Was I Under AdSense Arrest?

I went to post the eBay? No Way blog a couple of days ago and ran into a problem. With text completed in compose mode, ready to publish, I clicked preview.  The window popped up, but just white space filled the preview box. No print, no picture, no URL links – all of which I’d spent the early morning formatting on the compose screen. I tried preview again and again. After the third try I was certain I knew why the blog wasn’t appearing.

The AdSense police had  Mommy of the Bride under surveillance.

Which could  lead to Internet incarceration -  solitary confinement of mommyofthebride.blogspot.com to the place where all bad bad bloggers go – the no publishing zone.

I immediately began a defense in my head.

“I swear I didn’t click one ad. Honest Officer AdSense.

“Save your excuses for Judge Google,”  he’d reply. But that alone would not spare him my plea.

 “Sure I thought about it, But the nuns always said the thought wasn’t a sin. Just doing it was.”

“Doing what?” he’d ask. I’d caught his attention.

“Clicking.” Not the answer he’d hoped for.

“Tell it to the Judge.”

I pictured the judge would look like Columbo, in a crumpled gown.

So I’d go on to tell the judge how I only speculated about clicking my own blog ads. I’d own up to a sudden jump in ad activity after the AdSense Nonsense blog. A show of family support I suspect. And yes, I’d apologize, if he thought the title of my post – a bit rude. I meant no disrespect. The Nonsense could just as well refer to my rambling – as to Adsense absurdities.

 If Judge Google bought that, I’d go on to mention how any sweet and understanding top-of-the-heap Google law enforcer like himself (who I pictured dressed Columbo – like in a crumpled black  robe, squinting his eyes as I spoke),  how that wise-as-Solomon kind of  judge could certainly understand why I had used the official Google AdSense logo as the banner for that entry. It looked so pretty and went along with the blogspot  suggestion to  add an eye-catching visual to every entry . Then, in one long breath I’d begin to say , “What’s  a blogging MOTB to do? Especially one who’s  trying to break the mold of  MOTB  blogs that just copy and paste stuff out of theknot.com, or ehow.com.?”  I’d get a quick sniffle in before I’d continue, through the same breath, to explain, “I'm only trying to tell the story of my only daughter’s wedding." Or maybe  my daughter’s only wedding would sound more convincing. Or only daughter’s only wedding.

And then, after patiently listeningl to whatever I had decided to say,  Judge Google would rub his forehead in true Columbo fashion – and say. . . 

What would he say?  I continued to wonder as I scanned my Google Account details for some sort of warrant of Internet Arrest until I finally found an alert from Blogger headquarters. Something that would probably kick me off the Internet for life.

I half-closed my eyes, clicked the alert, and forced myself to read:

English to Hindi transliteration is not working since 07-July-2011. The font symbol "अ " which earlier used to appear is missing now. It’s a global  problem ALL users are facing same. We are working on solving the problem. Thank you for your patience.

Until the Hindi symbol  अ  could appear again, I would not be able to post a new entry.

The Hindi font symbol soon became visible , along with those  that allow me to write:

वर-वधू के माँ के एकांत में नही  

In other words, the Mommy of the Bride is not in solitary confinement.


 .

eBay? No way!

I tore a do-not-detach-under-penalty-of-law tag off a recently purchased throw pillow.

Nothing happened.

Then I went back to my Saying Yes to the Dresses blog from weeks ago, expecting to find Mother- of-the-Bride dress ads alongside it. The ads I wasn't supposed to click.

This  wedding gown ad was all that appeared.

                                                            

This had replaced the MOTB gown ads

Apparently blog ads are moveable feasts of consumerism. Here one day. Replaced by a new round of come-ons the next. Serendipity perhaps. At least I’d remain Adsense worthy.

But I was in the mood. The online shopping mood. No worries about running into friends in my workout clothes and  messy hair. No dressing rooms. No one’s opinion but my own at this early stage of the mother-gown quest.

I am not a shop-till-I-drop consumer. I like to save time - and money . With this in mind my Google search for Petite Mother of the Bride gowns began.

