It’s only the third of July, but damned if the Wacky Family will be deterred from lighting off fireworks early. I DO NOT HAVE A DOG IS WHY. Poor dog. I miss my dog — every time I walk by the huge fern in the back yard I expect to see him come slithering out. (It was cool and dank under there — nice and chilly on a hot dog’s belly.) But he is gone. I loved that crazy dog. And by crazy, I mean “teched.”

BUT NOW WE DON’T NEED SEDATIVES. So I bought the hugest box I could find at Target (the legal Oregon ones, not the illegal Washington ones, thanks) and Wacky Boy picked out his favorite. It has a big stick.

Because that’s what it’s all about in this life, and my son has figured that out — Who has the biggest stick?

We jammed it in the lawn, lit it, and KABLOOIE! Right away it starts acting like an illegal Washington firework (where they have the good ones. Same as the reservation fireworks. None of this wussy crap. The good ones. Like in Missouri!). It spits sparks and fireballs all over.

“That could catch our lawn on fire,” I say.

“Yep,” my children’s father says.

“It is catching on lawn on fire. I’ll get the hose.”

“Yep,” my children’s father repeats.

The kids just now, on their way to bed: “Wasn’t that so cooooool how dad caught the lawn on fire???”

Happy Fourth, y’all. Here’s to our continued American independence, and our need to thrust our independent ways down everyone else’s throats.

Happy Fourth, Scooter Libby, ya bozo. Whew! Close one.

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

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Remember to tell your kids on this great American holiday, “It’s not playing fairsies to go to someone else’s home, grab all their stuff, claim you ‘discovered it,’ then force them out of the house and move in. Pilgrims were not playing nice, dig?”

And now, for the Thursday Thirteen!

THIRTEEN THINGS MY DAUGHTER AND NIECE WOULD LIKE ME AND MY SIS-IN-LAW TO AGREE TO:

1. Let us get our ears pierced when we’re nine.

2. Let us stay up late — ten o’clock — every night.

3. Let us go shopping every day after school.

4. Let us watch “Star Wars.”

5. Let us eat as much candy as we want.

6. Let us do no homework.

7. Buy us whatever we want.

8. Let us eat all of our Halloween candy in one day.

9. Buy us a limo and a driver to take us all around.

10. When we grow up you guys have to let us get a mansion, with a big swimming pool in the backyard and a little yellow kitten.

11. Let us live in Minnesota and go to Mall of America every day.

12. No school.

13. Let us have as many American Girl dolls as we want.

Hola! ?Como estas? Have you ever held a progressive party in your neighborhood? Yeah, me neither. But five of our neighbors and the Wacky Family are going to go for it, New Year’s Day. For years we’ve been talking about a summer block party, but, you know. Some of us don’t get along as well as others of us. That is, some of us like to dance around naked and happy, and others like to spit at everyone as they walk by and criticize the way they park. More on Evil Neighbor — if you park in front of her house, she will waddle out her front door and she will tell you, “You need to move your car. You can’t park there.” It is a public street! Yet people are so scared of her evil eye they move their cars. No progressive party for Evil Neighbor. We may invite guests and encourage them to park in front of her house, though.

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Happy VD — Clap, everybody! Clap!

Love and kisses,

WM

Will be spending next few days with my giddy kids and their cute dad, so wanted to say Happy Holidays to everyone before I check out. Extra special holiday hugs and kisses to all the blogger mommies, who manage to find a way to give me a good laugh or kick in the ass right when I need it.

And Happy Year of the Dog! (January 29, 2006.) Woof!

Love,

Wacky Mommy

Gobble, gobble.