She is applying for a job there, so she needs a local number. The number that she has now is N/A to her.”
[What person who isn’t me says something isn’t “N/A” to someone? Uh oh.]

CYHMNL: “Well, that is understandable. You must be so proud of your daughter graduating from college. That is such a big accomplishment. What did she study?”

Courtney [*trying not to giggle*]: “I am really proud of her. She studied history and political science.” [*thinking, please stop asking me questions me about “my daughter”*]

CYHMNL: “What is your daughter thinking about doing with that?”

Courtney: “Well, she would like to be teacher. At some point she wants to go to law school.”

CYHMNL: “That is great. My son is at University of Utah; he already has children and is going to school too. He says that college is not easy, especially in his situation. But he will be done next year.”

[I now realize that I just don’t know what to say. But since I am Cheri, and Cheri is good at chatting with people, I have to be that way too. I try to think fast on my feet.]

Courtney: “I can relate to that. I went to UCLA while I had my two oldest daughters. I think that they learned from experience to really value going to college. I was a good role model for them.”

[I put my foot in my mouth.]

Courtney: “University of Utah is such a great school. You must be so proud of your son. Going to college is such a great achievement.”

[*Trying to climb my way out of the grave that I dug.*]

CYHMNL: “Thank you [she was sounding really happy, I rule!] I am so happy and proud of him. Okay, that number is disconnected. Can I get your email address so I can email you a confirmation email?”

Courtney: [*stalling while looking for Mom’s email address*] “Of course. That would be perfect, then I can forward it to my daughter.”

[I find and give her Mom’s email address.]

CYHMNL: “Okay, everything is all taken care of. And thank you for being a valued Can You Hear Me Now customer for so long.”

I quickly got off the phone and called my mom, the real account holder, to tell her about what it was like to be her. She said, “Courtney, write all of that up and email it to me, because you are funny and I’ll never remember everything. You can be my first guest post ever.”

So yes, now I am independent. Well, still trying to be. But hey, I am not on the same cell phone plan as Mom.

Blog This Mom! Has Left the Building?

OMG! My Google Reader says 241!!!

I lugged my laptop thousands of miles so that I could email, post to my blog, and read your blog posts, only to arrive at my destination to find that the THE INTERNET CONNECTION AT THE HOTEL WAS DOWN. DOWN. ALL THE WAY DOWN. ALL WEEK LONG!!! ALL THROUGH THE ENTIRE HOTEL! It was even down in the business center where real business people who really need Internet connectivity should have it, except that real business people, of course, don't need networks because they have one of these:


People of the Blogosphere, I don't have a CrackBerry BlackBerry because if I did I would be reading your posts while eating, grocery shopping, driving, attending church, and having sex pedicures. So . . . I limit myself to my laptop and a cable modem, but then this . . .


No, I did not travel to a third-world country. I was in flippin' Maryland. Next to Washington D.C., where the Internet was practically invented (depending on whose story you believe). And I HAD NO INTERNET. It was unthinkable. It was horrible. And then I came home this afternoon. This very afternoon. And guess what? I had Internet. For about an hour. And then guess what? POOF! Gone! NO INTERNET!!!

BLOG THIS MOM! WITHOUT INTERNET

Then it came back on. So I sent out two emails. Then it died. Then it came back on. Then I started writing this post. Then it died before I hit "Publish Post." Then I unplugged the cable modem. But that didn't work. And I did some other stuff that didn't work. Then I called the cable company and while I was on hold it came back on. So I hung up before it was my turn. Then before I could hit "Publish Post" it died again. Then I unplugged the modem again. And again. And I did some other stuff. Now it is back on. For how long? Who knows? Maybe I'll have to break down and get me one of them dang BlackBerry-type deals. Meanwhile, in between outages I will be catching up on my reading, commenting, and posting. Following are some of the posts that I had planned for this week:

Blog This Mom! Responds (to reader's questions and comments)

Guest Post #1: From "The Middle Child"

PROMPTuesday #10 (this week it will be LATER THAN Tuesday #10)

Y'all come back now, ya hear? And if you don't see another post soon, look up in the sky. I'll have resorted to smoke signals.

His Sunglasses

Deb at San Diego Momma is still hosting PROMPTuesdays. If you haven't read any of the submissions yet, hop on over there and take a look. Deb is a mighty brilliant writer and her PROMPTuesdays inspire others. She's back again this week for PROMPTuesday #9. Go on over and take a look. Better yet, challenge yourself and write one this week. I have been doing these exercises each week, and I'm always amazed/amused/afraid of what tumbles out of my head and ends up on my screen when, as Deb puts it, my "primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in."

Here's this week's prompt from Deb:

Today’s PROMPTuesday keeps it simple.

Read this poem (one of [San Diego Momma's] favorites):

Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock
by Wallace Stevens

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.

Meditate on it for a minute. Then write whatever comes to mind.