I started with the predictable links that appeared:

·         Petite Gowns: Shop Petite Dresses By Size & Style Free Shipping on Orders Over $200!             nordstroms.com

There were a few possibilities here. Too few. All of them black. Too black. I clicked the next website.

·     Karen Miller mother of the bride dresses. Ursula petite, plus size mother of the bride, groom, formal special occasion dresses, Nataya bridesmaid, wedding dress
      .http://www.audreysmotherofthebride.com/site/906987/page/634359/

This batch featured slim, horizontally pleated silouettes - too unforgiving for my pear-shaped dimensions. I tried another online store..

·         Mother of the Bride & Groom Dresses, Custom Mother Dresses . . . Custom-made fashionable and high quality Mother of The Bride Dresses with the lowest prices.http://www.thecustomdresses.com/mothers-dresses.html

Too build-a-bear-ish for me.

This went on, site after site, until

 

·    Mother of the Bride Dresses eBay:Petite Mother of the Bride Dresses: Tadashi Shoji Flowing Chocolate Silk Gown Dress 8P New with tags.http://shop.ebay.com/?_nkw=Mother%20Of%20The%20Bride%20Dresses

      

eBay? No way! I thought. But the more I repeated no way in my head, as I perused the site, the more it began to sound like no, wait, and then no wait just one gosh darn minute as a checklist popped into my head.

                  Size ✔

      Color ✔

      Flattering lines ✔

Could this bear of a bargain be just right?

AdSense Nonsense

Blogging  about the year that leads up to Em and Ry's wedding has been a joy - with one exception. I have had to refrain from clicking the ads that appear on the sidebar of the blog. That’s because each click would send a few cents (and I do mean a few) my way. Blog advertising is meant to attract the readers (not the bloggers)  to products and services. The small print in the Google AdSense agreement says that if I click click here and  click click there -- on my blog --  I could get in quick quick blogosphere trouble.

No big deal I thought four months ago when the ads started to appear. I’m basically a rule follower. For every deduction on my income tax I’ve got a receipt filed  - somewhere.  I will drive up to a red light at midnight, not a soul or sedan in sight, and  still stop. (Notice I didn’t say anything about speed limits.) And I never tear the Do not remove under penalty of law tag off a pillow I've bought. My bemused visitors eventually take the  tag matter into their own hands.

At first, Thou shalt not click the wedding blog ads wasn’t a difficult commandment to keep. After I’d write an entry about the pretty country setting Em and Ry have chosen for their big day, the side bar would fill with advertisements. One for The Lord Thompson Manor in central Connecticut promised “ Romantic Wedding Receptions.” The rustic Connecticut National Country Club  in Putnam, CT professed  to be “the ultimate setting for a perfect reception”. More information on these and  the rest of the promos in the ad column was just a click away. But I wasn’t even tempted by these ads because Em and Ry had already found the penultimate setting for their wedding at The Barns at Wesleyan Hills in Middletown. Same was true for photographer and videographer ads, florists, and deejays. Em and Ry's bridal production kept one step ahead of those advertising parades. Choices already made. Contracts already signed.

But then came the supreme test of my moral ad-clicking fiber. The day I posted the Saying Yes to the Dresses entry the sidebar filled with Mother of the Bride dress sites.  I hadn’t shopped for my frock yet. I immediately felt like a sugar-craving diabetic locked in a candy shop.   What was a rule-following MOTB to do?

For the time being, I found a pillow I had just bought and ripped off the do-not-detach-by-penalty-of-law tag. Just to see how it felt.

A Modest MOTB Proposal



Is this a picture of a Moby?

Most married women I have spoken to wouldn’t be comfortable calling their mothers-in-law, “Mom.” without having endearing reasons for the term of endearment. A quick Internet search indicates this is not so in all cultures. 

A Chinese living in Hong Kong reports her countrymen traditionally address mothers-in-law as mom or mother.  The same is true in Pakistan, though it’s more common for older women to address their husbands' mothers by the simple address. The younger Pakistan population  more commonly uses, “Auntie.”



