Let the birthday girl invite whomever she wants, as long as you’ve heard her mention the proposed invitees’ names before.   That means you must have at least a mailing address, email address or phone number for all invitees.  If she can’t muster up contact information, then I’d question how well she knows that would-be invitee.

Mail or email or telephone to issue invitations.  In other words, don’t pass them out in the classroom.  I realize that most seven year old girls haven’t yet learned not to talk about the events to which they’ve been invited in front of others who may not have been invited, but don’t get them started by enticing them to compare invitations at recess.

And yes, I did say let the birthday girl invite whomever she wants.  As with other social events, make out the guest list and then determine how extravagant the party can be based on your budget.  We opted for the extravagant guest list, as you can see.

Unless, of course, she’s got her heart set on a particular venue – the likely trade-off being fewer guests.

Step 2:  Plan one major activity

It doesn’t really matter how old kids are; none of them care much for being told what to do.  Trying to coordinate a bunch of games or activities will leave both you and your guests frustrated.

Identify one (or maybe two) main attractions, preferably activities that don’t require your involvement to coordinate them.  When Tacy was four, we had a bouncy castle.  This year, we had a magic show.  At Declan’s party last year (Greeblemonkey’s son), they had a face painter and a pinata.

Not only do these activities get nearly all the kids involved, because they’re not dependent on the number of guests, you can easily accommodate both younger and older brothers or sisters without added expense.

Step 3:  Do munchies, not a meal

Make it easy on yourself:  buy a couple bags of pretzels, a bag of tortilla chips, and a box of Cheez-Its.  Dump them all into bowls.  Don’t even think about dip; the kids will happily eat them plain.  So much easier and less expensive, even more so than pizza.

Even if, like I do, you normally ban juice from your home, buy juice boxes.  It will be yet another cool treat for the birthday girl, and juice boxes are much less likely to create monumental spills than paper cups filled with carpet-staining punch.

Get an ice cream cake.  Scooping ice cream onto kiddie party plates is a pain, and ice cream cake is so much easier to cut and serve – provided you thaw it for ten minutes or so beforehand.  Plus, ice cream cake is one of those party novelties that always goes over well with kids, thanks to the vividly colored frosting.

I’ve heard cupcakes suggested as the perfect birthday party treat, but since no child knows how to eat a cupcake without making a colossal mess – if they even eat it, that is; CJ merely licks off the frosting – I’m not a fan unless I’m the one eating them.

Finally, if you schedule the party for later in the afternoon and you have it at home, get a case of beer and a couple bottles of wine.  The parents who stay for the party (and a few of them might) will think you are fabulous.  Plus, a beer might help you cope with the prospect of fifteen kids running around your house.

Step 4:  Let them run around the house

Really.  If a neat-slash-control freak like me can handle it, so can you.

Prep the birthday girl up front as to which areas are absolutely off-limits – like the master bedroom and the formal living room – and then let them loose.  Trying to keep them all in one room may prove to be futile.  If your place has a natural “circuit” like ours, be prepared for the kids to run around it several hundred times.

Also, prep the birthday girl that her guests will be playing with HER toys.  Tacy’s not bothered by that, but lots of kids are.  If there are things that she absolutely positively does not want anyone to touch, put it on a high shelf or in one of those off-limits areas.  The top pre-magic show attraction at Tacy’s party was the cardboard cottage that’s been gracing our entry since Christmas, with the Hot Wheels Trick Tracks and my Gaiam exercise ball sharing second place.

Finally, if you live in an apartment, give your downstairs neighbors a heads up.  Bring them a bottle of wine beforehand and a big slab of cake afterward.

Step 5:  Stay loose

Obviously, the beer and wine will help, but if you can adhere to the first four steps, this one should be easy.  Basically, it boils down to not making anyone do what they don’t want to do simply for the sake of keeping to your schedule or your vision of what a birthday party ought to look like.  Just like the old adage about not waking a sleeping baby, don’t piss off kids who are having a good time and not destroying anything.

Well, unless it’s time to go home.  Which is the sad part for everyone; all parties must end eventually.

Much of the photo credit goes to Aimee Greeblemonkey; to see the whole set, check out her Flickr photostream (some photos are permission-only)

Bawk bawk!