Here are PROMPTuesday’s rules:

* You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
* Keep to 250 words or less.
* Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
* Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

Write y’all. Let those red tigers escape.

Here's my PROMPTuesday entry for this week's exercise:

His Sunglasses

She perused websites, went to lots, and took a test drive or ten. After a considerable period of time filled with comparisons and discernment, she made her choice. Into a brown paper bag from Trader Joe’s went colored markers, a spiral notebook filled with doodles, his sunglasses, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a plastic container of baby wipes, a half-filled bag of raw almonds, a cell phone charger, two packs of gum promising to whiten teeth, a tube of Revlon ColorStay Sheer Champagne lip gloss, and a Betty & Veronica comic book. She opened the door and the scent from the new leather seats filled her nostrils. One by one, she removed the contents from the brown paper bag. The markers and notebook and comic book went into the built-in pockets behind the front seats, easily accessible to the hands of little passengers. The hand sanitizer, gum, and lip gloss were nestled in the compartment below the center console. The container of baby wipes rested on the front passenger-side floor mat, waiting to clean all manner of mess. The cell phone charger was plugged into the cigarette lighter that would never be used but to charge a cell phone or an iPod. The bag of raw almonds was stowed in the glove box, ready to soothe hunger pangs in a pinch. His sunglasses used to have a special compartment between the sun visors, in the old car. The new car had no such compartment. Where would she put them now?

Mother Knows Best

His hair was black, his eyes were green, his biceps were wow, and his brain was smart. I knew that much when I first laid eyes on him in law school. Yes, he was a good catch, although I did not cast my net at first. But the story of the first time we spoke and how we eventually fell in love are for another time. You're probably thinking that today's story is about Tom as a father. But it isn't. The underlying protagonist in today's tale is me. Me. Me. Me. And about how well I picked a father for my children.

Near the end of our first year in law school, during which time Tom and I had become good friends, we began dating. But it wasn't until Tom had jumped through flaming hoops to prove himself worthy and I became more serious about each other that he became part of Kristen and Courtney's lives too. And when he did become part of their lives, he embraced his role as first a friend, and eventually a father, beyond my wildest dreams.

And so there was a wedding . . .

And following the wedding there were pastimes such as helping with homework, coaching basketball teams, dressing up like a Blues Brother to volunteer at the fifth-grade Halloween party, attending dance recitals, watching school plays, listening to Pink or Smash Mouth blaring from the stereo, burying deceased pets in the backyard, waiting up to ensure safe arrivals home from dates, sitting in the stands during volleyball games, cheering at water polo matches, and talking an angry dad out of calling the police when one of our daughters had helped TP his house.

So this man, who was raised with two Neanderthals awesome brothers, went from a testosterone-charged environment filled with sports and crass humor to an estrogen-infused environment filled with tenderness and crass humor. Poor Tom was outnumbered three-to-one. Hence, it might be completely understandable that when I got pregnant, the idea might have crossed Tom's mind that a boy child would be nice this time around. In fact, I think he may have envisioned days of watching the Superbowl with a little dude by his side, teaching his son to play chess, and watching the little lad breeze through math just like his father.

We decided that we wanted to know the gender of the baby ahead of time so that the control freak baby inside of me could have a name and room decor and clothing picked out in advance of the birth. So on the day we showed up at the doctor's office for the twenty-week ultrasound, I wondered what Tom would think if we found out that our baby was a girl. And, guess what? This is what the ultrasound revealed:



Sure, in advance of the ultrasound, Tom had assured me that he'd be happy either way, boy or girl. He said that he just wanted to have a healthy baby and all of that. He said all of the right things. But I couldn't help that my abandonment issues would kick in at full force but fret just a little that he might be disappointed, so I looked over at his face. And what I saw made me fall so much more madly in love with him than I could ever have imagined would be possible. Tom sat by my side and his tear-filled eyes were fixed upon that ultrasound picture of the baby who would be Laura with genuine and unabashed rapture. After we left the appointment, because at that point in time I had not yet had enough therapy to have learned to trust my own eyes and instincts I asked Tom if he had the chance to trade the fetus we had for a boy, would he do it. And he took my hand and looked into my eyes and said the words that I will never forget for the rest of my life, "I wouldn't change a thing, don't you know that? I already love this baby." And today? Together they watch the Superbowl, play chess, and work on fractions, ratios, formulas and exponents.

And so I say to this man, this man whom I picked so well to be the father of our three children because mother knows best, this man who chose two of his daughters and created one, Happy Father's Day. You deserve it.

Florida, Florida, Florida

I am at a loss for words, and that pretty much never happens to me. I just have one thought, one question really: How are we going to get through an election without him?

Tim Russert

May 7, 1950 - June 13, 2008

My thoughts and prayers go out to Tim Russert's family.

Loch Ness Monster

PROMPTuesday #8 is brought to us by San Diego Momma.

