Stie has gone global. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Hello, peeps. Can I just say thanks? Thanks to all of you who played along in our little mapping game. It was so fun for the kids and I all weekend. They rushed over to the computer every time it made the little 'ping' letting us know there was a new comment. Made the days go by so much faster.

And, hello? Some of you get to live in just about the best places ever. I am highly jealous. I would love to live in a little fishing town in Scotland. Or Denmark. Or Australia.

Heck, on this cold day, I'd happily take California.

I am highly intrigued by the reader living in Qatar, however. In my ignorance, it sounds positively terrifying. And the reader in Singapore! Sounds very exotic.

But maybe the grass isn't greener. Maybe you wake up in your respective cities, bored, tired, hungry, and head off to work. Or you grit your teeth and clean up spilled milk, wishing desperately to be somewhere else. Somewhere really exciting like Missouri.

Nah. Pretty sure your lives are awesome.

Anyway, here is the rundown, with the states highlighted in white having no commentors. Clearly, I am not loved in the Dakotas. Or that big chunk that runs down through Arkansas.

As you can see, I am represented by you fine people elsewhere though. I am highly adored by the good people of Utah, with California a close second. Ironically, no one from my own state of Missouri commented, though theoretically I have friends and peeps here. I'm pretty sure a few of my real-life friends read. But maybe not? Maybe I'm not as cool as I think I am.

Oh well. At least I'm loved in Australia. And maybe one of the readers down there knows Hugh Jackman? If you see him, tell him to call me.

Anyway, thanks for keeping us busy and entertained on what could have been an otherwise hard weekend. You are the best.

And if any of you have guest rooms and would like me to visit, just say the word. I'm just generous enough to impose myself upon you for weeks at a time.

Except Qatar. I'm slightly scared of things over in that neck of the woods right now. Matter of fact, Qatar, shall I ready my guest room for YOU?

**Updated to add: I misappropriated my Netherlands reader! So sorry - you mentioned being from Minnesota, and I put the tally there by mistake. I have people in the Netherlands! Woo!

How to be the hostess with the mostess

I have made no secret amongst my family and friends how much I love having visitors. Maybe it's the excitement of showing off my city to visitors who've never been here. Or reconnecting with loved ones that we haven't seen in a while.

Quite possibly it's the week-long manic cleaning fest I engage in when I know guests are coming.

Whatever the reason, it's something we all look forward to.

And because I am bored awesome, I am going to share some of my hosting secrets with you.

I know. Try to contain your excitement.

In our current home, we are fortunate enough to have two extra bedrooms that we use as guest rooms. We've not always been so lucky (I'm talking to you, tiny townhouse in San Diego! And you, two-bedroom apartment in Boston!) but we are thrilled to be able to offer guests their own bedroom and bathroom now.

When we've not had lodgings to spare, we've kicked children out of their rooms, scoured every surface in bleach, and put guests in there. A key for happy visitors is not having to share a bunk bed with your three-year-old who is having night terrors. Privacy is a must. If you simply can't spare the space, offer to sleep on the hideaway in the living room, and put the guests in YOUR room.

Remember, they've come a long way and likely spent a pretty penny to get there. Make them feel welcome and comfortable.

Extra towels are a MUST. I always stock the guest bathroom with fresh towels, and put a stack of extras at the foot of the bed. I can't think of anything that grosses me out more than using a towel after someone else - be it my own husband, children, or otherwise. Towels cost only a few dollars at Wal-Mart or Target. Plus? When your guests leave, you have new towels to add to your own rotation, as well.

One trick I learned on my first visit to Casa de Gabi was the guest basket. I loved having one of my own at her place, and have never let a guest sleep in my home without one since.

The contents vary by visitor and my anticipation of their likes/needs, but the gist is the same. Magazines, snacks, water bottles, and spare toiletry items. You know never what you'll forget at home on a trip, and it's nice to have it on hand.

I also call each visitor a few days before their arrival and ask if there are any drinks/foods/snacks that they'd like me to pick up. My mother-in-law's drink of choice is far different from my own, and I know it makes her happy to find it waiting oh-so-cold in the fridge. If there are kids coming, what do they like for breakfast? What passes for a morning meal around here may not work for someone else's kids. Everyone is most comfortable when familiar foods abound.

Another thing I like to do is have a stack of recently-read books on the nightstand. I am not necessarily a book saver - if I've read it and liked it, I am happy to pass it on to the next person.

Plus? Maybe your guests are speed readers and have plowed through their 18 books on the plane or in the car. (No, Daniel, I'm not talking to you. I realize you're barely literate). But it's always a nice treat to have a new book to read or put on your list to be read next.

Lastly, be prepared with fun ideas in various price ranges for sight-seeing. Your guests have not likely prepared an itinerary of every local spot they want to hit. They are relying on you to know the best restaurants and sights to see in YOUR city. Have ideas ready so you're not spending half a day trying to decide what to do.

