I do like to keep busy, so I went ahead and signed up for NoPoMoFoMamaLamaDingDongWriteEveryDay in November. You heard of it?

You want to sign up, too? We can be friends. Awww, but we’re already friends, so whatever! Lots of people are signing up for the thing, like Miss Zoot and Mallory and Worse. Mama. Ever.

I’m going for it, even if it means some days all you get from me is a quote and one sentence.

Because I’m packing and Extremely Busy Girl over here. (Who still needs to write.)

* why did I waste an entire evening watching another Portland Public school board meeting wherein the “Senators,” “Big Kahunas,” what the hell do they call themselves? “Directors!” That’s it. Wherein the “DIRECTORS!” spend the first four-fifths of the evening fawning over one another, handing out flowers, and taking pictures of themselves (I only wish I was kidding) and the last one-fifth of the evening hearing testimony wherein food service workers, custodians, teachers, parents, etc. beg the DIRECTORS, “Please don’t screw us over again. Please.”

* why am I turning over the garden, digging in the compost, weeding, all for someone else, this mysterious invisible person who is going to buy my house? Why? You know what the yard looked like when I got it? A rhody, a camellia, and about two dump trucks full of bark mulch that’s what it looked like. And the hideous neighbor’s hyena dogs who jumped over the (then four-foot cyclone) fence every night and “went” all over my yard. That’s what I started out with, bitches. Deal. Weed it yourselves. I know you’re just going to yank out the blueberries and hydrangea, anyway, so I might as well start detaching right now.

* (We pruned the rhody for you — it looks all tidy now.)

* The realtor: “Your kitchen is a negative.” Me: “You know what the kitchen used to look like? We had squirrels in the ceiling, knocking down the dropped ceiling tiles and shattering them on the kitchen floor. It was not pretty.” Deal, realtor. My kitchen is a positive, you know why? Vodka in the cupboard.

* I let the kids stay up late, but they had to do homework and behave themselves. They loved it. I’m going to have them do homework at 8 o’clock on Monday nights from now on.

* General Hospital. Why, oh, why won’t Lizzie just nyah-nyah at Lucky and tell him, already, “He’s Jason’s baby, not yours. Drop the custody suit.”

* If I don’t answer my phone tomorrow will I get in trouble?

* Will I care?

* Do you ever get sick of the phone ringing? With a cell phone, that’s two phones ringing. Double responsibility. When I’m working? The work cell phone and pager. Quadruple responsibility.

* I called our painter he will be here in a month. Again, why am I bothering to paint when whoever moves in here will say, blech, why antique white all over??? Blech! And repaint? Why bother?

* (Do you think I have a bad attitude?)

* Wacky Girl, last time we painted, “You know, some color is OK. There are colors other than white.”

* Wacky Boy, to everything I do, “You are a goody-good Mommy, I love you!”

* Wacky Girl, in response, “Why does he always get all the attention? Oh, right. He’s cute, he’s five.” (smacks her brother.)

* me, realizing I never told the Internet we got a new cat. We got a new cat! He is black and white, long-haired, with a long floofy tail that looks like a plume. He doesn’t meow he kind of… meooooowwwwwwwwwroools. That makes three cats. Three is a lot, it turns out, but he’s awfully cute. Not as cute as my dog was, but cute. Not as cute as my five-year-old is, or his sister, but cute.

I think it’s because my Mom hates moving so much that my sister and I love moving so much. My Mom is a little shy and a bit of a homebody. So for her parents to have packed her up and moved her around on the average of every year for the first 14 years of her life was pretty shattering. After she married my Dad, they lived in a rental for the first two years they were married — it was a pretty little guest cottage behind a pretty house on a double (or triple?) lot in Northeast Portland.

Then they purchased a house in the Rose City neighborhood in 1966, when I was two. She has lived there ever since.

I have always liked to move. I’ve lived… lemme count ’em up real quick… (more…)

Our voters guide is now UP! Check it out.

What kind of monster are you?

