“Little Skunk was glad to do that.
But then he saw another little skunk.
She was very pretty.
He gave the kiss to her.
And she gave it back.
And he gave it back.
And then Hen came along.
‘Too much kissing,’ she said.”

from “A Kiss For Little Bear”
— written by Else Holmelund Minarik & illustrated by Maurice Sendak

Everyone in my hometown of Portland, Ore., is all a-twitter because of something the kids are calling “Freak Dancing,” aka “Grinding” or “Freaking.” It supposedly leads to blindness.

(more…)

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

My favorite spam I’ve ever received:

“You A Winner!”

No, YOU a winner!

I, I am NOT a winner for “Share the Love.” Dammit. Terrible Mother, you rock.

Back to my list: To my kids, everyday I say, “You’re the best.” For my Thursday Thirteen, here are “Thirteen Other Ways I Get Them Talkin'”:

May I start by saying, if you ever meet us in person, you’ll be thinking a better question is, “How do I get them to stop talking?” Nonetheless, I’ve heard that some of you have kids who clam up. Even Wacky Girl, for example, has been known to tell her father, Hockey God, “Ask mom, I already told her,” when he asks, “How was school?” (more…)

My kids have attended school eight out of the last 31 days. Eight. No wonder I can’t get their lazy little behinds out of bed.

The missed days have been because of snow, threat of snow, holiday break, various teacher planning days and MLK’s birthday. The only education that has occurred here at all was around the MLK holiday, aka The Day I Spend Crying, because I start thinking about Dr. King, which makes me think of Malcolm, and they were both the most rockingest guys… and now what do I tell my kids? “Stand up for what you believe in and you might be killed”? Yes, that is what I tell them. I tell them it’s worth the risk, even if it means you leave your little children behind. I tell them that Malcolm and Dr. King both were awesome fathers, and they wanted a much, much better world for their little babies. I tell them that is what all parents need to do. Make the world safe and fair and better. And then fix dinner. Amen.

I tell them, “You can die on your feet or live on your knees” when they ask me, “How come they got shot, if they were right?” and “Are you crying again?” The sermon on Sunday at church was about Dr. King’s thoughts on almost giving up — I’ll try to track down the text, it was incredible. Have you ever heard it? He’d had a rough day, was just climbing into bed with his wife, who was already asleep, when the phone rang, and someone was on the other end, threatening him and his family. Again.

So he made a pot of coffee and sat awake, in the middle of the night, worrying, protecting his family. And trying to come up with some reasons to go on fighting for civil rights. For human rights. He finally decided, I have to — if I falter, my followers will falter. He did not falter.

We do need to keep fighting, even if we’re struggling with the words, and the emotions, along the way.

“His name is not Jethro. Or Ro-Ro. You cannot start calling him that.”
— Wacky Boy, when he hears my plan to rename Wacky Dog. (Here are pix of Wacky Dog with my sister’s crazy dog. And did you see this fat lab? Oh. My. Gaaaaaaaaaawd.)

Wacky Girl: “We already washed our hands. Upstairs.”
Wacky Girl’s friend, flatly: “No we didn’t.”

Wacky Girl: “I didn’t throw the ball — he did.”
Wacky Boy, agitated: “No I did not!”

— Wacky Girl discovers the joy of lying

“You read ahead in The Borrowers Afield, but not The Babysitters’ Club? No fair.”
— Hockey God to the kids, at bedtime

Hockey God: “Remember how you said you’d put the kids to bed at least once a week? How about you do that?”
Me: “I did. On Wednesday. So you could go to the hockey game, bozo.”
Hockey God: “Bozo. That’s nice.”

“Uh-huh. First I need some Tylenol.” (leaves the room)
— my Mom, when I ask her to read a post on my blog

“What I need, and it is not a hug, is help on this puzzle.”
— Wacky Boy

“Don’t lick that!”
— Hockey God, yelling at one of the kids

“The bitch you know is always better than the bitch you don’t.”
— Wacky Mommy

One of my old friends — who is no longer a friend at all, I am sad to report — became a real hotshot. Got the fancy job, moved out of the country, then to another country, then to another country — became a big dog with her company. Married, sooooooooooooooo happy. Allegedly. Has two adorable children. Not allegedly — they’re real.

(Does she read this blog? I think not. Do I care if she figures out this is her I’m kvetching about? No, not really. I’ve told her all this before, in person.)

Am I jealous? No. I hate flying, and she flies constantly. My kids are also adorable. And we’re all allegedly happy. (Joke — we’re for-real happy.) My husband is, you know, a honey. And plays hockey and is a big strapping guy. Wall of Hockey God, I call him. Also, I actually get to hang out with my kids, whereas she works 50-60 hours a week. Yeah, I need to stop going around calling people “asshat” (thank you Snickrsnack Katie for a new list of insults — “asshat,” “asstroll,” pretty much anything with the word “ass” attached heh heh heh).

