Classy Chaos

The best accessory for social events

Administrator — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 09:30:00 +0000

Dear Friends,

Your best accessory is your confidence.

The best part of it all, is that it can be faked. And. No one will know it's a knock off. And it's free.

I can spot a fake LV purse from a mile away with it's un-centered trademark initials and the same holds true for someone lacking in confidence. They are easy to spot. The poorly centered individual with their shoulders hung down low resembling the tragic marriage of fine leather and sloppy craftsmanship. The potential is all there. However, their quivering lip reminds me of zippers gone astray with each pull comes another tug never in a harmonious way. Forced to appear real.

But some knock offs, meticulous prepared, are hard to identify and pass.

You don't need the latest styles, the prettiest heels, the best dress or the newest handbag to pull yourself together for a reunion, wedding, or BlogHer conference. The best accessory is your confidence. And. It can be faked.

Believe in yourself. Dress like yourself. Act like yourself. And do it all with confidence... because in the end the people that you want to surround yourself around, will be around. Damn you Neil for saying it much better then me. A reveal of my heels is coming, per your request. And damn you Marinka for exposing yourself as a "frowning non-hugger dressed like a ^%*@#?" Both of you ooze confidence.

The point is that you should always be confident in who you are.

Jeans or skirts. Heels or Converse. McDonalds or Burger King. Heh, I'm hungry. Whatever makes you who you are, own it with confidence.

Any classy person will admire that. Some of the best conversations I have had in my life were with people in a shady roadside oyster bar under a bridge in Florida who were not dressed in J.Crew for Sunday brunch at the country club. Those people, whom I will fondly remember to my grave, were so very real and owned it.

One of my good friends once said to me, "I could never walk into Saks, I feel so intimated after spending my life at JCPenny." Dude. I walk into Saks in sweats and pretend I own it. And you can too. Anyone can. Just pretend you own it. Whatever the circumstances are that could intimidate you, just be true to yourself. Who would have ever guessed that the man dressed in simple jeans and an old hoodie dinning weekly at the award winning James Beard bistro I worked in throughout college turned out to be the man that owned half the real estate in the city?

So even if you are the least bit self conscious... confidently approach people at your social event this summer. Own it. Stay true to yourself and any classy person will admire your realness. Life would be so boring if we all matched, no?

So far.... this is all that I have packed for BlogHer. 2009. My social event for the summer. I will be wearing them with my best and cheapest accessory yet. My confidence.

Yours truly,

The stiletto Ho.

A tour of my semi-remodeled home...

OHmommy@gmail.com — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 04:47:00 +0000

In February our house was flooded and we have been lovingly remodeling it with our own hands, since then. One room at a time. The first room we ~~my husband~~ completed was the formal guest bathroom last month.

This month our house is no longer resembling a remolding nightmare. It has not been easy to live through a remodel with three children. There have been countless nights of going to bed well after midnight and mornings where we were too exhausted to roll out of bed. My clothes are tighter from eating out and my husband found his first real grey hair. And the children now know all the fast food joints within a 25 mile radius of our abode. Needless to say, we are thrilled to see things returning to normal around here.

So. Without further ado I present to you a photo tour of the remodel thus far. Riveting, I know. Slip off your shoes and come see my nearly complete downstairs and give my husband a five five at the end.

Write. Like no one is reading....

OHmommy@gmail.com — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 10:59:00 +0000

That was the title of the post I wrote 2 hours ago but apparently Joomla! does not auto save posts and so that brilliant post of mine is now lost. All because I took a break from writing and started to shop online. Heh. Damn you JCrew dot com and your beautiful shiny accessories.

Are you lost?

*tap* *tap* Is this blog on?

You see. I divorced the blogging platform of blogger dot com and am on my own now. I have to admit... there is something incredibly liberating about losing 800 followers in 24 hours after changing blogging platforms. I. Can. Write like no one is reading this blog.

Divorcing Blogger

OHmommy@gmail.com — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 11:09:00 +0000

Sometime later this month I turn 32. And it feels good. Actually really good.

And because this is my birthday month and now that I am a seasoned 30 year-old, heh, I decided to give myself a more grown-up space online. I divorced blogger dot com yesterday. I am all on my own now. Like any divorce, there are issues that will arise. I still have to carry over my old posts and work out some kinks but I've managed to kick off my brand new stilettos and feel right at home here. I hope you will too, don't mind the dust while you are here.

