Hello, my name is Wacky Mommy and I’m a frickin’ blogging addict. Yes, it’s true. I need to make amends to all of you, oh, wait, NO I DON’T.

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That’s right. Hockey God is featured newbie of the week on Thursday Thirteen. Like he wasn’t already stuck on himself. (I’m kidding — he’s extremely humble, that guy. Unlike me.) I called to tell him but he’s out hitting pucks.

Here we go with the Thursday Thirteen… and it’s a good one. If I do say so myself.

Thirteen Best Ways to Get It Up!
(Cuz sometimes we all need a little help with that)

1) Clean up your bedroom because, damn. Who would want to screw in there?

2) Take a shower

3) Kill your television

4) Skip the drinks

5) Play backwards cowgirl because, damn. Who wouldn’t love that?

6) Pets. Out. Of. Bedroom.

7) Kids. Out. Of. Bedroom.

8) Alternately, get yourselves out of the bedroom and try a different spot.

9) Yeah, that spot works.

10) Massage oil, candles, music.

11) No, not Ice-T, “LGBNAF.” No, no, no. Wacky Mommy says: “Al Green should work.”

12) You could try changing the sheets. In the words of Lyle Lovett (“What Do You Do/The Glory of Love”):

“you could put on some makeup/
and you could pile up your hair/
and at least try to do something/
with what you’ve got there”

13) Let it loose

A Joke, from Zip:

A woman goes to the doctor for her yearly physical. The nurse starts with certain basic items.

“How much do you weigh?” she asks.

“115,” she says. The nurse puts her on the scale. It turns out her weight is 140.

The nurse asks, “Your height?”

“5 foot 8,” she says.

The nurse checks and sees that she only measures 5′ 5″. She then takes her blood pressure and tells the woman it is very high.

“Of course it’s high!” she screams, “When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I’m short and fat!”

(Images are clickable)

Absolutely no room for poor Wacky Dog (aka “The Selkie”) in van — things kept toppling on his head. He was happy, nonetheless.

Really tall stump.

Wacky Dog: “You have to chase the stick. Even if it means swimming three miles downstream. You must chase stick.”

Pretty, yes?

Things I never thought I’d hear my son say: “Help me take off this dress, Mama. I have to pee!”

It’s his sister’s old Christmas dress — purple taffeta skirt, velvet top with sparkles. Extremely charming on a four-year-old Wacky Boy.

Internet, hello,

How are you? We camped this weekend. (Edited to say: At Mt. Hood. Can’t say where — which river, which campground. Have been sworn to secrecy. Sorry.) It was fine until Hockey God took us on Death March from Hell single file, side-stepping dog shit all over trail, trail that had steep drop-off on one side and scared the hell out of me because MY BABIES! OH MY GOD! What if they fell over the side? I’d dive after them, but would it be Too Late?

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You know those lists, those “diet coke or diet pepsi?” “diamonds or pearls?” lists? I made up my own. Feel free to pilfer:

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What the hell — okay I’m in. This is not a commitment, Thursday Thirteen. But I’ll give it a shot.

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“The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face ceaselessly.” — Charles Reznikoff, poet (1894-1976)

Is this why my face is so haggard? Right now, I’m not thinking, “Yay! I’m taking the kids to swimming lessons!” Honestly, Internet, I’m thinking, “Fuck. They’ll have a fit, scream and kick and hit” (a rhyme, just for you) “and by the time they’re in the pool IN SOMEONE ELSE’S CARE I’ll be exhausted and ready to cry. And they’ll be happy and smiley and ‘Gloop/gloop! went the little green frog one day/gloop/gloop! went the little green frog/Gloop/gloop! went the little green frog one day/and they all went gloop/gloop/glop/BUT WE ALL KNOW FROGS GO WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA/we all know frogs go/WHOOP-LA-DI-DA-DI-DA/they don’t go gloop/gloop/glop.”

Uh, yeah.

They are vampires they drink my blood at night, I know it. More later.