Of course, now and then Kyle or I will yell at the TV – like during a presidential debate when a candidate states that he doesn’t believe in evolution, or at the computer – like when a pastor poses as an atheist on a freethought website and makes horrific statements in a lame attempt to bait people – and objectivity goes out the window.

We’ve also had to gently advise Tacy that not everyone agrees with Mommy and Daddy.  That she may hear things from other people that are neither objective nor respectful.  That if she ever hears anything that she wants to ask us about, we want her to come straight to us and ask.

Well, except for sex.  She can ask anyone BUT us about sex.

Given the breadth of our conversations, it surprises me that she hasn’t asked where babies come from.  Frankly, given the sort of TV shows I know she’s seen, I can’t imagine that she doesn’t already have some inkling.  But she’s remained almost entirely mum on the topic.

Which really isn’t such a bad thing.  Because if I had to add sex education to the list of topics on which her friends’ parents are bound to eventually call and complain to me about what Tacy’s been telling their kids, I might have to start homeschooling her.

So when I read Sarah’s post describing how her twins have fully embraced the reality of what their parents did in order to bring them into the world, it gave me hope.  It also made me laugh my head off.

See, Sarah doesn’t want to talk about sex with her kids either.  As she put it: “If they want to discuss my sex life  – well, they are going to have to do that behind my back because I want no part of it.”  She’s given me a peek at the other side of this conversation, and now I can’t decide which of Tacy’s possible reactions scares me more: “Ewwwww!” or “Tell me again how you guys made me!”

As unenlightened as it may be, I think I’m rooting for “Ewwwww!”

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I can’t say that I’ve ever ROFL, and I wish I could literally LMAO.  But when Sarah’s post made me laugh until I cried – probably because I could also hear her voice in my head as I read it – I bookmarked it immediately and wrote myself a note to finally respond to Jessica and Tania’s call for ROFL posts.

I’m awarding Sarah and the Goon Squad a ROFL award for the month of March.  Sarah, thank you.  Whether your post serves as inspiration or as a cautionary tale, it’s sure to make everyone laugh.

As you’ve approached your seventh birthday, I’ve wanted to bottle up our days together so that I may hold tightly onto them when, in another few years, you won’t let me hold tightly onto you.

Something magical happened this year between you and me.  We rarely quarrel anymore; now we are allies.  I’ve grown increasingly reliant on you, and you’ve wholeheartedly embraced the role of “mother’s helper”.  We make a great team.

We also have a genuinely good time together on those rare occasions when we get to go out gallivanting, just the two of us.  Your maturity and sense of humor make it as fun to chat and laugh with you as with any grown-up.  Even better, you hold my hand and give me impromptu hugs.

I’m so proud of you on so many different levels.  You treat both other people and yourself well.  You always want to do the right thing, but you aren’t paralyzed by your mistakes.  You don’t let other people – not even Daddy and me – define you; you know yourself.

Ever since you were a baby, I’ve watched you clear hurdles that I couldn’t believe you’d even attempt.  Your independence and self-possession are enviable, even by adults, and I hope you don’t ever lose them.

On those rare occasions when you face plant, you dust yourself off and make a joke, because you really do find the humor in even the most trying circumstances – or at the very least, you’re receptive to the humor we find in them.  Your perspective awes me.

Happy birthday, Tacy.  Thank you for being my girl.  I know you’ll let me know if I’m holding onto you too tightly, but I hope you’ll understand why I do.

I love you.
Mommy

We went through a few iterations of where to have the party and what to do at the party, but the one point on which there wasn’t much deliberation was whom to invite.  She rattled off a list of names, and I ticked them off on my fingers as I mentally jotted them down.

“Tacy, that’s twelve kids!”

“Oh wait, I’ve got a couple more.  How about…”

Unlike CJ, who issued verbal invitations to her party to anyone who’d listen, Tacy’s actually friends with all of her invited guests.  They’re not all from the same class, or even the same school, and they’re not all girls either.

I love to watch her with her friends – how they sling their arms around each other’s shoulders, how they feed off one another’s laughter, how they’ve got no sense of shame regarding their bodies or their affection for each other.  They’re so open and trusting; it’s refreshing.

Sure, they have altercations.  Tacy will come inside, looking glum, and she’ll tell me what somebody said or did, and what she said or did back, and how the whole exchange made her feel.  We’ll talk it out, and she almost always feels better immediately.  Moreover, the kids go right back to being friends.  I marvel out how short-lived these conflicts are.

