For Thursday, Jan. 11th, 2007, here’s my Thursday Thirteen:

THIRTEEN WAYS I’M LOSING POUNDS AND POUNDS

13. By saying “no.” No to candy bars, french fries, Taco Bell (I love you Taco Bell. Miss you. Kisses!), no to mochas (no to daily mochas, at any rate… more on mochas later…). No is a great word.

12. By trying to work out daily. Walks, yoga, stairstepper, stretches. I bought two pairs of running shoes on clearance and keep an old pair of sneakers next to the stairstepper, which Hockey God bought me for cheap-cheap at Play It Again Sports.

Now, and for probably the next three months, are the best times to buy used work-out equipment. Do any of us keep our New Year’s resolutions? No, we do not. Use this to your advantage. Check the stores, Craigslist, the classifieds, your neighbors’ garage sales.

Wacky Grandpa bought a deluxe elliptical for a great deal, just because a well-intentioned woman was chagrined to find herself looking at it (but not using it) day after day. I am ready to move to Iowa City just so I can stop by his house daily to work out. It’s the Cadillac of ellipticals. Plus they have a Jacuzzi tub. And a gift-wrapping room. And a huge yard, on a great street with tons of families. Don’t you think we should move in with them?

11. By watching TV while I work out. No more lazing around in bed watching any of my new and old favorite shows. These include, but are not limited to: The Knights of Prosperity, My Name is Earl, THE OFFICE, General Hospital, One Life to Live, LAS VEGAS. And speaking of Josh Duhamel — he is a mere 6’2″. I would have guessed, eh, 6’3″, 6’5″ possibly. But he looks much taller. You know why? He is not fat. No, no Taco Bell for Josh. No chalupas there, baby.

10. I did a whole “mind-over-body” trip on myself. I reduced stress. How? By not stressing! Stress creates stress. Yeah, getting rid of The Contractors Who Refused to Leave helped. That helped a lot. Did I mention we finally paid them? That’s right. I told them they took four months to finish my bathroom, so I figured waiting four months after that to pay them was fair enough. Contractor, after hearing this: Gulp. Really, you don’t want to ever try to crush my legs because I will spring back from it, and vengeance will be mine.

9. I stopped drinking booze. (Bonus: This has saved us a ton of cash when dining out.) I was thinking that drinking was reducing stress, but I was leaning on it too much, which created more stress. Speaking of…

8. We stopped dining out so much. I’ve started substituting a bowl of soup (with no bread) for a meal whenever I can. (I try for once a day — it’s more like once every other.) Ditto a bowl of cereal (non-sugary) for a waffle. A cup of yogurt instead of a grilled cheese… You get the idea.

7. I started drinking more water. Eight-ten 8 oz. glasses every day. I keep a little notebook and tally it up. I also take fiber, vitamins, calcium and anything else I can find in the medicine chest. Kidding! about that last item. I am no druggie. I’m ditzy enough already. (You are welcome to disagree with me. Please.)

6. I started thinking about my kids, started moving like them, eating the way they eat, just trying to keep up with them, basically. I am 42. They are not. Who do you think has more energy? And speaking of…

5. I’m trying to get enough sleep every night. This is not easy, because I spaz. Especially when it’s 11 o’clock, and I hear a train whistle blow, and it reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad would get home from work (he worked swing). And then one night he didn’t. You know what helps for freak-outs such as this? Don’t laugh. If You Give A Mouse A Cookie. Because we all have a little ADD mouse (or moose, or pig) living inside of us, and it’s OK. You just have to learn to cope with it, that’s all.

4. More on the mochas: I fix myself coffee at home, and put a little chocolate syrup in. I call it an “almost-mocha.” And since it has no whipped cream, and not as much chocolate as a coffeehouse mocha, it does not have nearly as many calories.

3. More on #10 (the mind-over-body thing). I came to terms with some things I couldn’t fight: The Nasty Neighbor, for instance. Remember her? How could we ever forget her. Did I mention she wears leggings that she sort of oozes out of? She is not the sort of gal who should wear leggings. Especially not with a too-tight T-shirt, tucked in at the waist and baby blue Crocs. Ouch.

