* Adjust and overcome

* Edge

* Puck control

I think we can all learn a little something here. Adjust and overcome, edge, puck control. And this: “You got to play with that edge, but you can’t cross that line.” And… “You got to know where the edge is.” (May I add, You also need to know what the edge is, when they keep talking about edge, edge, edge.)

“Edge! Play the blues.” — Bono, U2

Hockey God, rolling his eyes way back in his head, “Edge, who can’t hardly play guitar.”

One more, from the announcer: “Take the puck, with a sense of purpose, to the paint.” Got it? Now drop the frickin’ puck! It’s Stanley Cup season! (Even though TV Turn-off Week  is right now — it always falls during hockey play-offs — no problem — we make a special exception for my husband and the NHL. No TV unless it’s hockey. Sorry, kids. I know it seems unfair but you can deal.) Ready? Steady? Go!

“They’re all growing their play-off beards, you don’t see that in the NBA. Not since Bill Walton.” — Hockey God, pleased as hell, watching the Washington Capitals/N.Y. Rangers game

(And another quote from Hockey God, while watching a Blazer game last week: “Foul? You call that a foul? They didn’t even touch each other.” Me, mouthing what he always says: These basketball players — they go out there and just, like, hit each other with their purses, oh, I’m sorry, did I hit you with my purse? Oh, excuse me, I think you just fouled out! The ref wants you to go now. Oh, no problem!)

Etc.

I still like basketball more better, but que sera sera.

Did I mention that when I woke up this morning I thought I wasn’t assigned to a school next year, but now, end of day, I have found out YES I am assigned to my school again? Yes, I am. (Budget cuts are brutal this year, we’re all a little worried.) (“A little” is a huge understatement.)

Oh, being gainfully employed, what a beautiful thing. I was so thrilled that I cut my class and took Steve out to lunch to celebrate.

Hmm. It’s been awhile, let’s see how rusty I am…

Q: How much $$$ do you make from your blog? Can I make some money if I start a blog, too?

A:  I review books, so I do get free copies of those (yes!!!). As for cash infusions? About $5 a month from my ads. Subtract the cost of the servers (we host our own sites, and a few others), DSL, the domain registrations, the Swiffer dustcloths for my desk and keyboard… Yep. The lifestyles of the rich and infamous, that’s us. Don’t quit your day job.

Q: Why are you so political, with the school politics and all?

A: Because I am an idiot. Next question?

Q:  How do I get my kid to read? He is not much of a reader.

A: How old is he? Read to him, if he’s young enough. Have him read to you. Go to the library once or twice a week. Learn how to put books, DVDs and CDs on reserve on your library card. Does he like graphic novels? I’ve had good luck with those, with the non-readers. They’re not “cheating,” they count! I promise. Try “American Born Chinese,” “Baby Mouse,”  any of the others. Superman should be renamed “super popular.” Go figure. And Kill Your Television, after that. (Isn’t it TV turn-off week this week? Lemme check…  Yep. SHOOT. I am tivo’ing Desperate Housewives and Brothers & Sisters while I write this. Shoot.)

Q: How often do you and Hockey God have sex?

A: Why not ask Yahoo? Next question, please…

Q: Why don’t you blog more?

A: Because I’m so busy having sex.

Happy Sunday to you!

ttfn,

wm

So. Good.

Susan Boyle’s performance on Britain’s Got Talent.

Love going out to Amalah’s dad, Miz Elliott’s family (whew), and (as always) my granny, who is having a very hard time. Thinking of you, Lib. You are one sweet woman.

I’ve read about a dozen fantastic books lately, and I need to pass them along (back to the library, and I’ve promised some to the moms at school.)

Alix Kates Shulman, who wrote one of my favorite novels ever, “Memoirs of an Ex-Prom Queen,” has written a stunningly beautiful memoir about her life with her husband, Scott York, after he sustains brain and physical injuries in a fall. It’s called “to Love What is” and it is a magnificent book. It was just what I needed to read right now.