I don’t remember it being this way when I was in elementary school.  I remember snippy spats and protracted disagreements, feeling as if my friends might drop me at any moment for unknown reasons.  We didn’t hug or parade naked around the house.  There was laughter, but rarely of the gasping-for-breath, holding-your-sides variety.

In large part, I believe my far-too-serious nature was responsible.  Teasing was perceived as an offensive, and jokes were always at my expense, or so I imagined.  I accepted everything that everyone said at face value, and then felt betrayed when I discovered they were exaggerating or even outright lying.

Since I’ve always seen so much of myself in Tacy, I wondered if she would inherit my excruciating earnestness, and I’d have to mercilessly tease it out of her.  Worse, I was terrified that her friendships would be impaired.  Each time I’ve gone in for a parent-teacher conference, I’ve listened attentively to the glowing reports on her academic performance, then asked anxiously, “But how does she do with the other kids?”  In turn, her teachers have looked at me quizzically and replied, “She’s fine.  She talks, she plays, she works well with her classmates.  She has lots of friends.”

I know the altercations are going to get worse.  She’ll say and do things, other kids will say and do things, and the resulting hurt feelings won’t be resolved by a five minute heart-to-heart with me.  It won’t be long before she won’t necessarily even tell me what’s bugging her.  She’ll go upstairs and shut her bedroom door, simultaneously shutting me out.

But the difference between my motherly fears and our mother-daughter reality is that even if she does choose to work out her conflicts in the confines of her bedroom, I’m confident that she can do it.  That she’ll emerge far stronger than I ever was, even when I was three times her age.

Tacy, thank you for showing me yet another way I love being your mother.

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Around the World in 80 Clicks – can we do it?  Yes, we can!  If you haven’t already heard of this cool new effort spearheaded by David and Catherine, in partnership with Global Voices Online, the idea is to get moms all over the world blogging about motherhood.

The specific topic is “Five Things You Love About Motherhood”, but I’m giving you permission to tweak it as necessary.  And while you can approach it from an excruciatingly earnest perspective, it’ll be a lot more fun if you get a little cheeky or self-deprecating.

Believe me, I ought to know about that.

I’m tagging a couple bloggers living in China: Donna, who writes Email from the Embassy, and Yemi, who writes Don’t Eat My Buchela(s)! Also, Arizaphale, who hails from Australia and writes Now Where Did I Put That Flaming Sword?, and Jennifer, who’s living in Italy and writes Italian Trivia.  All of you lovely ladies have been kind enough to visit me here at mothergoosemouse, and I would love to read your thoughts on this topic.

Tacy, of course, was a little more chill, but still exuberant in her Valley-Girl-in-training way: “Omigod, that’s AWESOME!”

In spite of the fact that this trip was more about them than Kyle or me or even Oliver, I knew there would be moments when I’d wonder if they were having any fun at all, what with all the whining and complaining.  Because even on such a kid-centric trip as a Disneyland boondoggle, there’s going to be some whining and complaining.  The mere presence of Mickey Mouse doesn’t magically impart the perspective kids need to stand still in line on a blazing hot day, even if they know intellectually that it won’t be long before they’ll be serenaded by hundreds of dolls on a nice cool boat ride.

Even if they’ve got the perspective, as Tacy fortunately did, to wait their turn for the ride, they have no idea how worthwhile that wait will be.  We parents tend to lose sight of that point ourselves, understandably so.  The kids are hot and thirsty, confined to a small space where we parents may or may not allow them to climb on the bars or sit on our shoulders.  We’re tired of telling them to stand still or keep walking or take their hands out of their mouths or out of their pants.  The hand sanitizer spray is running low, and our patience is wearing thin.

And then we put on our 3D glasses, or are shown to our seats, or hear the parade music coming around the corner, and we – adults and kids alike – realize that the fun is about to start.  Most of the time, that realization is enough to snap us back into the celebratory mood.

But sometimes, especially for kids, it’s not.  When they’re too hot, too cold, too hungry, too thirsty, have to pee too urgently, or are just plain too wiped out to enjoy anything anymore, they don’t react the way we’d envisioned when we made the reservations months in advance.  Not every moment can be scripted, and even when we adults stick to the script, the kids are going to deviate from it occasionally.

The best moments for me are those when my kids’ reactions far exceed what I never dared hope for.  When I simply offer up the experience with no expectations in mind, and I’m completely overwhelmed by their reactions.