Thank you baby bro for all the late nights, hard work and mentoring on making this a reality. Happy fourth of July everyone!

Two roads diverged in Chicago

OHmommy@gmail.com — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 04:02:00 +0000

Five reasons why you should take the super long way home ~~by accident~~ stopping to take advantage of awesome backdrops. "Left or right?" "Right! Mama!!!" Even if it means getting stuck in rush hour traffic. With one completely exhausted, overwhelmed and ready-to-get-rid-of-us grandmother. And...

America has taught him well.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:00:00 +0000

He came home from work early. "Today, I teach you."

His heavy ethnic accent (did you catch the accent at the end of this vlog?), the same it was the day he taught me twenty-five years ago, managed to intimidate my son. And me, all over again. "Leave him alone Tata." I whispered as I experienced a flashback of his nightly tutoring sessions with me, of mathematics lessons taught his way.

"No. I teach him."

Easier vlogged than blogged.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

One mama, three kids and eight hours of travel... we made it to Chicago and my tiny digital camera secured to my minivan's dashboard documented our family road trip.

Laugh with me through my second vlog...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2bgHh1Imdw

Vlog #1 is here.

An organic recipe for chaos

OHmommy@gmail.com — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 04:01:00 +0000

Add one extremely good looking chick from the finest stock ~~whatev, this is my blog~~ to a seven passenger, entry-level, burgundy minivan.

Load the van with two TV/DVD systems, three feature length Disney films and a handful of processed foods.

Lovingly mix in two excited chickadees and one chickatoddler who's on her way at mastering the look of death.

Place above mixture ~~sans husband~~ on an open road through the picturesque farms of Ohio and ummm... Indiana for approximately 370 miles.

When the timer hits the bewitching hour and all chicks have been fried (approximatly 6.5 hours) carefully unload and deposit under the thatched roof of chick's parents. For eleven days.

You can choose to finish off the fried chicks with one or all the following toppings: one distant relative's wedding in which they all stand up in, one chance to make a first-time impression on chick's sister's future in-laws at engagement party, one annual Fourth of July beach party, and a handful of play-dates/museums/parks sprinkled in between.

Please note: This recipe hasn't been tested. I plan on trying it out Thursday afternoon. I'll let you know how it goes. Just in case you want to sample it youself. I'm thoughtful like that.

Casa de Classy Chaos

OHmommy@gmail.com — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Hi Amy,

You know when you pulled me aside at the rec center pool yesterday and said, "I read your blog this morning. I am so jealous of your kitchen remodel." I smiled and politely thanked you.

Yeah. Well. What I was really thinking was:

Dear Gawd woman I have gained more then four pounds in four days from eating out. Hola Sodium. I have been working out since September and suddenly this remodel is going to ruin it all for me and I am going to be fluffy for BlogHer and my sister's engagement party and the wedding in Chicago this weekend and dear Gawd I found a spider in Fifi's sippy cup this morning because our silverware/baking ware/plates are quasi organized on the fugly kitchen table in my dinning room without a floor:

and oh em gee the kids scarfed down every imaginable box of poptarts/granola bars/years old cereal for breakfast this morning and had two-year-old Mamba for their breakfast "dessert" because my pantry looks like this and it was a free-for-all which I had no control over... their "crack" was openly displayed:

and I should have taken a picture of what my children looked like by lunchtime but you saw them at the pool. Crazy. And then another mom at the pool walked right passed us and whispered, "Ugh, I can't stand mothers that don't get their hair wet at the pool. Like. Hello? You're at the pool you are supposed to get wet!" And I wanted to scream ~~start a bikini cat fight~~ so much it hurt...

"THIS is all I have right now. A good hair cut!!! And God help me if I am going to let that go to waste."

Yeah. Well. That's what I was thinking at the time I smiled and politely thanked you. By the way, would you like to come over for a BBQ when the kitchen is done. Say... July of 2010 since this is the house that love built.

Your friend,
Pauline

PS. Why won't anyone invite us over for dinner? Do they secretly enjoy me going to a Cleveland strawberry farm coming home with fifty-eight pounds of strawberries only to realize that I have no oven to bake my pie? UGH!