Deb says that this PROMPTuesday is about what lies beneath. She asks participants to look at this picture:



…and very quickly write down the first three words that come to mind, and then start writing, using those words anywhere in the story. The genre is “memoir,” and it can be a fake memoir. Click on over to San Diego Momma for the rest of the rules.



Loch Ness Monster

When it was Napoleon’s turn to present his current event, he got tongue-tied and shaky because Mr. Hand could be intimidating anyway, and he was already annoyed because Spicoli had a pizza delivered to class. Napoleon read from his paper, “Last week, Japanese scientists explaced . . . placed explosive detonators at the bottom of Lake Loch Ness to blow Nessie out of the water . . .” I just couldn’t help but feel for the guy when everyone started snickering just because his current event was about the Loch Ness Monster. I wondered why kids could be so mean, especially that Melvin Moody. Looking back, I still feel badly about the time that Samantha Baker was mocked for being a virgin, so I couldn’t just sit there and let them be mean to Napoleon. If Ferris had been there, he wouldn’t have let them get away with it. But Ferris was absent, and so was Marty McFly. Ferris played hooky a lot, like nine times that year. And if Marty could have seen ahead to the future, he would have gone to school that day instead of racing Leo for pinks at Thunder Road. Too bad Marty lost, even if that car did look like a tin can. So it was up to me to defend Napoleon. When Mr. Hand heard me tell Norma and Chris to “F” off, he made me go to Saturday detention, which turned out okay because it was there that I fell madly in love.

The Terrible Twos

Blog This Mom! is a toddler now. It has been two years since she was born. Because I have not had a two-year-old in the house for quite a while now (and even when I did denial and/or early dementia has caused me to believe that my children never went through the "terrible twos"), I Googled "terrible twos" so as to know what to expect from my blog in the coming months and how to cope.

According to About.com: Pediatrics, to help cope with this normal developmental stage, I should remember that my blog isn't trying to be defiant or rebellious on purpose. Also, by learning more about this normal stage in my blog's development, it can make it easier to get through it.

Here are some tips offered by About.com for helping my blog during the terrible twos:

• have a regular routine for meals, naps, bedtime, etc. and try to stick to them each day

Blog This Mom! readers will find that some days there will be no posts. March and the days of daily posts are over, dear Readers. If you come by on a no-post day, it simply means that my little blog is napping or out on a play date.

• offer limited choices only, like 'would you like apples or oranges for your snack' and not just 'what do you want for your snack.' This helps your toddler feel like he is making some decisions and has power over things, but he isn't able to choose unacceptable alternatives

For example, PROMPTuesdays encourages Blog This Mom! to spend ten minutes writing and three hours finding the perfect Google image to go with the story in order to escape grocery shopping and cleaning the house focus on her writing skills and exercise her creativity.

• learn to set limits about things and don't be surprised when your toddler tries to test those limits to see what he can get away with

Blog This Mom! should not be posting in the wee hours of the night so as to not be cranky toward loved ones maintain healthy sleep habits. Nor should she be out commenting all over the Blogosphere until the wee hours of the morning just because her Google Reader is bursting gigabytes.

• don't give in to tantrums

Just because Blog This Mom! got one snarky comment in two years does not mean the whole darn blog should be deleted.

• provide your toddler with a safe environment that is well childproofed to explore and play in

Blog This Mom! will no longer include the words virgin, spank, slutty, or pimp in posts so as to keep the Googling pervs away. Go away Googling pervs, there is nothing here for you.

So here's my question, dear Readers, when will my little blog be ready for this?

The Key to Miss Ileen

For this week's PROMPTuesday Exercise #7, San Diego Momma generated a random prompt to give a starting phrase, the setting, and two items to include in the story.

Here they are:

First sentence for the story: “Dear Diary,”

Setting: In a limousine

Two words that must be included while writing: "Missile" and "Hearth"

And here are the “rules according to Deb”:

• You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
• Keep to 250 words or less.

Here's my entry:

The Key to Miss Illeen

Dear Diary,

Just last Sunday, Miss Ileen showed up at church in a limousine. A limousine! She was dressed all fancy-like and wore too much lipstick and rouge, if you ask me. Miss Ileen was in the company of a gentleman who looked like he was no gentleman at all, if you catch my meaning. The ladies of the Tied Together Quilting Group and I just shook our heads, which we could not help doing, of course. Who rides to church in a limousine unless she’s going to a wedding or a funeral? Well, the smile on Miss Ileen’s Maybelline-covered mouth as she exited that limousine answered any question about what was going on inside! Why, Miss Ileen was downright glowing! And I know it wasn’t the Holy Spirit that had been in her, no sir. On Judgment Day, when the good Lord looks into Miss Ileen’s heart He’s going to be surprised. But not me, and not the ladies of the quilting group; we won’t be surprised at all. We know just what Miss Ileen’s heart holds, and it is most certainly not the key to salvation. The key to a limousine is more like it.

Until next week, dear Diary,

Ginny