There's actually an entire web discussion that answers the question: How do you address your mother-in-law in your own culture at


 http://ask.metafilter.com/155066/How-do-you-address-your-motherinlaw-in-your-own-culturew.


The apparent fascination with this question makes me wonder why our culture has not come up with generally accepted identifiers for the parents in-law, the way it has granted identifications for other extended family members - especially cousins. My parents' siblings' children are my first cousins. Second cousins are children of first cousins.The countdown of cousins continues to cover ensuing generations. Some of these designators are confusing -- especially when you start dealing the with "removed" cousins. But they are still terms meant to identify family relationships, not evaluate affection toward them. The most helpful "cousin calculator"  I've found online is 


http://www.searchforancestors.com/utility/cousincalculator.html


I especially like this website's dictionary of cousin terms. And it does occur to me that mother-in-law and father-in-law are meant to be just as helpful in designating relationships between family members by marriage, But that" in-law"  part sounds so cold, as does, I admit, the "removed" cousin distinction. But we usually don't have as immediate and regular relationships with "removed" cousins as we do with our in-laws. In-laws, afterall, share grandchildren.
 

So, I propose more user-friendly (with the emphasis on friendly) apellations for parent-in-laws. I wouldn't mind being referred to as Moby, a name derived from a few of the key letters in Mother of the Bride. Moby doesn't compete with the groom's connection to his Mom. Yet, it's not as steeped in legalese as mother-in-law . The Father of the Bride could be Fab. What father-in-law wouldn't mind being referred to as Fab?

Following the same nicknaming pattern, the groom's mom would be Mogy and his dad . . . . .  er. . . . oh well, back to the in-law ID drawing board. 

What's in a name?

My future son-in-law calls me by my first name.

Last week I attended a friend’s retirement party. Past retirees were there. Some, who I had not seen for a while, heard about Em and Ry’s wedding for the first time. I answered the usual questions:

  When?  “First weekend in October.”

  Where? “The Barn at Wesleyan”

  Who? “A college friend. Dated after they graduated. Been engaged over two years.”

Then, sitting down to dinner, a question I didn’t expect surfaced. A colleague  I had not seen for years asked “What will he call you?”

                “Call me?” I wasn’t sure what she meant.

                “Yes, how do you want your daughter’s fiancé to address you?”

                As I considered the question, other marrieds at the table began to respond. “My mother-in-law  wants to be called ‘Mom.’  I always feel funny, but she asked me to,” said one.

                “I try not to call mine anything,” said another. We  laughed . But this tablemate wasn’t trying to be funny.

All this reminded me of how I came to call my mother-in-law “Mrs. Hayden” when Larry and I wed.

Of course, it was a different time – over thirty years ago – and place, in the sphere of social graces. Some behaviors considered rude then are considered quite civil now. This includes for women – the once scandalous act of baring one’s shoulders in church, and for men – the disrespect  wearing a hat at the dinner table use to convey.

But I didn’t call my dear mother-in-law “Mrs. Hayden” because etiquette guru Emily Post instructed me to. I did it because she always referred to her mother-in-law (no longer living) as Mrs. Hayden. How could a daughter-in-law go wrong if she did what her mother-in-law did?

Getting back to my dinner table friends, I answered the question first posed to me. “When Emily and Ryan were just friends, he always called me Mrs. Hayden. But since they’re engaged, he's made a point of calling me ‘Laura.’ “

             “So he refers to you by  your first name,” my friend said.

             “Yes,” I said with caution, not sure what she was getting at.

“That’s good,” she said. For some time, she had  been making  informal observations of how young in-laws address elder in-laws.  Her highly unscientific but nevertheless intriguing finding was “When they refer to each other by name, they get along better.”

A “which came first- the chicken or the egg” conversation followed across the table. Did the first-name address lead to respect or mutual respect lead to the first-name calling? No one could say for sure. But I did say, “After I had children it got easier. I started calling my mother-in-law Meme, like the grandkids.

                “And what will your grandchildren call you?” my friend asked.

Statistically Guessing (The End)

Martin called back Thursday.