I also just finished “The Shack,” by Wm. Paul Young and it was good, but it freaked me out pretty hard. Also answered — or led me to answers for — a lot of my questions. I can’t really recommend this book, because if you read it and it makes you go into an “episode” and then you “blame Wacky Mommy for it,” well. I can’t handle that kind of pressure, people. So you’re on your own with this one. (ps — It is quite a little pop culture phenom, that book, and the story of how it came about is pretty intriguing.)

Loved “Stargirl” by Jerry Spinelli.

Loved “Strider” by Beverly Cleary. (Sequel to “Dear Mr. Henshaw.”)

Loved “The Republic of Love” by Carol Shields, but I loved everything she wrote. The whole Carol Shields canon is great — she has never been given her props, my friends. Go read her.

“It Will Come to Me,” by Emily Fox Gordon, kind of reminds me of Shields’ style, or Margaret Atwood’s. Cool book about an aging academic couple whose son has gone missing into the world of the homeless, and their struggles.

All for now — Psych 311 workbook is calling me. NOT as sexy as fiction. Sigh.

— wm

My son, admonishing me: “You’re not supposed to say ‘butt,’ Mom. You’re supposed to say ‘rear end’ or ‘beehive.'”

Dear Bef tagged me for a meme, asking me to list five ways I love being a mama. Ready?

1)

2)

3)

4)

5)

I can’t think of any. I’m making a list in my head that goes like this:

1) I love when it’s summertime and we get out the wading pool — but they’re too big for the wading pool now. Yet they refuse to give the pool away, so there it rests, against the fence, gathering dead leaves, sticks and rain water. (Note to self: Take pool to neighbor’s house; leave in front yard.) Also, one kid loves going to the city pools; the other would rather punch you in the nose than agree to it. We go anyway and park him in the shade.

1a) I love when we all work together as a team and come to a family decision.

2) Every time I tell or ask my girl to take care of something (put the dirty socks in the laundry, take a shower, feed the cats, help set the table) as soon as I say, “Honey, will you please…” She responds, “No, I don’t feel like it.” She doesn’t feel like it! That is so precious.

2b) I love that the kids are getting older and more independent.

3) My son collects garbage. Excuse me. It’s what you and I might call “garbage,” but to him it’s “treasure.” (Dead things, sand, rocks, ants, earwigs, tinfoil balls, bullet casings.) (We live in the city.) (Yeah, we started having the “Don’t pick up any balloons! Or anything that looks like a balloon!” talk about six years ago.)

3a) I love the creativity they show.

4) Food. Vegetables offered, vegetables refused. Fruit offered, fruit refused. Mac n chz offered, mac n chz accepted.

4a) Every kid is different, eh?

5) Since I’ve been out on family leave, we can actually walk home from school sometimes. Theoretically, we could walk to school, as well. But who wants to wake up ten minutes earlier? “Oh, GOD, you WALKED? We have to WALK home???” (Other parents on playground hiding their smiles.) Then I am stuck listening to the kvetching for the next 15 minutes. And we can’t run by the library, like I had planned, because we need the car for that.

5a) I like being a mom, even with the chaos, the kvetching, the refusing to practice piano, do homework, pick up the Pokemon cards that seem to be on permanent display across the living room rug. I wouldn’t trade it for nuthin’. Besides, they leave for college in 8 years and four months and 11 years and four months, respectively. That’s not so long from now.

Happy clickin’.

wm

ps edited Monday night to say…

1) I love how sweet my kids are. I love the hugs and the kisses and all the goofy jokes.

2) I love when we watch videos from when they were babies and they “translate” for me . (“I was saying ‘I don’t like this book.'”)

3) I love 7 & 9 cuz they’re not little babies… but they’re not big kids yet, either.

4) I love when we play Uno and Sorry and I Spy.

5) I love watching them grow, play piano, garden.

It’s a wonderful life. Really.

wm

The Easter Bunny left three plastic eggs under a tree out front this morning.

