Today would have been my Dad-o’s 64th birthday. (He has been gone since I was 9. Too long. And the years just keep flowing along, and him being here seems like a dream from a million years ago.)

I used to get pretty freaked out on and around the day of his death. Plus, it was in April. And April? Worse frickin’ month in Oregon, even under the best of circumstances. It is wet and gray here in April. “April is the cruellest month,” yeah no kidding. Highest suicide rates, supposedly, are March, April & May.

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We’re winding down on another school year, which means we’ve had a handful of asthma scares (Wacky Girl. And thank God it was just a handful), the flu and colds (all of us), pinkeye (Wacky Boy, twice), bronchitis and bronchial pneumonia (me, two or three times? I lose track) and general ennui (especially Wacky Dee and myself. Could it be ALL THAT REMODELING? Yes, we have no money, thanks), all since last September. Well, huh.

And last week, for me, our little friend Norovirus. As as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention would like you to know: “People infected with norovirus are contagious from the moment they begin feeling ill to at least 3 days after recovery. Some people may be contagious for as long as 2 weeks after recovery.” This virus is blazing through Portland and Vancouver. C’mon by! We’d love to share it with you.

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Let me preface this by saying, I really hate puking. Yeah, like anyone enjoys puking, eh? But some people, they get the flu, or hungover, or pregnant, and eh, they puke. No big deal. You puke, rinse your mouth, brush the teeth, feel all better.

Some people just stick the finger down the throat and they’re good.

I am not one of those people.

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“This week, Salary.com announced that a stay-at-home mom’s work is worth $134,121 a year. But the check is not in the mail.”

— Ellen Goodman, writer

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Quote of the Day, from George Carlin:

“Here’s all you have to know about men and women: Women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.”

I’d like to amend that to: Women are evil, men are stupid. And the main reason women are evil is that men are stupid.

Case in point: Tom Cruise. On the cover of Parade mag today, TC asks, “Who’s to say what’s normal?”

I am. You’re not.

Love,

WM

PS — Sorry no advice column and recipes last week — outlaws just left. I’m ready for a liver transplant, per usual. My MIL and I have redesigned my yard (in our heads, as to not interfere with our indoor cocktail hour) to include lots of reds, oranges and yellows. Enough with the pastels. WM back to normal this week. Yes, normal. Run, Katie, Run.

Oh, Internet, I have so much to tell you and so little time in which to do it. Let’s just say this much — my in-laws arrive tomorrow, and for me to remember to clean out the car and get it washed before they get here? Really, this is such a coup for me. All before 10 a.m. on a Monday morning. Also remembered to buy tonic for the gin, and planned out menus for the week. What a little domestic goddess.

WM

PS — Took the kids to the Shriners’ circus this weekend. Have decided that Wacky Dee needs to strive for Shrinerhood, and wear one of those funny hats. And ride a four-wheeler around before the circus, waving to the kids. I will be a “Shriner Lady.” Lady Wacky Mommy. Ta-ta for now.

It doesn’t have to be the baby’s legal name. Maybe it can just be the baby’s nickname.

My choices for today:

Girl:
Beatrice
Margaret (Meg or Peg)
Devon
Dina
Ida-Rose
Olivia (Livvy)

Boy:
Boo Radley
Henry
Lenny Thunderchild

FYI — the Winter Hawks did lose again tonight. Eight games in a row! Woo-hoo!!! I am never happy when the Winter Hawks lose, I am just trying to get over it.

(PS — Also had Budweiser hangover all day Sunday. Also, if you have a cup of granola, with a cup of strawberries and a cup of vanilla yogurt — lowfat, right? No, whole fat, cuz I supposedly bought it for my skinny little kids — plus lowfat milk with your coffee… Nice healthy breakfast, yes? No. It added up to 991 calories. That’s, like, more than half my calories for the g.d. day, okay? Damn you, granola. Signed, No Longer a Hippie Girl, Just a Hippy Girl)

We have a saying in our house, courtesy of author Sheila Ballantyne. Her 1975 classic, “Norma Jean the Termite Queen,” is a must-read for all Wacky Mommies. I mean it. Go buy a copy today. Norma Jean has a tantrummer living with her, Damon, and she tells him he needs to tell the Wild Thing inside him to calm down.

He tells the Wild Thing to calm down or he’ll kick its ass.

Wacky Girl, something of a Damon herself, now says, “Don’t calm down, Wild Thing,” thus extending her time-out.

Am trying, myself, to calm down. Am having bout of bronchitis and unable to drink alcohol or eat chocolate as usual. Will blog more later about idiot chocolatiers (is that a word?) and my inability to switch to decaf coffee. Or exercise. Triple blech.

How is life with you, dear readers? I know you’re lurking, but only a couple of you post… The more posts the merrier, I say.

love,

WM, Mother of Wild Things

Wacky Grandmas and Aunties who bring over a DVD of “The Apple Dumpling Gang,” spaghetti for dinner, cookies and ice cream and microwave popcorn for dessert, and stay all entire evening, thus freeing Wacky Parents to go on a freakin’ fancy dinner cruise aboard the Portland Spirit, and tour the Willamette from downtown Portland to Lake Oswego. Yes, that’s who rocks — relatives who are willing to do this.

We went to the Lotus Cardroom for a drink beforehand, drank at dinner, and, that’s right, had hot toddies with dessert. Wow, do I love a Hot Apple Pie drink. Almost as much as “The Apple Dumpling Gang.” I had a nice piece of salmon, which WD did not refer to, cheerfully, as “the only endangered species you can eat” (he, like, has to say this every time I eat salmon, so I appreciate his restraint). He had spinach manicotti. Both dishes had a fancy little sidedish of spaghetti squash, with shredded zucchini and carrots. Mine had rice pilaf and some fancy ginger sauce with… who knows, cuz I was likkered up by then. But it was delicious. And for you Booze Cops in the crowd, no we did not drive. We took the train. Which made WD even happier cuz damn — the boy loves all the various modes of transportation. I prefer a Cadillac Escalade, but that’s just me.

ttfn,

WM

ps — C, did you and R get any of the seven boxes I sent you? Do you think I’m insane? Just wondering. I have more to send, week after this. xxox wm

i swear, i cannot even freaking focus and thus will be unable to blog until the contractors leave. The only comfort I have is the photo gallery of Beauty Queen Rockstarmommy and her adorable tattooed family. Sigh. What a cool girl. I cannot post pictures of my own adorable family as I cannot figure out how to work my digital camera. Ha! You think I jest! I do not.

Rockstarmommy looks quite a bit like the Old Carly on “General Hospital” who just honestly is one of the prettiest girls in the universe, IMHO. (No, I don’t mean New Drag Queen Female Impersonator Carly, having a nervous breakdown and kinda freaking me out, and not Old Old Carly — Tamara Braun I mean. Oh, Tamara Braun, why did you blow GH?)

Yes, they’re still here, the contractors, along with the Honey Bucket they rode in on. They love it here. Well, we’re down to two of ’em now. (Contractors, not Honey Buckets.) There is only one here, most days. My kids, per usual, refuse to listen to me, but they’ll listen to the contractors. How pathetic is that?

“Get away from that window now. You’ll break it. Move back. Good job, little guy!” No I am not kidding. (Single-paned glass, adventuresome three-year-old.)

Also, I’m so confused that I cannot FUCKING REMEMBER WHERE I PARKED MY CAR. Ever. And the contractors have to point me in the right direction, for example…

“It’s in the driveway.”

Today I locked myself out of the house, and he tells me, “No, I left the side door open, you’re good!” But I was not good, cuz I’d locked it up after him. Also, the mailman has developed a bit of jealousy, as he saw me bringing the contractors lemonade one day and, “You never bring me lemonade! Not even when it’s hot as hell out here!”

Like, one husband wasn’t enough trouble for me? Now I’ve got, what, four or five? Between the mailman, Hockey God and assorted contractors?

Off to watch “Lost” in bed and fantasize about Sawyer… Would my kids listen to him? Yeah, probably. But I need not worry about that — we’d be on our own Fantasy Island, sans husband(s), sans kids, sans large neurotic dog who eats everything on the counter, including cubes of butter, every time I turn my back.

Ta-ta for now,

WM