Martin of Stonehill College.

Or should I say Mahtin, the way his softened  vowels reveal his Irish heritage when he identifies himself?

Martin had become as caught up in my little "Stonehill grads marrying Stonehill grads" study as I.  And as head of College Communications and Media Relations, Martin had gotten a hold of what I couldn’t uncover - numbers. Not for all Stonehill students since the Congregation of the Holy Cross founded the college in 1948, but for some.

            “’I’ve taken a look at all the alums in Mahssahchusetts,” he said, light on his “a”s, heavy on his “t”s .  Those would be the graduates who are settled in the state the college is located. “There’s 13,389 graduates living here and 1,624 of them are married to fellow students,” reported Martin.

          “That’s over 800 alumni couples,” I said. An easy estimate. I went on to do the high math on my computer screen: 1,624 / 13,389 – to five places.

            .12129

            That’s 12 %.

Twelve per cent of Stonehill College graduates living in Massachusetts are married to Stonehill graduates! 

Then, I wondered from where  the hearsay 70% emerged?

Martin let me babble a bit “Maybe it was once thought to be 17%, and the seventeen sounded so much like seventy, it became seventy,.” I said.

But Martin wasn’t into maybes. He preferred to speak with certainty. And so, with a just the facts M'am air of authority in his voice, he said all that really mattered:

 “I’m married to an alum. I highly recommend it.”

              

           

Statistically Guessing (Part Two)

The truth to the Stonehill College married- alums statistic has to lurk somewhere between the purported 70% of campus hearsay and the 1% verified by Em and Ry’s wedding plans  I'm determined to crack the nut of this nuptial claim. I admit this is no Stonehillgate. Nor is it the kind of myth upperclassmen retell to frighten the bejesus out of impressionable freshmen - like the story that bodies from a campus plane crash are buried under the tiles in the Holy Cross Center lobby.   My fervor comes from the residual effect of me insisting – for forty years - that my students back up their claims with data, stats, and quotes from authorities or, even better, authorities spouting the data and stats.

I had to find me a data-spouting authority

So I telephoned the office of the online source that separated the facts from the far-out fiction of the college’s plane crash story: Stonehill Media Relations. Left a message. “Hello, I’m trying to get to the root of the statistic that 70% of Stonehill alumni marry each other.” Left my number.

Martin got back to me in an hour. I repeated the query. Told him that, for years, I’ve heard Em and her friends  tap their close to three-out-of-four chance of  winding up with a Stonehill mate --  back and forth -- like a badminton birdie.

                  “Sounds like some form of an urban myth,” he said in a thick Irish brogue. The same brogue the bookstore associates had when I helped Em gather her first semester books, eight years ago. The brogue that rolls off many a Stonehill tongue.I could just imagine how the plane crash story might resonate – in a dark, candlelit dorm lounge,  with that inflection.

I digress.

                  “We get along very very well with each other,” he remarked good-naturedly . But he wasn’t about to attribute that congeniality to 7 out of 10 male alums waltzing down the ailse with  former Stonehill coeds. “I suspect it’s a consequence of the get-married-again ceremony every year at our reunion.”

                  Get married again?  This was beginning to sound stranger than the campus plane crash myth. . .or the purported drowning in what is now Alumni Hall – when it was a private residence -- which  is why, the legend goes, the college has never built a pool facility.

                  “Yes, every reunion the married couples gather in the chapel to renew their vows. Maybe 20 couples last reunion,” said Martin.  So by marry again he meant  remarry, not a "new" marry. That made more  sense.  

                  “Rather touching. One fella even started to cry,” continued Martin. “Said later, ‘I didn’t get this emotional when I did it the first time. I don’t why I’m tearing up now.’”

                  Martin seemed to doubt that a top administrator had talked up the statistic with the New Orleans volunteers at their Stonehill reception, but he did promise to get back to me in a few days with numbers. That's right - data and stats.  This PR guy is a researcher's dream.

                  In the meantime, I’ll have to ask Em and Ry to give me their spin on the eerie lore of Stonehill College.