(If you’re looking for pix from the trip, check Flickr, over there to the left, or look on my husband’s blog.)

Memorable quotes from my clever little six-year-old cousin, Mr. M, who joined us for the family reunion (and was the comedian of the group) (well, after his dad) (and the two grandpas):

“That horse has got some pretty big junk!” when he saw a well-endowed equine.

And every time he sees a good-looking girl? He calls out, “Hubba hubba!”

Wacky Girl’s song from 5/14/02 (age 2 1/2):

“Mommy says no/
me say YES!/
Mommy says no/
me say YES!”

Dear Thursday Thirteeners and all the Usual Suspects,

Do you remember being 7 years old? I do. It was fun. I learned to ride my bike — my Dad taught me. I played Red Rover, Red Rover and hide and seek with all the neighbor kids. I loved going to ballet class, and to the lake and river. I loved my second-grade teacher because she thought everything I did was perfect. I had fun playing beauty shop with my 4-year-old sister. We had a Halloween carnival, just the two of us.

For my daughter, however, 7 has not been that fun. She’s the guest poster this week. Presenting… Wacky Girl, in living color:

A lot of people of people think it’s fun being 7. Sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s not.

1. You’re in the middle, right in the middle, of all the kid ages, up to 10.

2. There’s no good movies cuz they’re all either baby movies or grown-up movies.

3. It seems like all the people are older than you.

4. If they’re not, then it’s good.

5. When they’re babies I like to play with them.

6. If you have a younger sibling then they get, like… Well. If you do something, like it’s the first time, and then the sibling feels jealous of you. And then they get to do the same thing for the first time, even though they’re younger, which is not fair. Like seeing PG movies.

7. Also, if you have a younger person in your family, they usually get to go first.

8. Sometimes when you’re the oldest it’s fun. Sometimes your brother or sister don’t get jealous, and you get to take the first turn.

9. You’re almost 8, and you’re almost 9, when you’re 7.

10. Seven is a lucky number.

11. You get to eat hard candy.

12. You can swim better. I’m in Seals in swim lessons.

13. You get to stay up later and watch more grown-up TV!

I love everyone!

Wacky Girl

I’ll miss it when Wacky Boy stops saying, “Awwight” and “dese and dose.”

Alright? He’s getting so big — he starts kindergarten in just a little over a month from now!

Dose will be happy days for him, and weepy days for me. Until I realize I have my days free. What? Coffee dates? Uninterrupted blocks of time to write? Lunch with my husband? What?

wm

From Overheard in PDX:

Pottymouth

Little girl in a stroller about 2 1/2, speaking to caretaker:
“Shut the fuck up.”

Caretaker (laughing a bit):
“Hey. I love you”

Little girl:
“Shut the fuck up, shut the FUCK up, shut the FUCK up.” (laughing)

Caretaker (to horrified passengers):
“Oh, ha ha she learned that in daycare. We just ignore it. ”

Little girl (leaning over in stroller and spitting several times on the floor):
“Shut the FUCK up. Shut the FUCK up, Shut the FUCK up”. (Spits on the floor a few more times before continuing her mantra.)

Caretaker: (Calling the father of this child on her cell phone):
“Yeah, she’s saying shut the “F” up, you know, in that cute little voice of hers.”

– Eastbound MAX on way home from work 7/25/07

— Overheard by Dyana, who writes:
(At this point, I am waiting for the girl’s head to rotate 360, and for her to puke pea soup.)

Wacky Mommy says: People, “No” is a complete sentence. Say “no” to children like this. Do not say they have a “cute little voice.” Do not just ignore the behavior. Do not laugh and giggle. Do not say “Gentle!” over and over until I am tempted to throw something at you. Say “no” and head for home.

Hello, Product Slut here.

I am not a hot-hot weather fan. Warm, yes… balmy, definitely… but not 102 degrees hot. Who likes it that hot? No one is who. Whenever the weather’s unbearably warm (air-conditioning? in my house? ha ha ha) and I’m grouchy I just have to remember one thing: Our anniversary is in two months.

It was hot the day we were wed. Because my husband is smokin’ that’s why! It was weather-hot and sexy husband hot. One of my favorite wedding gifts was from a dear former co-worker of mine. It’s called Happily Ever After: Couples Talk About Lasting Love, by Laurie Wagner, Stephanie Rausser and David Collier (Chronicle Books, 159 pages). It’s based on Collier’s film “For Better or For Worse.” It’s a sweet book, romantic and honest. It’s a good one for me to pick up and re-read, and reminds me of that wedding day of ours, nine years ago this September.

I played at the mall with the kids today — we saw the Nancy Drew movie, totally fun, and had lunch. I bought them some little goodies (and I’m enjoying this time, believe me, because it doesn’t take much to keep them happy. Teen years we may not get by so easy).