PPS. Can you please vote for me in the Nick's Parent Choice for best local Cleveland blog? You can do so daily it takes 1 sec. Heh, shameless enough?

This home remodel post is rated PG13

OHmommy@gmail.com — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Before our remodel someone enlightened me and said, "You should pick out things that resemble your wardrobe."

Naturally that statement hit home, tickled me pink and made all kinds of wonderful sense to me. And. That is how I designed my kitchen. The granite is a sexy black number with subtle imperfect hints of bling. The cabinets a classic demur white distressed every so slightly for a bohemian feel. The chandeliers a traditional number with shabby chic accents of crystal. The wood floor a wide plank carefully handcrafted to rustic perfection.

My kitchen will be like one awesome well put together outfit.

But just like shopping for an outfit I realized how predictable I truly am. Last week at JCrew I feel head over stilettos in love with a chunky pearl necklace that I baptized it upon arrival at home bestowing it the name of "Mary-Margaret" and introduced her to "Sally" and "Lolita" and all the other girlfriends. The necklaces spread out on my dresser looked like a group of sassy Delta Delta Deltas, all nearly identical to one another.

The same can be said for my new yet to be baptized kitchen cabinets.

Meet the graduating sorority sisters:

old laminate 1980's cabinets

Meet the incoming class soon to be hazed by toddler fingerprints:

new wood so 2010 cabinets

Here the two friends pose for a picture together:

Here is the husband welcoming ~~undressing~~ the new class:

Yeah. Perhaps a little predictable but all kinds of lovely nonetheless. I could shock you all and purchase a rocking fuchsia table runner that will make the cabinets purr with excitement.

This is just for me, to remember

OHmommy@gmail.com — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 04:04:00 +0000

My mother said something rather shocking to me over the phone yesterday.

Well, perhaps not so shocking, just something that whipped me back to reality after a mundane morning of running errands ~~dropping off a cat at the vets who was burned by a minivan muffler~~ with three children all chirping for my attention on the way to summer camp.

"Enjoy this time."

I looked around my filthy Honda ~~Dear Gawd give me the strength to clean that van, tomorrow~~ and realized that the Feenster and I were finally all alone for once and she was filling the lonely van with ridiculously high octaves of "Tinkle, tinkle, little star... how I wonder wha yah are." Which my mother heard over my cell phone.

"Listen to her..."

And I did. I recklessly, drove down Cedar Avenue, staring at my youngest daughter through the rear view mirror finding myself so in love with her little lisp caused by the overuse of her pacifier ~~whatever, her father is a dentist~~ as she sang song after song that bounced off the minivan walls. "Peel, peel, peel nanas. Shake, shake, shake nanas..."

The two of us, just the two of us, finally arrived at our final destination to a tsumani in downtown Cleveland. Prepared for the weather we hid under one communal umbrella. Just us. The two of us... hiding under one umbrella laughing out loud each time the wind blew the umbrella up. She created the game... each time the umbrella blew up she wrapped her plump toddler hands around my neck and kissed me. I followed her lead holding her in my arms jumping over every puddle and waiting for every wind gust. *swoon* I have never wished for the wind to blow so much.

So. In love.

We were happily on our way, in our own world, completely unprepared for a confrontation with the real world outside of our umbrella. The lonesome redneck from southern Ohio who was running across the street shielding his head from the rain, with his flannel shirt, stopped in his path... "Ma'am, that is the sweetest thang I evah did see. Where's yo camera?"

"She's the third child. I have this picture forever in my heart." And at that moment another wind gust shot our umbrella in the air and greasy little plump toddler hands draped my neck and a sloppy kiss was planted on my cheek. And we laughed out loud together under one umbrella.

No photos. No videos. Just a memory that is ours.

I blogged about "it" and "it" got us fired.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 04:09:00 +0000

I have wanted to write *this* post for eleven months now.

July 2008 was the last time that my children modeled. I was never and will never be a stage mom so that statement isn't so profound since I could care less if they ever model again. However, what is profound is the reason behind the sudden demise of their modeling careers.

I blogged about it.

The night before "the" last job I sat before my computer utterly exhausted and vomited words that filled my screen quite naturally. My brutally honest take on modeling ended with one of my usual upbeat epiphanies to fill my soul with rainbows and provide the therapy I needed to continue. I hit publish and crashed, completely unprepared for the day ahead.

The company, whom shall remain nameless and asked that I remove their company name from the original post, got word of my blog by lunch time. I sensed the hemming and hawing coming from the creative arts director during the shoot and the best way to describe the afternoon was awkward.

An hour after leaving the shoot my modeling agency called me. And, I am totally paraphrasing here. "Do you blog?" "You do? Did you write about the shoot?" "You did? Well they aren't very pleased." "They are mad. Very mad." "Do you think you can remove the post?" "No? If you can't remove the post can you remove any mention of the company?" "Ok. Remove the name and do you think you can write a letter of apology? They are very mad."

I ran home and removed the names as my fingers shook in equal fear and amazement. I remember thinking how powerful the internet was if the company was worried about my silly but honest blog post. The post? The only thing edited was the removal of the company. Here it is.

And we haven't had a job since then because I refused to write a letter of apology. Perhaps it was unclassy of me but I didn't feel the need to apologize. For my blog.

The thing is. My daughter mentions modeling all the time. "When am I going to model again?" She asks nearly each month and I have to lie to her, which kills me of course, saying that the Cleveland market is low due to the economy. Heh. And I divert her attention to elsewhere "Oh look shiny lights" while overwhelmed with guilt. Because of my blog.

I did it. I took that happiness away from her. She thrived on the attention and I enjoyed seeing her confidence build. And my blog took that away from her. Sure, I can substitute other things in lue of modeling for the same desired effect but the point remains that my blog did something.

Which is why I choose not to blog about many things.

Because. Oh. Em. Gee... if I did blog about EVERYTHING, this would be a rocking blog. Or not. But you get the point.

Since "the" last modeling job last July I have really censored myself for my children's sake. It's not that I am creating a happy-go-lucky place for my children to read when they are interested. I could link to a gazillion not so happy posts regarding them. It just that this, blogging, is still generally a very new avenue and who knows what might happen.

And so. My blogging mantra for the past year has been just the same as the method of madness I use for conversations. Think before you speak. Will this hurt someone in the future? Words are like toothpaste, once you get it out it is hard to squeeze it back in.

Lola on a billboard nationwide. In her hay day of modeling.

Which means one day, I will have to let my absolutely gorgeous and uber confident children, know that I made a mistake. Which is really good and very real and still breaks my heart. All because of my blog.

But. I still won't write *that* apology to *that* company 11 months later.

And now, my Nikon has salmonella.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 04:02:00 +0000

I left my children in front of the TV.

For good reasons. I was preparing four and a half pounds of ground meat for my stuffed cabbage. You see. Tomorrow I lose my kitchen to a remodel and I won't be able to sleep properly if my freezer isn't stocked with enough frozen meals to feed us through the insanity.

I was elbows deep in ground pork peering out the window lost in thought ~~not paying attention to the kids~~ when I heard.

"Let's order it. What does it say?"

"I can read it."

"Read it Jay! What does it say?"

"Grrrr...."

"What does it say? Let's order it!" Impatient Lola held onto the remote control.

Yes. That is dust on the TV console. And I just dusted yesterday. Konichiwa remodel!

"Grrrreat. Bbbbbiiig. Great Big...."

"Great Big, what Jay? Great Big what?"

"Great Big bbbbbbuuuu...."

And before the kid could proudly finish reading the Pay-Per-View title to his little sister out loud, I raced into the family room, hastily took a photo (because O.M.G the whole situation was hysterically disturbing) and turned it back to Wow Wow Wubbzy.

Wow.

The other titles weren't as classy, yo!

And now my camera has salmonella. ~~And I know what's on the FRESH channel tonight.~~

Guess who's calling Direct TV tomorrow and adding some parental controls? Wow wow OHmommzy. Because, yes. I am a prude. And now my Nikon is tainted.

***

Did you see this? I am humbled to be included with so many amazing bloggers as one of the community keynote speakers at BlogHer 2009. The diet starts tomorrow, for real this time. Now pinch me.

I knew that one day my blog would bite me back.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

The Feenster, at 28 months old, has officially entered the terrible twos stage. ~~Ten months ago~~. ~~Okay, eleven months ago~~ She's now fiercely independent, stubbornly refuses any help and everything is hers.