Dress. For. Your. Body. Type. Please, people, I just cannot stress this enough. I don’t care if you’re tall, short, heavy, thin, busty, flat, with a bubble-butt, whatever. Dress in a way that doesn’t accentuate your flaws. For instance, those of us with voluptuous asses should not have the words JUICY printed across them on our track pants. Whew, sorry I’ve been needing to get this off my large, curvy chest for awhile. Also, the neighbor felt the need to put up a pop-up canopy, sort of like this one, over her back patio.

So the dog poop won’t wash away in the rain. God, it is hideous.

God, maybe I’m not as over her as I thought I was. But for real, I am trying to focus on other stuff and it has reduced my stress level a ton. One of my friends suggested I hang twinkly lights in my kitchen window, as a distraction. I also put some pretty blue bottles on the windowsill. Ahhh, nice!

2. Baby weight is no joking matter. It’s like your body is all, “Baby! Ah, babies! I will keep these nice, soft extra pounds on as cushion, in case I decide to bear triplets! Ah, breastmilk, I’m ready for you again!” NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO. I told my body, “Sorry, but it’s time to shut down production.” And it did. And no cortisol stress going to belly, since I’m de-stressing. Ah!! Bubble baths are great, I must say. And I’ve started writing more in my journal. The blog helps, too. I love Thee, Blog, and the readers and friends I’ve met through you.

1. And… I cut back on baking. I love to bake. This one is the worst. Wish me luck, and good luck to you, too, if you’re trying to get or stay in shape.

Happy Thursday!

Hello, Internet,

You’re looking very pretty today, I must say. How’s the weather there? It’s supposed to snow here in Portland, Ore. (Ed. twenty minutes later to say: It’s snowing!!!) I’m doing as well as you’d expect, considering I have a throwing-up kid home from school and an eight-foot Christmas tree in the kitchen. And the kid wants to know when we’re decorating the tree, so I guess we’re on the mend.

Let’s all say a big huzza-huzza for that, and for grocery delivery services. If there’s anything worse than a puking kid at home, it’s a puking kid at the grocery store while you’re frantically grabbing crackers, popsicles and 7-up. The price of the groceries, plus ten bucks and a tip and they bring a box of food to you. Damn, I’d spend more than that on Ugly Dolls if I did the shopping myself. (Did I tell you that when we got to Iowa last week, there were two ginormous Ugly Dolls parked in the sunroom? Wacky Grandpa likes Ugly Dolls, too. He has Tray and Ox. Heh heh heh.) (Did I even tell you that we spent Thanksgiving in Iowa City? Where it is 60 degrees and sunny, and the grandparents played ball with the kids out in the yard. No coats, no hats, just Iowa sunshine.)

Hockey God hates the holidays, have I already mentioned that? He doesn’t hate the holidays, per se. He hates the holiday spirit. The pushing, the mass carnage, the hungry shoppers shoving Cinnabites into their pie-holes. I don’t know who un-Grinched him, but he’s ready for the holidays this year. He had fun on Thanksgiving. He is discussing the purchasing of presents, although he is unwilling to commit. It’s a start.

And he came home from running errands yesterday with this monster Douglas fir in the back of his pick-up. The trees had been out in the rain for a week at Fred Meyer, and ours got even more drenched on the short drive home. We put it in the stand (a new, bigger one, after another trip to Fred G. Meyer…) and there it stands, growing bigger and bigger as it dries, in the kitchen. I’m able to get to the dishwasher, just barely, and we can open the basement door so we’re good.

This is the first “real” tree that we’ve had, in the almost ten years we’ve been together. We had a live tree, that we let die, later, on the front porch, and a Norfolk pine that later died on its own; a couple of “Charlie Brown” trees. One year I think we counted the Christmas cactus as a tree, cuz it bloomed in time. About half the time we travel over the holidays so we don’t decorate much at all, those years.

Tonight the tree goes into the living room where the dog will not lift his leg on it.

Also, HG bought four boxes of lights. Red and green.

I have the biggest smile on my face right now.

