“Glory to you for the feast-day of life.
Glory to you for the perfume of lilies and roses.
Glory to you for each different taste of berry
and fruit.
Glory to you for the sparkling silver of early
morning dew.
Glory to you for the joy of dawn’s awakening.
Glory to you for the new life each day brings.”

— Gregory Petrov

I think you can probably guess how I feel when I don’t post daily. Or five times daily. That I’ve disappointed you. Let you down. Left you longing for… something you’re not getting here.

Just know, I have several projects and ideas hanging fire.

my husband: “Maybe you should ask my dad what he thinks?” (My father-in-law, who is a fairly wise and all-knowing, practical and level-headed kind of guy.)

me: “No. Because he’ll say what he always says, ‘Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance… no, no, no. No!’ Then he tears out what little is left of his hair.”

my husband: “And is he ever wrong?”

me: “No.” (Dammit, don’t people like that make you nuts?)

OK, must go. I have the following things to contemplate…

1) master’s degree? Should I go for it? If so, in what? (Am considering Library Media advanced degree.) (Yes, I know there are no jobs for librarians.) (Because I like books is why! Don’t you?)

2) A soon-to-be-six-year-old’s birthday party. It will involve… rocks. And chocolate cupcakes.

3) My constant clashing of heads with my 8-year-old. (Unlike my father-in-law, she is not always right.) (Nor am I.)

4) Haiku: Why does it exist?

5) Blogs: Will I ever be able to keep up with them again? How about just my own?

6) Book reviews: I need to write some.

7) My husband and one kid went to Denver for spring break. I stayed home with feverish other kid. Should I feel ripped off? No, am too exhausted.

8) It costs fifty bucks every time I fill up my gas tank. I used to coast into the gas station, give the guys two bucks in change and coast out. Ah, youth. Why have you forsaken me?

9) My granny: I never call her. (She never calls me, either, but she’s 87. I need to check on her.)

10) That’s it. Knitting is going well, writing is going not so well, my house is extremely clean after being home for almost a week with a sick kid.

You?

xxox

wm

At first I wasn’t too sure what to make of this Skinny Bitch series by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin. I especially have issues with the proposed title for the authors’ new cookbook, “Skinny Bitch: Bun in the Oven.” (Please tell me this is a joke. Please tell me we are not encouraging pregnant mamas to be skinny. Girls, when you are pregnant and nursing, really, you need to eat. Eat as healthfully as you can, but eat.)

Anyway, their recipes are alright. Especially since you know I’ll go low-fat, but I am not so keen on the vegan cheese. But vegan does not have to be scary! OK, I’ll go for it if you will. You first. Who doesn’t want to “Start Looking Hot!”?? Sure, that’s all of us, right? Blech. Let’s start right here with… (more…)

I don’t even know what to categorize this under, so it’s listed with “sex.” Even though it’s not, per se.

(Oh my God. Do not even get my Mom going on the phrase “per se.” The waitress the other night? At Roux? Yeah, why don’t you hit that website. It’s like freakin’ Cirque du Soleil or something. Anyway. Roux. Where we never eat because it’s, you know. A hundred-dollar tab FOR VEGETABLES AND MAC AND CHEESE?? And one ONE vodka drink for me. Not three. One. Anyway. The waitress at Roux: “We don’t have a kids’ menu, per se?” Me: “I’m not paying fourteen bucks a plate for mac and cheese for these two.” My kids smile winningly. The waitress: “I’ll talk with the chef.” Leaves. My mom: “Ha! Ha! She said ‘per se.’ Why? Why use that phrase?” Waitress comes back. “He can do mac and cheese for them. Or grilled cheese. Or PB and J. For six bucks?” Me: “Good.”)

What does this have to do with penises? Nothing, I’m just tripping. Because my kid’s FEVER FINALLY BROKE IS WHY! I’m knitting. I’m watching Dancing with the Stars (Best. Season. YET.) on Tivo.

Also, I noticed that that show, Puppetry of the Penis, is back in town. Maybe it was an old Arts & Entertainment Guide, I have no idea. But I think Puppetry of the Penis is Back. Probably at the Aladdin, which is, you know. FITTING. Ha! Ha! Penis joke, see?

I don’t think penises are that funny. They serve their purpose and all, but they don’t leave me guffawing. You would never catch me at Puppetry of the Penis is what I’m saying.

