“We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”

— Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Too tired to blog — Wacky Boy is a handful. God love him, but he is a handful. He won’t eat. He punches the dog in the head. He leaves a trail of marbles behind him, wherever he goes. He’s like, a marble addict. I finally hid them all from him. He walks down the stairs with a Duplo bucket on his head. He’s had three concussions so far cuz he completely has No Fear. The only creature he loves in our household is Wacky Cat, who crawls into his bed and sleeps, even when Wacky Boy won’t. Here is Wacky Boy, 10 p.m., setting up a train track, overhead light turned on, singing his happy little Music Together songs, and here is Wacky Cat, peacefully snoring in the middle of the Hello Kitty comforter. (He borrowed it from his sister — it’s purple.)

He refuses to go to sleep until 11 at night, then flips out in the morning when you wake him up. Big surprise.

Yes, I get him up early, anyway, and no he doesn’t nap, and yes we do all of our cuddly little nighttime routines, right down to the music quietly playing, the books, the teddy bears, the snuggly blanket… (Although he did fall asleep in the car yesterday and I was so blissed out to not have him SCREAMING AT ME “NO, MOMMY! I SAY NO! I TAKE THE ‘NO’ TRAIN, MOMMY! KNOW WHY? CUZ I SAY NO!” (Direct quote.)

Walk me down, Jesus. I mean, help?

And Wacky Girl can’t breathe. Inhaler is helping a little. Wacky Daddy informed me last night of Report on News (so you know it’s true — ha) that stated the following: “Vacuuming doesn’t help.” Why? Because the little dust mites, the ones that make us sneeze and wheeze, are being eaten up by Bigger Version of Dust Mite, and THOSE are the ones that you vacuum up!

Fantastic news! All these years, I’ve thought I was helping her asthma by attempting to keep the house clean, and now I find I was only killing off the beneficial dust mites.

Everyone can kiss my ass. Present company excluded, of course.

love

WM

Oh — and two quotes of the day, from Wacky Mommy N:

“There are very few personal problems that cannot be solved by a
suitable application of high explosives”

OR

“I don’t have an attitude problem. You have a perception problem.”

I second that emotion.

World’s Shortest Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy, “Will you marry me?”

The guy said, “No.”

And the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, dancing, camping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, and never had to cook.

The end.

(My version: I bought a Kate Spade handbag tonight. It’s gorgeous. The end. WM)

quote of the hour (I just heard Bush speak on NPR, comparing Iraq with World War Two):

“War would end if the dead could return.”

— Stanley Baldwin, statesman (1867-1947)

all week in the rain.

WM

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

— Anton Chekhov, short-story writer and dramatist (1860-1904)

Dear Wacky Mommy:

My nails keep breaking. They�ve been weak for months and months now! But if I wear polish, everyone will assume I don�t pray. (Long story�) Should I get a henna and deal with orange nails till well into 2006?

Love,

Weak Nails, Strong Teeth

(more…)

Gobble, gobble.

Me, “The Phone Talkin’ Redhead,” as my Uncle R in in Tennessee fondly nicknamed me, yes, Wacky Mommy has met her match in Wacky Boy.

WB, on “Finding Nemo”: “How do those divers get in and out of the fishtank, huh? Mommy! How would they do that? What if the divers were swimming around, then they growed bigger and bigger, then they would just break the fish tank! And then, and then, and then, they would all they would get so wet, all the fishes would get so wet, too! Everything would get wet, even the floor!” Oh, he loves “Finding Nemo.”

If you don’t answer his questions (and with a lot of his questions, honestly, I have not the words…) you get this: “Mommy! Mommy!!! Did you hear me, Mommy! The divers, what if…”

I love these pumpkins of mine.

“The biggest myth about Southern women is that we are frail types — fainting on our sofas — nobody where I grew up every acted like that. We were about as fragile as coal trucks.”

–Lee Smith

Go see “Walk the Line,” it rocks. June Carter Cash and Johnny Cash, you’re living forever in our hearts.