"Dat mine, Mama."

"Really?"

"Yesh."

"That pony is yours?"

"Yesh. Dat mine, Mama."

"That brown one in the field?"

"Yesh. Dat mine."

"The $40,000 blue ribbon show horse is yours, Fifi?"

"Yesh, Mama. Dat mine pony."

"The one that cost $500 a month to board, is yours?"

"Dat mines. Mama."

"It's yours?'

"Yesh."

Really?"

"Yesh. I take it my home."

I did vow to buy her a slightly used pony before. She can't possibly be reading my blog during her nap time. Right? She's only two and I thought I had at least a couple of years before the kids would take any interest in my online writing gig.

I should start making things up from now on. Dearest Lola. Today you promised me that you would never roll your eyes at me, as a teenager. Dearest Jay. Yesterday you said you didn't want a car on your 16th birthday because you love riding buses.

Heh. I'm on to you kiddos.

****

Check out my review blog. Giving away a new blog design here. And tickets to see the Little Shop of Horror in Cleveland, here.

On Motherhood, as an immigrant

OHmommy@gmail.com — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Disclaimer: The following essay is based purely on the author's experiences and not at all a representation of all immigrant mothers. Did that sound official? Good. Lets get started.

Naturally as a mother, my ultimate goal is to raise happy, confident and loving children. However as an immigrant in this country, I desire more.

This desire. This hungry for more is a common thread between many immigrant experiences. Library shelves are full of fascinating written words ranging from Japanese-Americans assimilating into the vineyards of California to the Mexican migrant workers surviving droughts in Texas to the Jewish people building an empire with their hands in the early years of NYC. The mothers in these carefully crafted histories did more for their children then just basic mothering.

They came to America for a better life. Leaving behind all the hardships in their homelands for a chance to conquer all the opportunities in a free world. They witnessed living in countries where success was measured by the entree served for dinner instead of by experience and education. Immigrant mothers grew hungry for more, taking nothing for granted.

There's a valid reason why I can not really identify with any references made to Saturday morning cartoons from the 80s. I remember the scent of my mother's hair as she knelt down before me and repeated in a heavy Polish accent, "I did not come to this country for you to sit and watch TV." Minutes in front of the TV innocently robbed us from essential backyard free play, from extravagant vacations to Machu Picchu, from endless summer fun at the community pool and from rhythmic gymnastics competitions. TV and video games deferred us from my mother's desire for a better life. "We are different. You are different." She repeated my entire life each time I begged to go to the mall or asked to watch The Wonder Years, yearning to become more American like my peers.

Richard Rodriguez's acclaimed autobiography Hunger for Memory set a nationwide debate some years ago by addressing, "If Richard Rodriguez could succeed given his obstacles, why can’t everyone else?"

His success came from his desire for more. His hunger. That motivated him. I do believe that those factors are a result from his immigrant experience as he witnessed the hardships of the community first hand. Of course you don't need to be an immigrant to experience hardships and to have desire/motivation for more. Although. Had Rodriguez been born into third generation Latinos his life might have been different on a more stable and paved journey through life. It's difficult for educated immigrants to watch life in America pass them by; instead, they leap at every available opportunity within their sight.

I want so much more for my children then just second rate state colleges and overrated Disney World. Gasp, did I just say that out loud? It's so true though. It's part of this desire for not settling for average when you can strive to be above average given the opportunities. I did not cross an ocean for my children to be glued to the TV or get an up-do at the Bippity Bop Boutique. I want my children to be more, do more, experience more, and live more. There are a lot of things I do differently from perhaps you or her, as a mother, that aren't necessarily for the better or worst. It's just what I know and believe.

The same desire that spread like wildfire in my mom's blood is beginning to ignite in mine.

In conclusion (Does that sound official? Good. Carry on) you might notice some changes here on my blog in the future as I shed myself of doubting my ability to truthfully document mothering my children, in my immigrant way. This is me. I want my children to re-read these chronicles and know me. Know and understand why we are different.

GAH. I tried to make new friends.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 04:01:00 +0000

I really really tried to get them to like me. Most people like me. I'm a lot of fun. Look... Boo-yah! Did you see *that* awesome move. See? I'm fun. So why don't they like me?