Where was I? Am I ADD? Possibly. All I know is that most people, when they take Sudafed, get jittery. I get focused and am able to complete tasks in an orderly fashion. Sudafed: Mommy’s Little Ritalin. We were talking, this former friend and I, it’s been ages ago, and she’s all “blah-blah, my exciting life, blah-blah, off to important meeting at the Consulate… What’s your schedule like this week?” It was a Tuesday, and she’d caught me in a Zen-like (probably Sudafed-induced) moment, so I said:

“On Tuesdays I usually bake bread.”

Feeble, so feeble. My daughter and husband love my homemade bread. We have a breadmaker, it’s easy. Takes five minutes to throw the stuff in the bread pan…

1 1/2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 tablespoons honey or sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup oatmeal
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup + 1/3 cup white flour
2 teaspoons yeast

Put on wholewheat setting, light crust. Takes four hours and 10 minutes until it’s done. If you want to make it the “real way,” follow the instructions on a wholewheat bread recipe for the kneading and rising times. Bon fucking appetit from the little mousy housewife. The little mousewife.

I don’t know what I said to her after that. (No, I didn’t give her the recipe — I just put that there for you.) I probably made something up about manuscripts in the works, a bevy of agents beating on my door, sorry gotta go, who knows. All I know is that I let my own, inane remark make me feel feeble and like “oh what a good lil housewife” for quite some time after.

Then Wacky Girl came along one day and saw that I was trying to find my way blindly through my day. Dishes undone. Laundry in heaps. Dog, kids, cats unfed. Hair? Yeah, a mess. Some days just are a disaster around here. She made me a list:

1 Make brid!!!!!! (She then crossed off the “i” and turned it into a “e”)
2 Wash dishis!!!
3 Take a brak for 8 menet’s
4 Plea’s go to bed

Then she worried for awhile. Would it overwhelm me, The List?

“Mommy, is eight minutes a long time? Because I wanted you to have a long break.”

There is nothing feeble about me, or my life. I taped her list to the cupboard and it makes me smile, everyday.

This is a wonderful life. It’s Wednesday. I baked some bread today. And wrote.

Hello friends and lovers,

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year’s to you! All is fine here at Wacky House, other than we can’t seem to agree on pancakes (over- vs. under-done) and I misplaced all of the kids’ presents. (My husband figured out where I stashed them and saved the day.)

Lots of love from us to you,

Wacky Mommy, Hockey God, Wacky Girl & Wacky Boy

“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. It it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”

— E.B. White, writer (1899-1985)

We saw Charlotte’s Web on Thursday, the new one. (The actors who voiced the animals were great, as was Dakota Fanning, who plays Fern.) Wacky Girl kept sneaking little sidelong looks at me during the movie, Is she crying yet? No. Now? No. So stoic, my kids. They never cry at books or movies, and they only rarely sob about real life. (Right before winter break, Wacky Girl saw someone at school pitch a major tantrum and asked me later, “What was up with her, anyway?”)

She knows how I feel about Charlotte’s Web because I won’t read it with her. She’s read it with her dad three or four times, she reads it sometimes by herself, but for me, I can’t get over Charlotte dying.

“But her babies live!” Wacky Girl tells me. Spoken like a true spawn.

Unlike many creatures, I’m here to do more than live for one mere year (possibly less) have my babies, nurture my babies (or possibly not be allowed that opportunity) and die. I hope I’m here for more than that. But some days (weeks, years) it does seem like that’s my only purpose. I hate that. I love mothering, but I hate having it define me. Being seen as a “bitch,” or worse, “a fat bitch,” who is here just to mother. Gestate, nurse, mother. Gestate, nurse, mother. Die.

“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”

Of course I cried.

THIRTEEN THINGS I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
by Wacky Girl

Dear Santa,

I have a long list for you. I would like

1) an Ipod
2) the game Guess Who?
3) Pom-poms for my cheerleader outfit
4) a Bratz Baby
5) I would really like a new Lamby
6) the American Girl doll Emily
7) a Hannah Montana CD
8) a fuzzy poster
9) the movie Star Wars
10) the movie High School Musical
11) a sparkly purse
12) a scooter
13) a Doodle Bear

You don’t have to get that all. PS — My brother wants a million pieces of money.

From,

Wacky Girl

What? Two small blond children were here when I woke up. No school, for real? For the next two weeks, you say? I slept in until 8 o’clock. The schedule: Both still sleeping at nine; at 9:20 one of them got up; 10 a.m., the other one finally got up. They watched “Santa Clause Two,” had breakfast, and now they’re doing the puzzle that Wacky Girl won at Scooter’s Christmas Party at the Portland Winter Hawks game on Saturday. (Happy Birthday, Scooter!) They also won a T-shirt, tattoos, a key ring with a stuffed Carl Buddig cow attached. And their wicked parents, who rarely splurge for treats (do I need to pay $3.50 for a bottle of water? eight bucks for a hamburger? I think not), bought them french fries. Woo-hoo!

Great game.