Our trip to Disneyland was filled with those moments.  When CJ gazed at the characters with love and grinned infectiously as she hugged them at breakfast.  When Tacy jumped up and joined the dancers during the Celebrate! street party.  When Oliver happily thumped on the lid of a cup of lemonade and stared with eyes like saucers at the Fantasmic! light show.  Each time, Kyle and I would look over at each other and feel our children’s joy multiplying exponentially in our own hearts.

Because while I don’t know how much of this trip they will remember, we’ll remember their enjoyment of it vividly.

Tacy and CJ do the Twist! from mothergoosemouse on Vimeo.

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Want some specifics about the ins and outs of Disneyland and Disney’s California Adventure from someone who’s been there and done that really recently?  I’ve laid it all out over at Mother Knows Best.

If you’ve been reading mothergoosemouse for any length of time – like maybe a week or so – you’ve probably already gathered that we’re not exactly a Leave It to Beaver kind of family.  Even my review blog is called Mother Knows Best, because well, I DO.  At least where it comes to kids’ clothing and DVDs that won’t make your ears and eyes bleed.

We share many of the same values as our friends and neighbors, and it’s important to us that our children learn to be independent and self-sufficient, as well as kind and polite and reasonably well-behaved.  Basically, we want them to have respect for themselves and for others.

Which means that dropping an f-bomb, however funny, in a class presentation is not acceptable.

But we are major fans of the funny.  Funny is what gets us through this thing called life, as Prince once said.

Okay, I’m paraphrasing.

Seriously though, a sense of humor is what makes people who are otherwise unattractive a ton o’ fun.  Just take a look at the comedians out there.  Nine out of ten are physically meh.  But they open their mouths and they’re suddenly hot.  Because they can make us laugh our asses off.

I asked Tacy once why her friends like her.  That question provoked introspection that most six year olds never consider.  After a few prompts, it came out that they think she’s funny.  She makes a joke, they laugh, and it spurs her to perform more.

I’ve seen it myself: She does something silly – like wearing a tutu under her dress so that it puffs out like Scarlett O’Hara, or speaking at length in a shockingly good British accent  – and her friends laugh like hyenas.  Sometimes they join in, sometimes not.  Either way, she’s having a good time, and so are they.

Granted, my child is not physically meh.  She’s as cute as they come, if I may say so myself.  But as we’re already teaching her, there’s way more to life than being cute.

There’s also way more to life than being smart.  It’s possible to be smart without being funny – believe me, I know – but it’s fairly well impossible to be funny without being smart.  There’s no direct correlation, of course; David Sedaris isn’t necessarily innately more intelligent than Stephen Hawking simply because he’s funnier.  But generally speaking, a modicum of intelligence is key to making those observations and connections and turns of phrase that make us laugh.

In fact, don’t we often laugh most at the things our kids do and say that display a level of understanding beyond their years?  Tacy recently reported to me that while playing World of Warcraft, another player asked her how old she was.

“What did you say?” I asked her.

“I told them, You don’t need to know that.”

“Very good.” I high-fived her.

“Yeah,” she continued, “I told them, I don’t have business cards yet.”

Maybe she’ll never have her own HBO comedy special or a prime time sitcom spin-off.  But if she can make people laugh, I’m pretty sure she’ll never be without friends.

Seriously. I’d even vacuum up all the poop pellets.

Tacy and CJ almost never go to bed on time.  And it’s not usually because they’re delay fish.  Instead, it’s Kyle who is reluctant to stop doing whatever it is he’s doing and hurry along the bedtime process.

Of course I could step in.  Sometimes I do, but usually only to say, “It’s WAY past your bedtime!”

You think I’m kidding?  As I type, it’s 8:37 and Kyle just informed CJ that he’s not giving her a bath, but he is going to brush her hair, and she is shrieking so loud that she probably woke up the toddler two doors away.

All day long, CJ proudly shows off how she can tell time by reading aloud the numbers on the clock over the stove.  “It’s one-one-two-zero!” she’ll announce.  A minute later, she gives me an update: “Now it’s one-one-two-one!”

But something strange happens right around dinnertime (whenever the hell that is – all schedules are fluid around here, it seems), and everyone but me loses their ability to tell time.