I made sure I was always showered and well moisturized with fancy but subtle lotions. I paid extra attention to my hair and flat ironed it to perfection. I tried my hardest to not wear the same neatly-put-together outfit twice. I scrubbed my daughter down with a diaper wipe before each class and made sure she was presentable. I. Laughed. At. Their. Jokes.

After ten months of mommy-and-me gym class I walked to my minivan, after the last class, and watched as the momtourage of new moms headed out for coffee. Again. I kinda-of had the feeling I would make no friends back in September but I stuck it out. For my third child's sake. She has only one (super awesome) friend, her dearest Wyatt. I wanted to fill our desperately boring mornings with lots of play dates like the older two had.

Were they able to identify that the pancake syrup in Fifi's hair was not pure maple syrup? But in fact the generic whateverwasonsale kind.

Did they notice the disposable diaper sagging in her pants peaking out revealed that she didn't wear fancy printed cloth diaper covers?

Or perhaps they walked past my minivan with the missing rooftop spoiler and peaked inside to see empty McDonald's bags, sippy cups spewed about and spongebob stickers on the window.

Did they catch onto the fact that she had not one single new item from the Gymboree and Janie and Jack seasonal line ups but instead wore Gymboree dresses circa 2004 paired with Janie and Jack bows circa 2005? Gawd forbid it was paired with Walmart sandals circa 2007 with Tinkerbell accents and not Aster t-straps. ~~she really does have hand me down Asters just needs to wear two pairs of socks to fit into them~~.

Were they aware of the inner monologues going on in my head, "I am so going to tweet about you. Tweet. Tweeting away in my head." Could they tell that I was talking to myself writing *this* blog post? Heh.

Whatever it was that caused them not to befriend pure awesomeness me I hope they have a nice summer full of their secret new-mommy society coffee playdates. ~~Filled with lots of first time bee stings.~~ Because in the fall two-year-old preschool starts up and my Feenster will be the queen bee amidst all of their first born children.

More so, the icing on my cake, my third child has been ~~very~~ sporadically disciplined with NO PARENTING BOOKS/WEBSITES and has never had a time out. Boo-yah. See you at the pool girls! I'll be the one smothering generic sun tan lotion on my children wearing vintage couture swimsuits circa 2008 Target, feeding them hot dogs. And not the pure beef kind either.

"Barracuda is the new Burberry Plaid of wall decor"*

OHmommy@gmail.com — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 18:22:00 +0000

Minutes ago, FedEx rang my door bell and left me with this:

A mounted trophy?

What? I suddenly remembered that one rainy evening when my husband mentioned that "his catch" was being shipped and should arrive shortly. But I was busy re-connecting with old friends on FaceBook ~~twitter and myspace~~ and didn't pay attention to all the details. Here's the fish minutes after his unfortunate death.

Until.

Oh yeah. THE barracuda arrived. Today.

Seriously? Where am I supposed to hang such a hideous thing? It's so doesn't match my shabby chic country decor that I have been desperately trying to achieve. BusyDad said to throw some crowns on the barracuda's front teeth and mount it in the husband's dental office. Sounds like a plan. Heh. Don't even get me started on the price of mounting/stuffing a dead fish to be used as wall art, as I am currently calculating how many pedicures it has set me back.

So. What has your husband brought home to hang in the house ~~man cave~~? Humor me. Please?

*Quote by Smart A$$ Mom (my blogher roomie) on twitter.

Check out my top three kid friendly frozen dessert treats for the summer. Healthier alternatives to Popsicles.

Now (kind of) opened for playdates

OHmommy@gmail.com — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 04:24:00 +0000

Our house was flooded in February.

Our insurance agency paid for the cost of the entire "clean-up." The final bill was nearly $5,000. And then they generously wrote a check for $324.89 for the rebuilding of the basement, master bathroom, roof and computer room. Thrilled that we had stumbled across a jack pot the husband and I decided that it was the perfect opportunity to refinance our house and throw ourselves into a complete remodel.

My husband likes to call this remodel, "If you give OHmommy a flood..." Well. She will want a complete remodel of the downstairs.

Come on in. Please take off your shoes in the newly tiled bathroom. No before photos... because who takes pictures of a hideous 80s bathroom with a white tiled floor, horrible cabinets and a wall of mirrors?