Love,

WM

Start with: One riotously fun outing to Chuck E Cheez for D’s birthday party. Both kids: “THAT WAS FUN! CHUCK E CHEEZ IS FUN! WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER TAKE US THERE BEFORE? YEAH, WHY MOM? CUZ CHUCK E CHEEZ IS FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN. WHEN CAN WE GO BACK?”

Next day, combine: Pinkeye and runny nose in one Wacky Boy.

Following day, add:

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Make the Connection is sending out free bead bracelet kits to help educate the public about the link between HPV and cervical cancer. I dislike pharmaceutical companies about as much as the rest of you — except when they’re up against the religious right and fighting to get a much-needed vaccine on the market. And on the list of vaccines required by schools.

“I am not relegous,” I wrote in my journal as a Wacky Girl, age 9. I am not especially “relegous” now, especially when assholes like Bridget Maher are mouthing off.

“Giving the HPV vaccine to young women could be potentially harmful,” Bridget Maher of the Family Research Council told the British magazine New Scientist, “because they may see it as a license to engage in premarital sex.”

Yeah. Right. Anyway. And for the love of God, don’t give ’em any rubbers, cuz “something bad” might happen. Off soapbox. Here’s an article, if you’re interested, by Katha Pollitt of the Nation, titled “Virginity or Death!” Do some research, stay informed and talk to your kids. Talk, talk, talk.

HPV reportedly is not preventable by condoms. Tell them this.

Tell them to use rubbers anyway. And fight for this vaccine.

Thank you. This public service announcement brought to you by…

Wacky Mommy

Ya’ll realize, I hope, that if you’re looking at my blog and something really weird is there, under comments, that it is not our crowd — it’s the…

OK. I cannot use any of the words that these folks use to track me down. So read between the lines:

They’re sp@!mers. I f&!king despise them. I spend a large part of my day deleting na&*y comments left by s@amm#!$ on my blog and Hockey God’s. In fact, I deleted about 20 comments today alone on the two blogs, including half a dozen on Hockey God’s, left from the time we got home from Wacky Girl’s dentist appointment (at 6 p.m.) and now (8:30 p.m., same day).

Oddly, he gets about three times more junk mail than I do. Just like our snail mail.

Re: dentist. WG needs braces. She is six. “Six year olds don’t get braces!” you’re no doubt thinking, “They don’t, like, even have all their permanent teeth yet. WTF Wacky Mommy?” They get “appliances” now, then braces later. I have been told this is expensive. Please don’t tell me how expensive. I’m enjoying denial. Her teeth are way crookedy. Good word, no? Crookedy. Makes it seem almost comical, instead of “F&*@!ng h&*l we have to re-fi the house for this?” Her bite and jaw will get “even worse and she will need surgery,” according to the two dentists and two orthodontists we have seen.

“You might be looking at surgery, on down the road, anyway,” they say.

“It’s too soon to tell the extent of this,” they say. Although they all agree that the poor kid’s mouth is a mess.

“You can make payments,” they all say.

Good, good, that’s a comfort.

So the junk mail? Please ignore. Thanks and have a splendiferous night.

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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Feeling political today? Check out MomsRising.org. (Thanks to Staci for the tip.)

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The lice policy for Portland Public Schools is…

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Mine does. It’s not the Clap, it’s Lice. “Scratch, everybody! Scratch!” Yeah, I have some hideous sinus infection combo wallop thing, my throat is still trashed (the doctor took a long look at my vocal cords — “Are you sure they’re not damaged?” he asked. “No, I just sound sexy.”) The kids are finally over the flu-cold-respiratory thing they had, so they’re bouncing off the walls — which brings us to My Life in Hell, the Afternoon Session: Wacky Girl’s Class is Chock Full O’ Bugs.

Just in time for Valentine’s Day snuggliness.

Wacky Girl: “Y’know how we found out? S looked at S and said, ‘Hey, there’s something in your hair!’ And then that’s how we found out it was lice.”

Neat-o. Our heads have been checked and so far, so good. It’s just the power of suggestion is all.

Feeling itchy?

Dear Wacky Mommy,

How do I get people to stop assuming that because I am a first-time mom, I am an ijit? My IQ did not go down just because I got knocked up.

Signed,

Smarter Than You Think

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