Most nights, I try vainly to ignore the chaos, occasionally injecting an opinion as to whether or not someone needs a bath or who really shouldn’t have another cup of milk or who probably hasn’t brushed her teeth in three days.  Evening is my opportunity to get some work done with reinforcements (i.e., Kyle) in place.

I’m not bashing Kyle; believe me, I know how many other fathers consider their day to be finished the moment they walk in the door.  He’s thrilled to pieces to play with the kids, but that fact actually works against the whole bedtime routine here.  He’s in no hurry for the fun to end.  If they’re happy, why put them to bed?  In fact, why not chase them around the house twenty times and tickle them until they nearly puke and then announce that it’s bedtime?

Now it’s 8:54 and I can hear CJ thumping overhead, which means that she’s in our room, not her room.

I’ve never been one to put the kids to bed at seven o’clock.  Even with Oliver, I only put him down that early if he’s really sleepy.  I certainly don’t make the girls lie in bed while the sun’s still up and they can hear their friends playing outside.  Not even on school nights.

We’ve got fairly lenient bedtimes here: CJ’s is eight o’clock, and Tacy’s is eight-thirty.  On school nights, I’m satisfied if they make it to bed a half-hour late.  They’re having fun with their daddy, after all.

9:06. Kyle just came downstairs to refill a sippy cup with water and retrieve a lambie.

I know we could get the kids to bed on time if we just laid down the law and were consistent about it.  We know the importance of consistency where it comes to enforcing rules and establishing expectations.

But in the end, we prefer to direct that consistency toward other areas.  In doing so, we accept the fluidity of bedtime.

Well, at least until those hamsters show up and start whipping everybody into shape.

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Do your kids go to bed on time?  Every single night?

Liar.

Tell us your kids’ bedtime stories in this week’s PBN Blog Blast – “Are You Afraid of the Dark?“  SYLVANIA, those lighting geniuses who probably made nearly every light bulb in your home, have some cool new products – some practical, some just downright fun – and if you play along, you could win $200 worth of great prizes.

Don’t tell me you don’t have any good stories.  Because believe it or not:

It’s 9:26, and CJ just called downstairs, “Mommy, I didn’t have any dinner. I want a hot dog.”

Ugh.

By that time I was already blogging, and I figured that I was probably the one telling tales about my children that would someday make it difficult for them to look anyone in the eye without having prefaced the conversation with the question: “You haven’t read my mom’s blog, have you?”

Granted, in spite of my determination to shield them from unnecessary embarrassment by refusing to tell stories that would no doubt garner dozens of “LMFAO!” comments – not to mention some much-needed commiseration among similarly beleaguered moms – I’m sure that there will still be plenty of posts and pictures that they’ll find objectionable.  So they’ll take their revenge on me using their MySpace pages (or whatever social media platform is de rigeur among tweens and teens by then).  That’s fine; I’ll deserve it.

But in the meantime, those who fear that we bloggers are exploiting our children, rest assured that our children are enabling us.

There’s not a single day during which I don’t crack up at something Tacy has said – and then go back to typing – only for her to eagerly ask, “Are you Twittering that?”

Usually I’m not.  But I always ask, “Would you prefer that I don’t?”

And she replies, “Do it!”

Earlier this week, I had a conference with her teacher, who raved about Tacy’s writing – how she’s able to put down in words what most kids can only describe at this point.  Of course I was tickled pink, especially since I spent years writing nothing that impressed my teachers but research papers.  But then her teacher said, with amusement in her voice, “She really likes telling stories.”

At least she looked me in the eye when she said it, right?

I laughed too. “Well, her stories can’t be any worse than what I share on my site every day,” I admitted.

But it was CJ whose story telling made it difficult for me to look a woman at the grocery store in the eye.

We were fidgeting together in the self-checkout line at the grocery store witching hour – right about a quarter after five – and CJ, who should have been pooped out after her swimming lesson, was full of energy.  And words.

Apropos of literally NOTHING, she announced to the woman in front of us: “My daddy doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

I started to snicker.  I couldn’t help myself.

The woman looked down at CJ and very seriously said, “Well, I’m sure there’s a very good reason for that, and it’s probably not anything that I need to know about.”

I laughed.  No, actually I cackled.

I put my hand on CJ’s shoulder and told her, “That’s right, Daddy needs to get a new driver’s license.” Then, because I can’t stand ambiguity, I told the woman, “His wallet was stolen.”

