May you never have an infestation of lice in your house. That is what I’m wishing for you. May your children never attend a school where, when lice breaks out (and they break out everywhere — rich schools, poor school, private and not. They are geniuses at surviving. That is why lice will live and thrive long, long, long after I am gone) — if and when lice does break out — may the nurses, staff and parents at your school CHECK HEADS, SEND LETTERS HOME, MAKE PHONE CALLS.

And may they not roll their eyes at you and treat you like you’re some unreasonable crazy bitch.

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“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.

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Funny, since there’s no snow, that we should have a two-hour late school opening today. And no morning pre-k for Wacky Boy. There is the teensiest bit of snow — a dusting on the cars, a few flakes (that are already melting) on the lawns. Go talk to PPS about this one, would you?

I’m a slacker, in general. And a stay-at-home mom, to boot. So I don’t mind a mellow schedule. But my kids are hardly ever in school.

“Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?”
— George W. Bush

Ed. to say: 1 p.m. no snow at all. In fact, we didn’t have any “real snow” over here at all — just gray skies, clear skies, sun and a little bit of a breeze. This being Oregon. I took FOUR BOXES OF STUFF to Goodwill and left a ton of recycling by the curb. We’ve also packed a dozen boxes of stuff we can live without to go into the attic. Less clutter = less crazy. Who the hell knew? (My husband. He’s been begging me for years to get rid of some of my junk. Probably one-third or less is his — the kids and I can claim two-thirds, or possibly more…) Anyone who walks into or near my home is getting a door prize — maybe a plant. Maybe a book. Maybe some recycling, because ALL OF THIS IS NOT GOING TO FIT INTO THE BINS.

I even itemized the Goodwill drop for the tax receipt. (You have to do this to figure out how much you can write off — go here for details.) Plus, the nice man who took the donation (all of it, even the ripped flannel shirts and college textbooks) gave me a dozen boxes when I told him we were moving. I’m getting lots of tips on moving from Iowa Drift — they’re relocating from Iowa to Massachusetts. She writes one of my favorite blogs — I love her style.

Yours in order and precision,

WM

To those of you pooh-poohing this idea, this grand scheme to leave the moldy-wet, expensive and fast-paced Pacific Northwest and move to my husband’s hometown of Iowa City, I ask, do you even know what the Big Ten schools are?

Harry: Yeah, nothing from her, not even a smile. So I downshift into small talk, and I asked her where she went to school and she said, “Michigan State,” and this reminds me of Helen. All of a sudden I’m in the middle of this mess of an anxiety attack, my heart is beating like a wild man and I start sweating like a pig.
Sally: Helen went to Michigan State?
Harry: No she went to Northwestern, but they’re both Big Ten schools. I got so upset I had to leave the restaurant.
(from “When Harry Met Sally”)

And without further ado, they are:

* University Of Illinois
* Indiana University
* University of Iowa (which is IN IOWA CITY, thank you)
* University of Michigan
* Michigan State University
* University of Minnesota
* Northwestern University
* Ohio State University
* Penn State University
* Purdue University
* University of Wisconsin

I know. Penn State makes it eleven but everyone still says Big Ten. Midwesterners are generous that way.

Also, the naysayers are not the readers of this blog. Oh, no. All of you are asking me, “How can you put up with that rain? Yes, move. Damn. You cannot build a rainman, can you?” No, and I would not want to. I am saying, “We will move.” And we will. Because I am Through with this place. Through.

See? I blame it on Nora Ephron.

Harry: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: And Ingrid Bergman is low maintenance?
Harry: An L.M. Definitely.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You’re the worst kind. You’re high maintenance but you think you’re low maintenance.
Sally: I don’t see that.
Harry: You don’t see that? “Waiter, I’ll begin with the house salad, but I don’t want the regular dressing. I’ll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side, and then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side.” ‘On the side’ is a very big thing for you.
Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it.
Harry: I know, high maintenance.

It is National Delurking Week, as the Birthday Girl just pointed out.

So delurk, would you? What do you want from me? More recipes? Fewer? More sex talk? Less? More stories about children stabbing themselves? More tragic stories about my past?

More pictures? Dammit, I hate putting up photos. I mean, it’s basic enough, but I just have a mental block about it. That and geometry.

Here’s a funny story about the Crier and her Arch Nemesis:

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We’ve had some issues with homework lately. Delays, stalls, kvetching, rinse and repeat.

Yesterday I came up with the brilliant idea of letting the kids watch “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” on tape — but only after Wacky Girl had finished all of her homework. (Wacky Boy does not have homework until kindergarten, thank God.)

Ha! So this meant having her younger, pesky brother parked at the table with her, drawing self-portraits with markers (his “homework”) and asking her approximately every minute and a half, “Are you done with your homework yet?”

Hey, why should I be the only bad cop around here?

If you’re trying to remember the planet names, you’ll remember them if you can remember this:

My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nachos.

M: Mercury

V: Venus

E: Earth

M: Mars

J: Jupiter

S: Saturn

U: Uranus

N: Neptune

That’s it! Oh, and my friend P is very mad that Pluto is no longer a planet. He is mad at the scientists. Our teacher told us that they call Pluto a “dwarf planet” because it’s so small. P thinks that it should still be a planet. I think it’s OK.

WG

Some of you reportedly think I am Supermom of Universe. I would like to say something here — You are on glue.

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Wacky Boy loves preschool. Everybody say: Hallelujah!

He denies it. He says he doesn’t want to ever go back to school, but every morning he trots into class, and hangs up his coat (on his own hook, marked with his name) and his little canvas bookbag. He decorated it by himself with waterproof felt pens — it has all different colors of squiggles and a big smiley face. His teacher wrote his name on it for him.

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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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