We ordered standard cabinets that the husband dressed up with molding for that "custom cabinetry" feel. On the top and sides. Sexy cabinet, isn't it?

We "stole" the mirror from my parent's basement ping-pong room that was gathering dust. Used the same sink. New paint. New fixtures.

One room completely done in the house that love built.

Which means we are now open for playdates if your children do not mind nail guns in the computer room, walking across sub floors in the kitchen and eating microwaved chicken nuggets.

Stay tuned. The mud room will be completed by next weekend if my husband is motivated enough. I'm off to the Salvation Army tomorrow, in search of a cheer leading costume to get this remodel really going.

Great Expectations in Ohio

OHmommy@gmail.com — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Exactly nine years ago to date, my husband and I pulled our rented moving van out of my parent's driveway in Chicago and glided onto the turnpike headed for Ohio. Young, married and without children I watched the skyline of my beloved city through tears.

I routinely joke around with my husband, "I should have asked you on our first date where you planned on living. Seeing a movie was a stupid idea for a date since we couldn't talk and by the second date I had already fallen in love with you."

We saw "Great Expectations."

Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to be a stay-at-home-mom of three in Ohio, married to a dentist. Ohio, people! A dentist, people!! THREE children, people!!! How much more unglamorous can I paint myself as?

Let me try....

Vertical Ohio:

Horizontal Ohio:

Ohio with a mischievous ~~unwilling to follow a mother holding a pink marshmallow~~ toddler:

Three pure Ohioans ~~arguing over some weeds~~:

O HI O!!!

For years I have complained about living in Ohio. It took my three children to convince me that spending two hours in an open field close enough to smell the Amish laundry hang drying and far away from beautiful oceans and picturesque mountains and posh cities ~~missing Neimans a tad~~ to realize that...

It's not so bad after all. Kids, they really are the keepers of truth.

***

Read about our recent date night in Cleveland here. And giving away tickets to the Rock & Roll Museum here. I just RSVP to the local BlogHer meet-up, here is some more info. Made it *this* far? Then please vote daily for your most favorite Cleveland mommy blogger here. Ahem, as you were.

I don't care what you say. He's happily married to a manipulator.

OHmommy@gmail.com — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 04:03:00 +0000

The very first negative comment I got on my blog was on a post where I admitted to buying two pairs of black stilettos because I could not make up my mind between the two in the store and so I brought them both back home and after the kids were in bed I paraded around in my sexy new heels and mini skirt. Hoping. My husband could help me choose.

"Keep both."

It was beyond my wildest expectations. The naughty parade around the laundry baskets and diapers was enough for him to forget about the price. The negative comment left on that post said something like, "OHmommy. You just lost a reader. How could you manipulate your husband like that?"

Waaaa.... I cried. Deleted that post. And. Then grew a (web) backbone.

Tonight, as I was editing my photos online I overheard a news program my husband was watching, "Would you rather go home to a happy woman with 300 pairs of shoes or go home to an angry woman with 4 pairs of shoes?" It was said in response to a husband complaining about his wife's shopping habits. You can insert what ever you are into in lieu of shoes... you get the point. I remember exclaiming something like, "Boo-Yah!" In which my husband looked at me like I was crazy.

"What?" I asked. "You are the head of the household. That's clear. But we all know that I am the neck that turns the head, yo!"

Geesh... I convinced my man into having a third child right after he had just purchased the designer ARHAUS dinner table/chairs in celebration of us having two kids. No slutty lingerie was involved in that deal. We blessed the mahogany with a prayer, "This really is our third child that we will nature and nurture into divine dinner parities from here on out." And we were happy with our third child, the dinette set. Nine months later the Feenster was born.

I do get a lot of what I want. I admit. But it's only because I play the roll of a slutty 50s pin-up wife who manipulates my husband into thinking that it is he who makes the decisions as the head of the household.

I don't know about your husband. But mine doesn't complain. Actually. He really likes it. And we are very happily married because my parades in heels around the laundry piles are quite convincing enough for us to say, "Don't knock it until you try it."

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I don't care what you say. He's happily married to a manipulator.

I blogged about "it" and "it" got us fired.

"Barracuda is the new Burberry Plaid of wall decor"*