Oh, if only I had a nickel for every time someone has asked me that.

(Thanks, Mama Pajama.)

(And no, I won’t tell you what kind of monster I am. Apparently one that “plays well with vampires.”)

(Did you know this is post #800 for me? That’s insane, Internet.)

New post over at Grasshopper. Today’s discussion: Suburbs vs. exurbs vs. inner city. Whaddya think?

From e-mail I received from MomsRising. (Would you like to buy T-shirts from them and support the cause? Click here.)

Dear MomsRising Member,

Breaking News: Congress voted today (Oct. 18, 2007) on the State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP), but didn’t gain the 2/3 majority needed to overturn the President’s veto. Now, we have another chance. In the coming weeks Congress will bring children’s health insurance to the President again — and they need our support.

With 1 in 8 children in our nation living without any heathcare coverage, we still have work to do. The good news is that your more than 60,000 emailed letters to Congress, along with the work of our partner organizations, helped build the support that made the vote close enough to try again.

TELL CONGRESS TO KEEP UP THE GOOD FIGHT: Sign our NEW petition to tell Congress: “Children’s health care is a top priority. Bring the expanded State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) to the finish line. The members of Momsrising.org thank those in Congress who have led the way on this issue, and support their continued leadership. We also urge those who voted against the bill to rethink their positions.”

*Click here to add your name to our petition. This petition will be delivered directly to each and every member of Congress. The more signatures we get, the more powerful this petition will be.

ASK YOUR FRIENDS TO SIGN THE PETITION TOO: Petitions grow by one signature at a time, and every signature matters. Do you have a friend (or ten) who you shares your sense of outrage at the President’s veto and Congress’ inability to overrule it this time? This is the moment, right now, to forward this email to them.

*Don’t forget to sign the petition and pass it on.

We can do it! –Katie, Kristin, Mary, Ashley, Amy, and the MomsRising Team

P.S. In case you need some facts to inspire you, here are a few reasons the SCHIP program is so important (and great facts for your rally signs!):
*12% of American Children don’t have any insurance coverage at all
* The U.S. Ranks 37th in the world for infant mortality
* One-in-five U.S. jobs does not provide health insurance, a pension, or wages high enough to support a family
* For a family of 4, one year of health insurance costs an average of $11,000
* Over 1/2 of all bankruptcy filings in 2001 were a result of medical expenses

P.P.S. Here are a few articles about Congress’ vote.
CNN
NY Times

-Your donations make the work of MomsRising possible. To donate today on our new, secure website go here.

I got picked as a Sweet Treat by Natalie of State of Confusion. This made my day.

Hey Natalie — thank you!

“The Song of Wandering Aengus”
William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

(from Poets Corner)

You are a big liar, junk mail folder, with your one thousand e-mails in my junk mail trap every day of my life.

I do not believe there are four girls waiting to meet me.

I do not believe you will make my penis stronger. I do not have a penis.

I do not believe that your watches are “all that” or that Viagra is the answer to my problems (see above: no penis), or that you are “freaking cheap,” although I do believe you are a “freak.” I would not do ritalin and drink, although according to you I can and buy some lexapro for good measure and call it a day.

(Customer service girl at Fred Meyer store, after telling an out-of-state caller, No we don’t sell hard liquor here: “He just needs to get himself a hard lemonade and call it a night.”)

I do not want your meds program, your depression seroquel or your protonix side effects. I do not care about Zoloft, synthroid or ativan side effects.

I know the synthroid side effects, having been on it since I was a child of 14. Its side effect is: I’m alive and not going into cardiac arrest.

I do not want 100 milligrams of this or that or something COD or something for free or all the help I need right here right now.

I am tired of telling my children, “Don’t look, junk mail!” even though I have selected text only no pix so I no longer have to see the big dix. My daughter reads now, and my son is learning. I do not want them to meet you.

You go away now, junk mail, before I slap ya.

ps — All the testosterone I need? No thanks. It’s estrogen here and I’ve got plenty.