One contained nothing; the other two had fortunes inside.

One said: THAT WHICH IS TIMELESS IS FOUND NOW and the other said: IF YOUR COMPASSION DOES NOT INCLUDE YOURSELF, IT IS INCOMPLETE.

(Hint: It was Buddha, not the Bunny.)

Happy Sunday, y’all.

love,

wm

My son, having a conversation between his toy Land Rover and his toy pig:

Pig, facing down Land Rover: “Hey, don’t run me over, you like me, remember? You were my crazyass roommate!“

Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why)

“I was born in the congo
I walked to the fertile crescent and built
the sphinx
I designed a pyramid so tough that a star
that only glows every one hundred years falls
into the center giving divine perfect light
I am bad

I sat on the throne
drinking nectar with allah
I got hot and sent an ice age to europe
to cool my thirst
My oldest daughter is nefertiti
the tears from my birth pains
created the nile
I am a beautiful woman

I gazed on the forest and burned
out the sahara desert
with a packet of goat’s meat
and a change of clothes
I crossed it in two hours
I am a gazelle so swift
so swift you can’t catch me

For a birthday present when he was three
I gave my son hannibal an elephant
He gave me rome for mother’s day
My strength flows ever on

My son noah built new/ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
as we sailed on a soft summer day
I turned myself into myself and was
jesus
men intone my loving name
All praises All praises
I am the one who would save

I sowed diamonds in my back yard
My bowels deliver uranium
the filings from my fingernails are
semi-precious jewels
On a trip north
I caught a cold and blew
My nose giving oil to the arab world
I am so hip even my errors are correct
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
the earth as I went
The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
across three continents

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

I mean…I…can fly
like a bird in the sky…”

— Nikki Giovanni (1973)

Today I’ll review two children’s books + one grown-up book, what do you think about that?

“Chester” by Melanie Watt, no, it’s by Chester, it turns out, Melanie’s cat. (Kids Can Press, 2007, $16.95.) And he also wrote the sequel, “Chester’s Back!”, which is NOT a Melanie Watt book, thank you! (Kids Can Press, 2008, $18.95.) This one was also “Written and illustrated by Melanie Watt’s hero.”

Chester says, blah, blah, blah, get to the reviews already, lady.

“I SAID…
A long time ago, in a faraway land, lived a cat named Chester.
NOT ready yet!
A long time ago…
CHESTER, not THAT long ago!
BORING!
CAVE CAT take over!
Ooga Chugga Ooga Chugga!”

(from “Chester’s Back!”)

These books are delightful — the drawings are lively, full of color and movement, made from pencil and watercolor, and assembled digitally. Chester is amiable, of course, even as he hijacks Melanie’s projects and runs away with them.

Does he like mice? No, he does not.

“Hasta la vista, Mousie!” — Chester

Now on to a selection for the adults in the house. Meg Federico, a writer from Nova Scotia, writes her mother Addie’s story in “Welcome to the Departure Lounge.” The book is by turns hysterical and depressing, over-the-top funny and too poignant for words. I read it quickly, then loaned it to my mom. I can’t wait to talk about it with her. It would be a great book club pick, this one.

What to do with Addie and Walter, the author’s well-to-do, aging mother, and Walter, Addie’s “new” husband? He’s soused, she’s soused, and good luck getting the credit cards away from them — they’ll just apply for new ones. And good luck finding good help to provide in-home care. The cow jumped over the moon, the dish ran away with the spoon and someone ran off with all the jewelry. (Except Walter’s — it turns up, eventually.) Ms. Federico gives a disclaimer early on that she is well aware that not everyone can afford in-home care. I was wishing she would have bankrupted her mom and put her into a nice assisted living place.

Oh, wait. She did try that — Addie checked herself out.

“Mentally competent” is not really how I would describe Ms. Addie, but the doctors disagreed.

Ms. Federico is one of the best writers I’ve come across in ages, and her writing sings and stings. Brilliant work.

Reviewed today: