“To the fury of hard-core Diana fans, London-based Australian feminist and academic Germaine Greer has been leading the charge against the glorification of Diana. On Sunday, the acid-tongued Greer described Diana as “the slowest of the four Spencer children”, a child given to “preposterous fibs”, “sly malevolence”, “devious” and intent on building a false image of herself for an adoring world. To the dismay of Diana-lovers, Greer backed up most of her accusations with facts culled from the Princess’s life, illustrating the cunning stupidity she claimed to be Diana’s defining characteristic.”

— The Times of India, 8/29/07

Well. I think that’s what serves all women best, don’t you? When we gang up on each other, back-bite, and call names. (more…)

Dear Reader,

I love MomsRising for many, many reasons, but mainly I love them because they make it so easy for me to do some political work while I’m still in my pajamas. Here’s an e-mail I got from them today. I highly recommend signing up on their e-mail list, and sending them a few bucks when you can spare it.

Yours in female power,

WM

Dear MomsRising Member,

Last Saturday we alerted you to the Fisher Price recall of preschool toys due to toxic lead in the paint (Check the end of this email for specific info on what’s being recalled.). (more…)

Ash in Wonderland had her baby girl! She is so little and perfect and… sigh. And she doesn’t know how to curse yet! (Wacky Boy, earlier today: “Shit! My favorite word is shit!” Me, thought bubble: “Oh, #@!$&!”)

Babies are so appealing, for this and many other reasons. Sweet babies, I love you so. Go say hi and congrats. Also, last month, even though she was eight months pregnant and busy and all, she took it upon herself to name me a Rockin’ Girl Blogger. Awww! I am just now getting around to bestowing the title upon five other chicks (who are supposed to name five additional chicks — sharing the love). I say…

Whoorl

Mrs. Flinger

Mallory in the Middle

Busy Mom and…

Planet Nomad!!! Who is coming back to Portland!!! (This pretty much ensures we will find work in Iowa and move away, probably two days after she and her family arrive. More on Iowa later — I know I haven’t been keeping everyone updated on that. But I will. Oh, I will… because I know how intrigued you all are by my yearning for a Midwestern lifestyle.)

Welcome to the club!

Happy Mother’s Day, one and all, but especially to my Wacky Mom, my two sweet mother-in-laws (see you this summer!), and my Incredibly Wacky Grandma!

Zip, i love you.

And now, a couple or re-runs worth repeating.

wm

from May, 2006
“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

…………………………………

Mother’s Day was originally started after the Civil War, as a protest to the carnage of that war, by women who had lost their sons. Here is the original Mother’s Day Proclamation from 1870, followed by a bit of “herstory”:

“Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of fears!

Say firmly: “We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says “Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.”

Blood does not wipe our dishonor nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel. Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after their own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.”

Julia Ward Howe
Boston
1870

I think I was 12 or 13 the first time I read “Memoirs of an Ex-Prom Queen” by Alix Kates Shulman (274 pages; $15; Farrar, Straus & Giroux). It was my mom’s copy — she let me read anything I wanted. Thank you, Mom!

First off, I identified with the book, like most other females have for thirty-five years now (??? what???), even when I got to the intriguing, horrible and mystifying parts (her molestation; her hideous illegal abortion; her running off to upstate New York to wait tables, wherein both a millionaire and the chef fall for her; her European adventure, where she gives her lover “the Clap”; her mishaps in college and marriage). I adored this book then and adore it now. So to have an advance review copy fall in my lap (newest edition; paperback) it was like getting a box of bon-bons.

Laced with Scotch.

(Also, I was fascinated by the author’s name: Alix, not Alex. Kates, not Kathryn or Kate. Exotic! And the character was from Ohio — all of the heroines in other books I was reading where from the West Coast. Or New York. But the Midwest? Intriguing…)

She quotes Emerson, in a Dear John letter to her beau:

“Did I hurt you by leaving without saying goodbye? If so, I’m sorry. I knew you’d understand eventually. I just had to go without anyone’s permission, not even yours. As Emerson says in an unbelievable essay called “Self-Reliance,” I must be myself.”

(Yes! My 12-year-old self thought: Sasha Davis is brilliant! I, too, must be myself!)

OK, no spoilers here, in case you haven’t read this book — but the ending is what you’d expect and not at all what you’d expect. This novel really is a feminist classic.

“‘You’re a sweet boy, George, but I’m off sex.” He probably didn’t even find me pretty.

‘Oh well. It’s been very nice knowing you anyway, Sasha. I liked you.'”

Next up: “Babyproofing Your Marriage,” by Stacie Cockrell, Cathy O’Neill and Julia Stone (289 pages, $24.95, HarperCollins Publishers). Ladies, where have you been for the last ten years? Because I’ve needed some help in learning how to “laugh more, argue less, and communicate better” as my family grows.

Learn about…

“Scorekeeping: An exceedingly complex, often relentless tit-for-tat war waged by husbands and wives…”

“The Ten O’Clock Shoulder Tap: Considered by many men to be a form of foreplay…” and…

“Clash of the Grannies: Who gets to be called ‘Grandma’…” and much more. No wonder it doesn’t seem like it was waaaaaaay back in 1972 when “Ex-Prom Queen” was published — what the hell has changed? We need all the help we can get around here, in the land of Domestic Strife and Chaos.

I also received a review copy of “Good Kids/Bad Habits,” by Dr. Jennifer Trachtenberg ($21.95, 319 pages, HarperCollins Publishers). I don’t even want to find out my RealAge. I’m a bit concerned that I’m actually 77. She includes loads of information about the health crisis our kids are facing. (Hints: No video games, less sugar, more exercise and a better diet is a good start. Just fyi.) Did you know that American kids are facing battles with adult diseases such as high blood pressure, clogged arteries and weak bones? Did you know that this is the first generation that may have a shorter life expectancy than their parents?

On a lighter note, Trachtenberg is opposed to the “five-second rule” (“If the food lands where the bacteria are, it will become contaminated almost immediately”); she is pro-consistency. I think this book is going to be my new Bible for some time to come. She also tackles teens, and who doesn’t need help there? She includes some recipes, some checklists, and some sound advice. And the book includes a comprehensive list of websites for parents and kids. Wacky Girl’s favorite is the Yuckiest Site on the Internet.

After reading these books, I had to scoop up the kids and love on them.

Wacky Boy says, “I will give you a hug first, then one of my special kisses.” (It’s a kiss on one cheek, then the other, then the lips, then you rub noses. It will do you in, a kiss like this.)

“What would I do without you?” I asked.

“I dunno. Cwy?” he says as he runs out of the room. He calls over his shoulder, “You wouldn’t have anyone to teach you everything.”

Now that is for sure.

re: a video they made my daughter’s class watch today:

At the end of the videotape, one of the girls started hissing, “Booooo!” and (this is when the class, as a group, really shines) then the kids yelled (pretty much in unison), “BYE, LOSERS!” (When they’re in the mood for singing, they do a nice medley of “We Are Family,” “Dance to the Music” and “Give Me Some Money.”)

Yours,

WM

If you’re wondering where I am today, read this. It’s from April 26, 2005, but it’s still the same old shit. Don’t be a Bad Samaritan.

More tomorrow.

Yours as always,

WM

(more…)

Hullo, Internet,

How’s it hanging? Yeah, it’s good here, too. Kids are still asleep (8 a.m. right now — I’m guessing Wacky Boy will wake up around 9:30-10; Wacky Girl I’ll probably see 9ish), I had a quiet breakfast with my husband, fed the pets, the dishwasher is running, I’ve had a cup of coffee and am heading for a second.

I need to work on my new manuscript over Christmas break. And at what point do I begin to call it “my old manuscript”? I think I started it mid-summer, but a mojitos fog prevents me from remembering much of last summer. (Thank God for this historical document that is my blog. If it’s on the Internet, it must be accurate, yes?)

Still not drinking? Correct, I’m still not drinking. I’m not doing it the “right” way, though. The never-touch-booze way of not drinking. The “I’ve been clean for two months/two years/two decades” thing. I know that that works for a lot of people, but I have bad impulse control. So if I’m telling myself, YOU CAN NEVER DRINK AGAIN. EVER! That would send me into panic mode and I’d break out the gin and tonics. But if I say, You can if you want, but why would you want to? Then it’s OK. That makes no sense, does it?

I went out to hear some jazz at the Blue Monk with Hockey God and some friends weekend before last, and had two Bloody Marys. (Nice club, by the way, if you’re in Portland or come for a visit. Intimate, no smoking, good bands.) The really good thing about not drinking — wow do you ever get buzzed when you do drink! But it was kind of, eh, whatever. I’m not so into the booze. So, two drinks since last August or something? Not bad. My family appreciates my new non-grouchy self. I appreciate the fact that I don’t look like a raging drunk after one glass of wine. (“High Irish Flush,” it’s called, when your cheeks get the “red apples.”) And really, the only reason I like a Bloody Mary is for the salad that comes with it. And you don’t need vodka for that. So Virgin Bloody Marys are fine by me.

I think you’ve probably already guessed that impulse control is a problem here. Maybe this was a clue.

My family has no self-control, either. Obviously. But I’m promising you, I am going to try to hammer out an outline for the new book and a few chapters over break. Since the kids enjoy sleeping in, and morning is my favorite time to write. Still trying to get an agent. Keep fingers crossed.

Now, a few little things, as long as I’m here:

1) I let Wacky Girl spend her Christmas money to order Emily, Molly’s friend, from American Girl Dolls. Yes, I spent $102 on a doll. Fwaaaaa. No, I can’t believe it either. Actually, I did not spend $102. I spent $115, with shipping. Actually, it wasn’t even my money — it was money from her Wacky Gramps, Wacky Grandma, and Wacky Uncle. Thank you all for making my daughter’s dream come true…

2) Wacky Boy’s Christmas money? He was content to spend $12.90 buying a copy of Dinosaur. (Hockey God had a credit on his Amazon account, yay.) I’ll take the rest of his money and sock it away in his college fund. When it comes time to pay for her college tuition, I’ll tell Wacky Girl to sell her dolls.

3) Christmas cookies are wicked. I am not doing anymore baking. Period.

4) Speaking of wicked, Donald Trump hasn’t fired her, yet, but things don’t look good for Tara Conner, Miss USA. She supposedly tested positive for cocaine, was “lustily kissing” Miss Teen USA, and was drinking at the bars (she’s underage). Where did I hear all this? The View, naturally. Where I get all the information that Housewives Need to Know.

Tara supposedly had her tiara on the bar next to her.

“Yeah, well how do you think she gets the free drinks?” Rosie O’Donnell quipped.

Trump, let her keep the tiara.

(Ed. to say: Just got a bulletin from People mag — my other source of news, besides the View. Is this wrong? Trump is giving her a second chance. “You! Off to rehab!” Happy holidays, Tara, ya little lush.)

Great article in this week’s New Yorker — “Little Hotties,” by Margaret Talbot — about the Bratz dolls phenom. Talbot describes them as having “…the sly, dozy expression of a party girl after one too many mojitos.”

Oh. My God. Nailed it. And the toy industry folks have made up a new expression: K.G.O.Y. — Kids Getting Older Younger, “…and talk about it as though it were a fact of modern life over which they have no control, rather than one which they have largely created,” Talbot says. Bastard toy execs. My daughter — my son, too, but my daughter, especially — needs to stay a kid for as long as humanly possible. Let her be a kid. I didn’t get to be one for long and y’know — it was too bad. It was too bad that I looked like an 18-year-old at age 12. It was too bad that by age 13 or 14, grown men were trying to play grab-ass and grab-tit with me and asking me for my phone number. Make that, handing me their phone numbers because of, you know. My mother. (No father = wolves lurking. When I meet fatherless girls I want to bring them to my house so Hockey God can do some hockey slashing techniques on any predators that come around. We could call it Wacky Mommy’s Home for Fatherless Chicks.)

Writer Naomi Wolf, She Who Speaks For All Things Feminist, is quoted as saying “If I were betting on culture as a form of stocks, I would get out of Skinny Barbie and into multiethnic, imaginative Bratz dolls.” Oh. Please. “Imaginative”? The kids like them because they’re slutty. And slutty girls get the attention, you know. And the phone numbers. Barbie’s problem always has been that she’s not slutty enough. I mean, poor Ken. Barbie, the tease. Always so busy being a vet. Or a doctor.

Wacky Girl requested a Bratz set last Christmas that came with its own bar. Its. Own. Bar. What the hell happened to Barbie’s Dream House? Camper? Damn.

“No,” I said, “You do not need to play dolly bar.”

“It is not a ‘bar’ bar,” she patiently explained to me, her stupid, non-understanding mother, “It is a karaoke bar. Where they sing karaoke.”

Yeah, AND DRINK MOJITOS.

This Christmas she still wants a Bratz doll. And now, being depraved on accounta she’s deprived, make that IS DESPERATE FOR A BRATZ DOLL.

“You just think they’re hootchie-mamas, don’t you? Don’t you, Mom?”

Have you seen this public service campaign by Dove? Show this one to your kids and and let them know how unreal the beauty industry is.

Day 7: The kids watched a half hour of some crap and another half hour of some other crap. (PBS Kids and the stoned sloth. I think.) Bonus points: I made dinner, being the kind of good mom who does feed her kids.

Day 8: No TV for anyone. No one asked, even. This was kinda cool. And I got to finish this incredible book I just read, Kindred, by Octavia Butler, about a woman who time travels and risks her life to try to save her future. I highly recommend this one.

Soccer season? Not for Wacky Boy, who “opted out.”

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