The other day? They both were thrilled because we’d filled out their summer reading logs and they nabbed two free books from Barnes & Noble. The theme is “Magic Treehouse” and that’s my son’s favorite series ever. Perfect-o. (Only complaint: I wish they’d extend the program to all ages — baby through 18 — and not limit it to school-age kids.)

We got home to no power, crashed, hot ‘n’ bothered computer servers, two limp, miserable cats, but no matter! I got a sample of the new Venus Breeze razor and loads of coupons. (Thank you, Vocalpoint! Keep sending those goodies my way. Go sign up yourself if you want in.) I didn’t buy even one thing for myself at the mall, but who cares? Freebies rock.

But was that all? Oh, no. Also in the mailbag, I had a little box with wee baby goodies from the Thymes Sweetleaf Baby collection — soap, a washcloth, babywash and lotion. So squee and yummy and I’m really happy I don’t have a selfish little baby who wants to share because they’re mine, mine, mine.

Babies are so selfish. They get all the gifts, don’t they?

Oh, my kids, right. OK. I’ll share the babywash with them, but not the rest.

Was that all? No. Thymes is out of Minneapolis, and I love Minneapolis. I will give anyone from there a promo any damn time at all. Woo-hooooooooo, Minnesota! Land of 10,000 Lakes!!! Which is not giving them enough credit, because it’s actually around 15,000 lakes! Along with the baby goodies and tucked away in a separate box was a whole set of tiny little samples. Again — all for me. Because they know I love tiny samples. Thymes makes a whole line of products for bath, body and home. They want to make everyone happy, not just the selfish little babies.

The scents are just over-the-moon and I’m being honest here — I’m not too keen on strong scents. But I took a few for a test drive — Kimono Rose body creme, Persian Pear hand lotion, Azur body milk, Wild Ginger body lotion, oh yum. I smell so yummy. The scents are light, and I’ve got some aroma-therapy going here.

Life is bliss. Carry on.

Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep. (more…)

I’m glad the sky is painted blue,
and the earth is painted green,
with such a lot of nice fresh air
all sandwiched in between.

(anon.)

Well, well, well. When there are no kids at my house, it is extremely quiet. Also I got a little lonely. But not too lonely! Hockey God took me to Sal’s for dinner (salmon for me, veggie lasagna for him). We’ve been going to Pause non-stop, and why? Because Pause kicks ass. We love Pause. But Sal’s is alright, too. Then we drove over to Vancouver, Wash., to see “Knocked Up,” the new film by the “Forty Year Old Virgin” Guy.

(That’s how I refer to him, cuz I can never remember his name. FYOVG.)

(His real name is Judd Apatow.)

Hockey God thought it needed a major re-write. I thought it was funny as hell. We were both right.

WE SLEPT IN. We had tamales, potatoes and fresh fruit salad for breakfast, and a pot of coffee. We got the kids from mom’s (they had a great time, of course), stopped by the library, went out for lunch, now Hockey God’s off to his game. They may win, they may lose, they may push the other players down. It’s hockey, it’s hard to say.

Perfect day today. Perfect weekend.

That’s right. The kids are staying at Grandma’s house tonight. Little does she know about their latest habit — staying up until midnight, freaking each other out and screaming about monsters. “They’re in the bathroom! Behind the door.” “No, they’re not! Yes, they are!!!”

I think we’ll stay home, just for the sheer joy of not having anyone walk in on us.

While we’re watching Jeopardy!

Dang, what were you thinking?

What’s your top fave dream date? The sky’s the limit. Just tell me.

The Wacky Nekkid Mini-Neighbor was over this afternoon. The treats (chocolate rice krispy bars, Annie’s cheddar crackers, Annie’s graham bunnies, raspberry juice) were good, so she stayed.

Then she and Wacky Boy got married.

The bride was splendiferous in an Iowa City City High High School red, black and white cheerleader’s dress. The groom was quite dashing in a pair of froggy swim trunks. He wore flip-flops; the bride was barefoot. The ceremony was held in the backyard of the bridegroom’s parents. No ice sculpture, but there was a water feature (the wading pool).

Wacky Boy’s sister officiated. She wore an orange cotton summer dress with a certain flair.

“OK, here are your rings.” She handed them both a mood ring.

“Now, you walk down here,” she directed. “Now you stand here. Now you are pronounced husband and wife.”

The newlyweds began to giggle.

“Now… hold hands!” They held hands. They smiled for the non-existent cameras. I clapped.

Then, this being 2007, and being a practical girl, the Mini-Neighbor made a request.

“I want to be married to someone else.”

“OK,” Wacky Girl says. “You have to not like each other first, then you get divorced.”