So, now I just have to ask, who is going to come visit next? Your room is all ready...

It's too early in the morning to buy a gun

This morning, it being a holiday and all, I was ecstatic to sleep in.

At a quarter to eight, I felt my bed jiggling and heard the whispers.

"Is she awake yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is she alive?"

"Yeah, she's breathing. Just not awake."

"Dangit!"

I cracked a wary eyelid to find my boys' faces a mere three inches from mine, studying my every move, searching for any signs of life.

"She's awake!" they shouted in unison. I reached blindly for my glasses, looked at the clock, and wearily dropped my head back onto the pillow. I groaned and wondered silently if it was legal to sell kids on Craig's List.

"Mom, can we go to the store? Dad said I could spend my money on a new airsoft gun and I have the money. Can we go now? Let's go to the store. Pleasecanwegotothestorerightnow?"

Apparently, the Husband had given him permission to buy yet another massive piece of deadly machinery.

I acquiesced, trusting that the Husband knew what he was doing. I threw on my sweatpants (breaking my hard and fast rule of never going out undressed) and drove to the sporting goods store. Tragically, weapons of this magitude require an 18-year-old to purchase them, so I was forced out of the car and into the store against my will. The boys practically ran through the store to the gun section, and before I could catch up to them, were running back to the register, gun in hand.

Once home, it took some serious work to get it out of the package. Both brains nearly exploded with glee when it finally came loose from the plastic. The aim was tested and ammunition loaded. I think they would have gladly fired a few test shots at my leather sofa had I not been there to intervene.

The backyard is a much better alternative, don't you think?

Apparently, acting as a chauffeur for their weapons acquisition is enough to make me "like seriously the best mom ever!"

I think, however, I share Hannah's sentiment on the matter:

{Yawn} Can I go back to bed now?

To my real valentine

A Recipe for Happiness

Take one tow-headed little boy:

And one farmer-tanned little girl:

Wait about 20 years, then mix in some awkward dancing, hand-holding, and head-over-heels falling:

Combine it with a ring, a nervous proposal, and lots of kissing:

Mix gently with an early morning wedding, newlywed bliss, grad school, and several cross-country moves:

Let it simmer, bubble, boil, and cook for almost 17 years, and you will have this:

Thanks, baby.

Thanks for loving me in spite of the very hideous perm years. And the pink gravy I made in our first apartment. And the pregnancy rage.

Thanks for helping me see what you see when you look my way.

Thanks for three beautiful children who are, as it happens, turning out to be quite a lot of fun.

Thanks for getting on planes very early in the morning, multiple times per week, and working into the wee hours so that I don't have to.

Thanks for not complaining when I am less productive than I should be.

Thanks for holding my hand, letting me cry, and hugging me tight this past year. I would never have made it without you.

Thanks for loving me anyway.

I totally get it now

A few weeks back when I delighted you all with the smutty details from the dream, many of you wrote in and said your night-time fantasy man was Hugh Jackman.

I wrinkled my nose and judged you to be insane.

All I could conjure when that name was said was this less-than-stellar image:

Gross, right?

But then my friends Mindy, Beckie, and Shilo staged an intervention and tried to convince me otherwise. Mindy suggested several You Tube videos of Hugh hosting the Tony Awards.

Beckie dropped off the movie "Australia" and demanded I watch it.

Shilo told me (for the millionth time) that I was just plain crazy.

And lo and behold, what do you think I discovered?

Oh, yes. I get it now. He has quickly moved to the top of a very short list of men I wish to be given in my next life. He can sing, dance, and break a wild stallion in the outback. He grows a fierce man beard and is tall enough that I think it would work out between us. In fact, I think we make quite the handsome couple, don't you?

Hello, Drover...

Yes. Apart from my hideously awkward Kidman-esque skin tone, I think we are quite striking together.

But, alas, there is also my other boyfriend. The first boyfriend. The one I will love from now until the end of time. And the one that belongs to me. So don't even think about it.

Don't worry, Darcy. You will always have a special place in my heart. Even while I'm off in the outback with my newest boy toy.

What's that, James? You had something to say?

I know, Pookie. Don't be angry. You know they can't help it. I'm just too attractive to resist.

Oh...coconut cake, the beach and a very hot man all in one place? It's the ultimate trifecta.

However will I choose?

On humor and cannibals

The other day I had a very memorable conversation with Chase. It went a little something like this:

Me: Ha ha hee hee ha ha ho!

Him: Hey, Mom, what's so funny?

Me: I'm just reading a really funny blog post.

Him: Is it about man-eating sharks or cannibals filled with bacteria?

Me: Umm, no.

Him: Oh. [Shoulders shrug in disappointment]

Although, had I been reading a post about either of those topics, I'm sure it would have been hilarious.