What I’d like to ask y’all, since you’re so sophisticated and everything, is this: Why is it that lesbians think penis jokes, Puppetry of the Penis (no I’m not giving them a link), Penis Humor, “per se,” are funny, but straight women are all, ewww. Get that thing away from me.

????

Why is this, Internets? Or is it just me?

OK, here’s their damn link. End of April. It’s funny that it’s at the Aladdin, see, cuz it used to be a porn house. I went to dirty movies there with my friend B. and his friends when we were in high school. We were all, Oh, my God. There really are guys in raincoats here. Snuck in booze. Got drunk. Had an all-around good time. Now it’s all, high-class Puppetry of the Penis? Whatever.

from my listserv.
wm

Dear MomsRising Member,

Following on the heels of reports that there are now 4,000 dead and over 30,000 [1] U.S. soldiers wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan, was the news that essential help to military families could get held up at the Department of Labor. Why? Because help for military families got lumped in with proposed rules which could restrict working families’ access to the FMLA. This means that military families could end up waiting for months for their expanded leave while we fight to keep the FMLA intact and widely available for everyone.

Tell the Department of Labor to stop FMLA rollbacks and to protect military families now. (more…)

So, I was dreaming I was eating strawberries, from our new plants. (Nekkid Neighbor can’t remember the name of these berries. In my dream they are called Harvest Heritage Strawberries.) (There is no such plant, don’t bother googling.) (???) (Honestly, I don’t care what they’re called — they’re lush and huge and so full of flavor. They’re the best strawberries I’ve ever had. That’s why I had to have some of her plants.)

My husband and I were having breakfast in the yard, in this dream. Gorgeous morning, fresh coffee and strawberries and pancakes or something, I have no idea. We were talking and laughing. Then I woke up.

Dear, sweet son was having wracking cough at six a.m., refused water. No fever, so that is a good thing. (Knock wood.) We both slept in until after 10 and woke up to…

Snow.

A powdering, not much, but still, snow. In Portland, Oregon! In almost-April!!! And all over the strawberry plants, which are quite hardy and I am sure will do just fine. (Knocking wood for no fever and for strawberries surviving the transplant.) No Fuchsia Saturday for us tomorrow, no planting potatoes. (I found a box of sprouted potatoes, forgotten from last fall’s harvest, down in the basement.)

I am laughing, and taking a minute to enjoy this craziest week ever.

best,

WM

Five p.m. weather and health update, just for Vixen: It’s hailing. That’s the third time this afternoon. Wacky Boy has had no fever all day, hall-e-LUjah, is drinking lots of liquids but refuses to eat anything besides breakfast bars. But that is not out of the ordinary, at all.

The antibiotics reportedly taste like “GRASS and DIRT! I hope you KNOW THIS!” says my son.

I do know one thing — if you’re yelling and complaining like that, you’re feeling better.

Will keep you all posted. Happy Thursday. Sorry 13ers — no list of my own today. But the whole trying to get the kid to take his antibiotics reminded me of this… I don’t know who wrote it, but it’s awfully funny. xo wm

HOW TO GIVE A CAT A PILL (more…)

I would like if my son would get well, the poor thing. He’s been sick for three weeks now!

Fever: once in awhile, but not super-high, and not high enough to keep him down for long (with the exception of yesterday, when he put himself to bed in the middle of the day.)

Throwing up: one time. Two weeks ago?

Coughing: Constantly, but until this morning, sounded like a “getting better” cough, not an “wheezing, unable to catch breath” cough. Until today.

Runny nose: He’s five. He always has a runny nose.

My nerves: Frayed. (more…)

Thanks to the Wacky Nekkid Neighbors, I now have two full beds of strawberries plants rooting into the rich, crumbly dirt in my back yard.

I have been down. I get the blues, the mean reds, the woe is me tragic-tragics.Thank you again, Naked Sheep. Thanks for the rest of our lives. We love you guys.

I’m talking a rainbow of yarns, in cotton, mohair, angora, acrylic, everything under the sun. They’ve donated needles — straights and circular — patterns, half-finished projects, everything you could think of. Several knitters have stepped up to help.

Three other knitters want to start an afterschool club. To those of you (and you know who you are. And no, you probably aren’t even reading this blog) — to those of you who scoff and act like knitting doesn’t “count.” You’re wrong. It counts.

I’m starting to feel better already.

Pat Buchanan, go take a look in the mirror and guess who won’t be coming to dinner at the White House. I notice comments are closed on that post, just like your mind.

Stop being a racist, baby. It’s 2008.

Love,

WM