Then I promptly looked at the floor.  Because even though I was telling the truth, it was a story I wasn’t prepared to tell.

So when the day rolls around that my kids start whimpering about what I’ve shared here, I’ll remind them that they’ve told plenty of stories too.

And they can keep right on telling them.  After all, they’re their stories too.

I didn’t mind.  Other kids loved having their mothers chaperone field trips and plan class parties, and their mothers loved doing those things.  Not me, and not my mother.

Tacy has asked me a few times about volunteering at her school.  I’ve explained to her that in addition to my work schedule, I’ve got CJ and Oliver to consider.  Bottom line: I’m not going to pay for a sitter so that I can tromp around a pumpkin patch.  I have found a few ways to support her school though, including a really cool monthly teacher recognition program, and I’ll be happy to do more as CJ and Oliver get bigger.

But when Tacy’s teacher asked for parent volunteers to come into the classroom and speak about their work…well, I couldn’t help jumping at that chance.  Talk about blogging?  Get some publicity for PBN and CMP?  Rant about the preponderance of misplaced apostrophes in society?  Yes, please!

Of course, I asked Tacy first.  “Do you want me to come speak to your class?” I inquired.

“YES!” she shrieked.

Well, alrighty then.  Sign me up.

As I pulled up in front of the school yesterday, I started to get nervous.  Sure, they’re only kids, but you never know what kids are going to do and say.  Speaking to adults is different; they’re pretty easy to predict.  But kids can be a tough crowd, especially when your own kid is part of the group, and it’s not like I could employ the typical public speaking nervousness abatement strategies.  Picturing a bunch of first graders in their underwear is just wrong.

I needn’t have worried; as soon as I introduced myself, five hands shot up.  “You have questions already?” I asked them incredulously.

No questions.  They just wanted to tell me about all the people they knew named Julie – mothers, aunts, cousins, the waitress they had last night at Red Robin.

Hey, at least we could relate to one another right off the bat.

I told them about how I started blogging.  How I went to the BlogHer conference in 2006 and met all of these other mommies (and daddies too) who had blogs too.  How a few of us started talking about ways that we might work together.

“Because,” I explained, “even though lots of daddies go to work every day and make money, it’s usually the mommies who spend that money.”

Most of the kids nodded.  “Yeah, my mommy bought me this sweater,” piped up one little girl.

“Exactly,” I agreed.  “So at Cool Mom Picks, we write about all sorts of cool things that mommies can buy for their kids.  Because we mommies are always thinking about what our kids might like to have.”

Tacy waved her hand and pulled at the sleeve of her Hanna Andersson top.  I shook my head at her.  “Actually, that’s one of the only things you have that I didn’t find at Cool Mom Picks,” I admitted.

“Then,” I continued, “at Parent Bloggers Network, we work with businesses who want bloggers to write about their products.  Tacy gets to check out some pretty neat toys and books, but she also gets to try stuff that helps her learn, like DreamBox.  It’s a computer program that teaches her about math.”

By that point, about half the kids were fidgeting, so I knew we needed to move on to a topic that interested them more.  Like my name.

But another girl was waving her hand, so I called on her.

“If you’re…um…a writer…and…uh…an editor…why do you…um…why do other people…uh…have to edit what you write?” she asked.

“Now that is an excellent question!” I told her.  “I’m really impressed with you.”

Even though I’m usually pretty good at checking my spelling and my punctuation, it always helps to have someone else take a look at what I’ve written.  They might find something wrong that I didn’t see.  Plus, even though I understand exactly what I’ve written, they might not understand it.  So there might be a better way to write it,” I explained, “and that’s how my editors help me write better too.”

I looked up at the clock.  “I know it’s about time for you to go to art, so we should probably end here.  Thanks for letting me come in to talk to you.” I smiled at them, and Tacy grinned back at me.

As I rose, a little boy sitting in the front row waved his hand at me.  I sat back down. “Yes?”

“My friend’s mom is Julie too,” he told me.

Sigh.  Maybe next time I’ll just introduce myself as Tacy’s mom and teach them to sing Fountains of Wayne.

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I’m so tired of hearing about the economy, and more specifically, the stimulus package.  But after reading a piece in CNN Money, I realized that what I’m really tired of are the partisan sound bites.  Want to make some sense of what’s going on, without the political distractions?  Check out this week’s column at The Parental is Political.