Dear Wacky Mommy:

I know it’s not Friday advice time yet, however I have a question: What would your advice be for calming a middle school student when their school has been closed twice in a week (TWICE!) due to “threats.” Lots of the parents are becoming frustrated at the situation, but I don’t want “parent emotions” taking over what the real issue is, and that is dealing with the kids’ emotions. I’m compiling all the advice I can get. Thanks!

Oh, we hope they find the punks who are doing this and get them the help they need.

Signed,

Zipdodah

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Sometimes, you just need to think ahead to summer, and raspberries, strawberries, blueberries and a wading pool.

RASPBERRY SOUP

2 1/2 cups raspberries
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 cup red wine (or water)
Serve with whipped cream, sour cream, or cream cheese.

Smush berries a little in a large bowl with a potato masher, to puree.

To the water or wine, add enough berry puree to make one cup.

Put cornstarch in a bowl and whisk in 1/4 cup of water/juice. In pan, combine the remaining water/juice mixture and sugar. Heat over medium heat, being sure not to scorch. Whisk in cornstarch/juice mixture; stir until clear. Pour hot liquid over berries. Chill. Serve with whipped cream, sour cream, or cream cheese.

(This works with frozen berries, as well. Just thaw first in refrigerator.)

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Let me preface this by saying, I really hate puking. Yeah, like anyone enjoys puking, eh? But some people, they get the flu, or hungover, or pregnant, and eh, they puke. No big deal. You puke, rinse your mouth, brush the teeth, feel all better.

Some people just stick the finger down the throat and they’re good.

I am not one of those people.

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“This week, Salary.com announced that a stay-at-home mom’s work is worth $134,121 a year. But the check is not in the mail.”

— Ellen Goodman, writer

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Wacky Boy, muttering to himself: “What da heck is dis? A daddy long legs? I cannot touch him. I CANNOT TOUCH HIM, MOM!”

Me: “Yes, honey, please leave the spider alone.”

WB: “MOM, I CAN’T TOUCH HIM CUZ HE’S OUTSIDE!”

My Wacky Sister, God love her, loves my kids. Loves, loves, adores, wants to gobble them up. And love, of course, means bringing them those gawdawful pink and white frosted animal cookies when she babysits.

I have developed a huge addiction to these little monsters. They’re like crack cocaine. The sprinkles! The frosting! Two kinds! Gimme another bag, would you? Apparently I’m not the only one. See?

Here is yesterday’s e conversation about them, with Wacky Cousin (we’d also been talking about her morning sickness, do any foods sound good now, etc. Her bebe is growing along just fine, I am pleased to report):

“Those cookies are gross! Jesus. I ate 5 for dessert. After breakfast. You don’t eat dessert with breakfast, it’s a rule. No Dessert Just Cuz You Ate Your Breakfast.”

Her advice? Perfect, as always. She should be writing the advice column around here: “Um. Your rules seem to have changed. But that’s okay, too. However! Everyone deserves dessert cuz they ate their breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, and if they ate it, that’s good. And yes, almost everything sounds good, except clams. They smell like pee. But whatever is good because, really, I can’t make up my mind. Ever. About anything. And those cookies are NOT gross. They are good, and probably good for you, because those animal cookies are good for you, and sprinkles don’t even count. So, just the frosting is left and it has to be good for you cuz it’s pink and white. Those are good for you colors. Ok, not white, but pink means fruit. And fruit is good for you, so just don’t eat the white ones, and you are good.
Love you.”

OMG. Sounds like she has that pregnancy amnesia I remember so fondly. Although I couldn’t remember anything at the time. Sheesh. Off to the kitchen. I think there may be a handful of cookies left.

Hello Mamas,

Wacky N sent this one along. Celebrate! And keep working for peace in this war-loving country of ours.

WM

Mother’s Day was originally started after the Civil War, as a protest to the carnage of that war, by women who had lost their
sons. Here is the original Mother’s Day Proclamation from 1870, followed by a bit of “herstory”:

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Feeling political today? Check out MomsRising.org. (Thanks to Staci for the tip.)

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Next to my nightstand, tripping me everytime I get up:

* A pile of toys Wacky Boy keeps adding to — my Mother’s Day gifts. (They include, so far, five Boohbahs in different colors — hot pink, purple, blue, orange and yellow; a rubber snake; several teddy bears; and Whiskers, his favorite stuffed bunny. This is true love, that he gave me Whiskers.)

* One large black Lab, who thinks he’s a cat

* Four journals (two of my own, one for each of the kids)

* TV Guide (because who can maneuver television without guidance?)

* A large stack of old copies of the Nation, New Yorker and Cosmo (???) magazines

These books:

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A disclaimer: I am not a trained professional, and none of this advice should be considered “professional medical or mental health advice” in any way, shape or form.

Dear Wacky Mommy,

I have this same problem with my husband. I think he suffers from depression, can’t sleep at night, sleeps in as late as he can get away with. It drives me crazy! He is supposed to be a role model for our children. What kind of role model sleeps in until 10 a.m. sometimes while the rest of the family is up? He does take a daily pill for depression, eats well and exercises two to three times per week (only when I make him go). I am at my last straw here and I think the sheet changing, bongo parade or nose plugging will just add to the fighting this already is causing. He thinks it is no big deal and tells me not to worry about him. I know he is stressed because he started a new job, but I think he should be getting his lazy butt out of bed early to work as hard as he can to get better at it. Please give some words of advice.

Signed,

Desperate

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