“Hold me and hold me and hold me…”
our daughter, at age 2

“I just made Love Potion #9. It’s pink.”
our son, at age 6

“For truly it is to be noted, that children’s plays are not sports, and should be deemed as their most serious actions.” — Michel de Montaigne, essayist (1533-1592)

You know my blog? This one? What the heck kind of blog is this, anyway? (more…)

“Outside of a dog, a good book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
— Groucho Marx

Here’s a good site, if you haven’t already seen this one.

How about this, for instance? Now, that’s a look.

Or this?

Eh. I do need a makeover.

Heh heh. It’s too hot to sleep, yeesh.

I just logged back on to look something up on the Internet, something important, something that’s been bugging me All. Day. Long!!! and now I cannot remember what the heck it was. Instead I’m thinking, oooh, sparkly! Shiny! And my husband, looking over my shoulder, calls out, “You need a new look.” (For the blog, I think he means, not a “girly makeover” or some crap.)

Still. Can’t. Remember what the HECK I needed to find out???

You call that “webnesia.”

Internets, does it bother you that I don’t run photos here? I am not a photographer, I just write. And we don’t run pix of the kids, anyway, when we do run pix. I’ve been so busy with the new job, and the kids’ summer schedule, that I haven’t had a lot of time to write. I miss it. I’ll try to be more chop-chop about it.

As for pictures… I always love the foodie pix Lelo runs. I go back to her site over and over, even when I’ve already read the entry (she’s a great cook, writer and photographer and designer. That girl!), cuz the photos are so yummy. Sometimes I like looking at a lot of photos when I’m cruising the blogs; other times they take too long to load and I get impatient. You?

xxox

wm

Bullets? You like bullets? Me, too! What a quincidence.

* It was one hundred and something degrees here today.

* All of you who say “Portland never gets hot! It’s only hot here, like, two days out of the year!” can kiss my foot.

* Sal’s, our favorite Italian restaurant in town, closed. No notice, no nothing. Mio Sushi and Pause, here I come.

* And McMenamin’s Kennedy School.

* But not Chapel Pub, because my kids think the food there is made from dead people.

* I’m pretty sure it’s not.

* They also think the hush puppies at Roux are made of real puppies, so we can’t eat there, either. As if we could afford it. Ha! We’ve been there twice I think. Once was for dessert.

* I love being back to work. Love, love, love, love, love my work. Love. Nothing but love.

* I can’t remember the last time I worked out. You?

* Turns out if you eat smaller portions of food, and limit yourself to one drink, you lose weight. Who knew?

* But the work-outs are key, for me anyway.

* Our snails are procreating. By themselves. They do this well, apparently. Ensures the survival of the species.

* “We see snails as being a nuisance pest in the aquariums.” — fish guy at the fish store.

* “So why do you sell them?” — me, to fish guy (Isn’t “nuisance pest” redundant? When I ask him what I should do with the extra snails, ie, can I donate them to the fish store? Or something? Craigslist? Foster homes for wayward snails? He suggests I put them in the garden. Snail killer!)

* Hmm. The frog is not a nuisance, he is adorable.

* Our garden is coming along great — corn, zucchini, cukes and more cukes, tomatoes coming on strong, herbs… it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Later, gator.

wm

Hockey God, to Wacky Boy, while they were both inside the pit toilet because… You know. We didn’t want him to fall in:

HG: “I swear to God, if you don’t quit whining about the smell I’m never taking you camping again.”
WB: “I swear to God, why did Mommy make us go camping???”

We camped. It was awesome. I hate pit toilets. Other than pit toilets it was awesome.

You eat S’mores and then you eat s’more. Light a big campfire and all smell like smoke. Drink a beer. Woot! Then you wake up sore from sleeping on forest floor. Camping pads too thin. Need RV. Yay, camping!

“Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have
let go.” — William Feather

Rants:

* Road rage. Pool rage. Piano lesson rage. Political rage. Me, all week. Rage, rage, rage. Rage on.

* I don’t mind if you have a big truck. I do mind if you fucking don’t know how to drive it. Man up, would you?

* When I’m stopped for a pedestrian, don’t lay on your horn behind me, pissed that I didn’t run the pedestrian over instead of stopping. Show some compassion, would you? Don’t scream “Bitch!” at me, then get out of your car like you’re going to kick my ass. Don’t even attempt to kick my ass. Why don’t you go out on the street and practice falling down for awhile, first? For reals.

* You. Mom at the Pool. I hate you, lady, and here’s why. When you hovercraft, side of pool, it distracts the other kids in the lesson. It pisses them off. When you kick off your fancy sandals and step in the pool, you are looming over the little Angelfish. That pisses me off. You look huge, lady. Even though you’re one of those skinny wenches who prides herself on it. You look huge to them, looming. Then when you get your shorts all wet, because you’re wading in so far? That’s insane. Do a private lesson, and swim with the kid, why don’t you? Or take him to family play swim, or something. Anything.

* “Different parenting styles!!!” No duh.

* Then when you tell your kid, “Do it! Do it, honey! See? The other kids are doing Ring Around the Rosy, see? DO IT, HONEY!!!” at that point? You piss off the swim instructor, all the other parents, and the kids selling concessions and checking people in.

* I want to smack you upside the head, Mom at the Pool. Especially when you’re leaving, and you insist that your little lovey-wovey-dovey put on his flip-flops “Now, honey. DO IT, HONEY! No? OK, then, I’m leaving. I’M LEAVING. I am! Good-bye! Goodbye!” (Did you notice the way your kid was glaring at you? You’ve majorly, thoroughly, pissed him off, too.) (Did you notice the way he didn’t give a damn that you were leaving? That’s because he is not happy, your kid.) Then when you screamed, “GET OVER HERE! NOW!” from across the lobby? At that point, I am not the only one who wanted to push you in the pool, pretty sandals and all.

* I’m tired, Internets. Why won’t people behave?

Now, the raves:

* Yes. It’s The Bacon Show. (That one’s for Amalah.)

* And… isn’t summertime so bitchin’?

Oh. My God.

Now, three good books that landed on my desk this week that I’m sorry, but I am too toasted to post about (sorry, y’all, but at least you’re getting some linky love here):

Today’s books: