Whew, Hockey God got an earful yesterday.

From Wacky Boy, as he resisted, well, everything: “This is what I call cooperating.” (ie — he was completely refusing to cooperate.)

From Wacky Girl, when WD was trying to talk to her: “You don’t understand the life of a woman.” (His response: “No, and I never will.”)

more, more, more…

Dear Wacky Mommy:

Too Poor to Pay Attention

(more…)

Dear WackyMommy:

Help! My boys are acting like my brothers did when they were their age. This would be okay, but my brothers grew up to be total geeks! Are my boys destined to be total geeks too? Or can I change this? If so, how?

Signed,

My-Mother-Was-More-Neurotic-Than-Yours

(more…)

“We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”

— Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Too tired to blog — Wacky Boy is a handful. God love him, but he is a handful. He won’t eat. He punches the dog in the head. He leaves a trail of marbles behind him, wherever he goes. He’s like, a marble addict. I finally hid them all from him. He walks down the stairs with a Duplo bucket on his head. He’s had three concussions so far cuz he completely has No Fear. The only creature he loves in our household is Wacky Cat, who crawls into his bed and sleeps, even when Wacky Boy won’t. Here is Wacky Boy, 10 p.m., setting up a train track, overhead light turned on, singing his happy little Music Together songs, and here is Wacky Cat, peacefully snoring in the middle of the Hello Kitty comforter. (He borrowed it from his sister — it’s purple.)

He refuses to go to sleep until 11 at night, then flips out in the morning when you wake him up. Big surprise.

Yes, I get him up early, anyway, and no he doesn’t nap, and yes we do all of our cuddly little nighttime routines, right down to the music quietly playing, the books, the teddy bears, the snuggly blanket… (Although he did fall asleep in the car yesterday and I was so blissed out to not have him SCREAMING AT ME “NO, MOMMY! I SAY NO! I TAKE THE ‘NO’ TRAIN, MOMMY! KNOW WHY? CUZ I SAY NO!” (Direct quote.)

Walk me down, Jesus. I mean, help?

And Wacky Girl can’t breathe. Inhaler is helping a little. Wacky Daddy informed me last night of Report on News (so you know it’s true — ha) that stated the following: “Vacuuming doesn’t help.” Why? Because the little dust mites, the ones that make us sneeze and wheeze, are being eaten up by Bigger Version of Dust Mite, and THOSE are the ones that you vacuum up!

Fantastic news! All these years, I’ve thought I was helping her asthma by attempting to keep the house clean, and now I find I was only killing off the beneficial dust mites.

Everyone can kiss my ass. Present company excluded, of course.

love

WM

Oh — and two quotes of the day, from Wacky Mommy N:

“There are very few personal problems that cannot be solved by a
suitable application of high explosives”

OR

“I don’t have an attitude problem. You have a perception problem.”

I second that emotion.