(Images are clickable)

Absolutely no room for poor Wacky Dog (aka “The Selkie”) in van — things kept toppling on his head. He was happy, nonetheless.

Really tall stump.

Wacky Dog: “You have to chase the stick. Even if it means swimming three miles downstream. You must chase stick.”

Pretty, yes?

Things I never thought I’d hear my son say: “Help me take off this dress, Mama. I have to pee!”

It’s his sister’s old Christmas dress — purple taffeta skirt, velvet top with sparkles. Extremely charming on a four-year-old Wacky Boy.

Internet, hello,

How are you? We camped this weekend. (Edited to say: At Mt. Hood. Can’t say where — which river, which campground. Have been sworn to secrecy. Sorry.) It was fine until Hockey God took us on Death March from Hell single file, side-stepping dog shit all over trail, trail that had steep drop-off on one side and scared the hell out of me because MY BABIES! OH MY GOD! What if they fell over the side? I’d dive after them, but would it be Too Late?

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You know those lists, those “diet coke or diet pepsi?” “diamonds or pearls?” lists? I made up my own. Feel free to pilfer:

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What the hell — okay I’m in. This is not a commitment, Thursday Thirteen. But I’ll give it a shot.

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“The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face ceaselessly.” — Charles Reznikoff, poet (1894-1976)

Is this why my face is so haggard? Right now, I’m not thinking, “Yay! I’m taking the kids to swimming lessons!” Honestly, Internet, I’m thinking, “Fuck. They’ll have a fit, scream and kick and hit” (a rhyme, just for you) “and by the time they’re in the pool IN SOMEONE ELSE’S CARE I’ll be exhausted and ready to cry. And they’ll be happy and smiley and ‘Gloop/gloop! went the little green frog one day/gloop/gloop! went the little green frog/Gloop/gloop! went the little green frog one day/and they all went gloop/gloop/glop/BUT WE ALL KNOW FROGS GO WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA/we all know frogs go/WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA/they don’t go gloop/gloop/glop.”

Uh, yeah.

They are vampires they drink my blood at night, I know it. More later.

Found this posted on Rockstar Mommy…

From Jennifer:

Friend: “Oh, I can’t have those tonight. Tequila makes me naked.”

Jennifer: “”That’s why my husband brings me here.”

Mojito, a traditional Cuban drink. This is Hockey God’s recipe, borrowed from his site.

Several sprigs of mint
2 1/2 oz. simple syrup (see below for recipe)
1 1/2 oz. light rum
1 small lime wedge
ice
soda water

Save a little sprig of mint for a garnish, and put the rest in a glass with the simple syrup. Mash it thoroughly with a spoon. Squeeze the lime in, add the rum and lots of ice. Top with a splash of soda, stir well, and garnish with a mint sprig. At Andina, they served it with a stick of sugar cane.

To make simple syrup, heat equal parts water and sugar until it almost boils, stirring to make sure all the sugar disolves. Cool before using. Make lots and put it in the fridge for tomorrow, since you’ll be drinking a lot of these.

If you are, you’re not reading this, probably. You’re probably having mimosas for breakfast, then going for a swim. Or maybe you’re having bloody marys in the mountains, then hiking. I am here in my urban neighborhood, wondering why we’re not on vacation. Oh, money, right. There was this, this and oh, yeah, now this.

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I’m reading a lot of Nothing But Bonfires and Planet Nomad because Wacky Mommy is a wuss and does not travel well. ie — I throw up a lot when I travel. Or I start my period and/or get pregnant. So Bonfires and Nomad are travelling for me.

And Iowa Drift is always good. Iowa City girl. And if I were to travel anywhere right now, it would be to 1) Iowa City and 2) Denver so my kids could see their grandparents. My mom lives in town, so we’re fortunate there, and see her at least a couple times a week. But these sweet years are flying by and we don’t get to see the other grandparents as much as we’d like. Plus, Denver has a great aquarium that I liked so much last time we were there I just wanted to move in. And Iowa City — one word: Boating. We take the beer, the picnic lunch, the kids and the potato chips and go out on the reservoir. It’s perfect. We have no friends with boats here. (Note to self: Find friends with boats, cabins on Mt. Hood and at the beach. Pronto.)

Also reading Finslippy, who is an intriguing writer. And I am loyal to her and want to kick her babysitter’s ass for hitting Henry, her little guy. (Me and 179 other readers.)

Also, Want Not.net cuz she does my shopping for me so I don’t have to. (Am lazy this summer. Am worthless blogger this summer. Uh, maybe not just in summer.)

And the kids are into Dav Pilkey and his Extra-Crunchy Website of Fun. Hey, as long as it means we don’t have to leave the house…