Hot damn, it’s snowing again! And we still have the flu. And we have two rehearsals coming up for the Christmas pageant at church and I have no idea when they are. Whoops. That’s all for today.

OK, that’s not much of a post, sorry. Wacky Girl is going to be a junior angel this year in the pageant. She’s a senior angel, IMHO. I love that girl. Wacky Boy has to wait until next year, when he’s in kindergarten. Then he can be a goat or a cow. Maaaaaaaaaaa! Moooooooo! I love that boy.

Would you like an update on everything I can think of? Okay, here goes:

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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

FRIDAY ADVICE COLUMN, ON SUNDAY, FOR WACKY MOTHERS AND OTHERS

Dear Wacky Mommy,

Frantic

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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.

I like the way the ads are mixin’ it up over there — the Stones, with nursing advice, with Christmas cooky recipes. Go click on ’em and help me pay for this site, would you, pretty please?

Looking for holiday gifts? May I suggest a Wacky Mommy messenger bag? Or tote? Maybe a T-shirt or magnet?

Signed,

Your Favorite Non-Corporate Whore

So you all know my husband, the inimitable Hockey God. He found the funniest new blog — Overheard In PDX.

Here are my two favorites so far:

Put it on lay-away

Girl #1 (In Massage Chair): “Do you think I could marry this thing?”

Girl #2 (Standing in front of her): “Maybe, but it would leave after you whored around with the shower massager.”

– Pioneer Square inside of Sharper Image
— Overheard by Jay

Pennyless is Timelessness
Teenager: “Dude, can you spare some change?”

Man: “Sure, kid.”

Teenager: “Thanks, that’s cool. So, how’s it going for you today?”

Man: “What can I say? It’s Friday.”

Teenager (bugeyed): “It’s Friday? Oh man, I am so screwed.”

– Blue Moon Cafe
— Overheard by Rich

(PS — If you want to read about our Disney on Ice experience, go look at Hockey God’s blog.)

Happy Sunday, everyone!

WM

If you’re interested in reading more about the breastfeeding mom who got booted off a Delta flight in Vermont, check out the writings of another Portland mama, The Reluctant Lactivist.

From Aldous Huxley: “I met, not long ago, a young man who aspired to become a novelist. Knowing that I was in the profession, he asked me to tell him how he should set to
work to realize his ambition. I did my best to explain. ‘The first thing,’ I said, ‘is to buy quite a lot of paper, a bottle of ink, and a pen. After that you merely have to write.'”

From Steve Martin: “I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.”

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Here you go: Breastfeeding mom kicked off of plane. In this day and age? Please. Enough already. Please. Let us nurse and get the hell out of the way, would you? You’re distracting the baby.

My Granny told me a funny story about when she was in the hospital following the birth of one of her five kids. Another new mom shared her room and refused to nurse her baby. The doctor begged her to at least give it a try. She said no. He told her, exasperated, “That’s what they’re for, honey! They’re not there to make your dress hang right!” Heh heh. My Granny nursed all five of her babies, gave me breastfeeding advice with both of my babies, and was extremely supportive of me. Hallelujah, Granny. My mom, who was told by the doctors she “couldn’t” nurse, was amazed by my lactating talents. “I make milk. What’s your superpower?” (My motto.)

For real, the reason she “couldn’t” nurse was because the doctors told her “absolutely no nursing at night,” and put me on a four- to six-hour schedule during the day. Because, you know, you don’t want to spoil babies by feeding them. Christ almighty. So she got engorged and was miserable, I lost weight, and the doc told her she was a failure. My cousin told me, “The women in our family all have trouble breastfeeding, so don’t be surprised if you can’t.” Yeah, they had trouble because the doctors told them so. The grandmothers and great-aunties had no trouble at all — the “trouble” was specific to my mom’s generation.

We’ve come a long way, baby, no?

Here’s the comment I posted on the Moms Rising site:

Oh, memories… mammaries… I was nursing Wacky Girl on a flight (United, I think) when she was about a year old? So this was six years ago. I was in an aisle seat, toward the front of the plane, and the male flight attendant insisted on throwing a blanket over her. People were boarding the plane and he was offended. I so did not even care — my baby was hungry and freaked out.

I told him, “Sorry, she does not like being covered with a blanket.” She threw the blanket off; he put it back on; she threw it off. The third time he tried to cover her up again I told him, “Give up.” My husband smiled at him. On we flew.

I’ve never had any other problems nursing while we flew, and we fly a lot. (Other passengers glaring at me while my kids wail is more common. To them I say: “You think I’m happy with this? You think this is what I want?” and they leave us alone.)

Keep on feeding those babies, mamas.

Love,

Wacky Mommy

Here’s how I have attempted to get an agent: I’ve shamelessly and without pride asked all of my friends who have had books published for the names of their agents. They both said yes. Their agents said no.

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