I think the creators of children’s cartoons get away with murder because they know damn well Mom is in the kitchen finishing her coffee or her gin depending on the kind of day it’s going to be, and not in the living room supervising what her kid sees on tv.

As I may have mentioned, I’m An Old. I remember when black and white cartoons were in black and white because colours hadn’t been invented then. And yet, even I remember how children’s cartoons pushed the envelope (or is that the closet door) with some marvelously camp and butch characters.

How many can you remember? Velma. Peppermint Patty. Bugs Bunny in certain moods. That poor cat Pepe LePew was always chasing. And was there anyone on television, Liberace included, as gay as the Great Gazoo?

Take this quiz and find out which gay childhood icon you are. You can copy the code and post the result in your blog, or just come out in the comments section of this post.

Here is my result, and no surprise: it was either Velma or Peppermint Patty, and there were NO BASEBALL QUESTIONS! This quiz is rigged! Let’s call Scooby and the gang and investigate what’s really going on here…oops, slipping into character.

Right now, every web site under the sun is giving out their gift ideas for Mother’s Day.

And really, that’s a tough one because what exactly is the proper gift for someone who took ten months out of their lives to create another human being from scratch?

No wonder people, especially men, scratch their heads and wonder what the heck is appropriate.

I recently got an email that declared the “in” gifts for Mother’s Day were “Blooms and Bling.” Whilst I am the first person on the planet to appreciate alliteration, I disagree.

I mean, flowers are pretty, but they die. Why give something that will be dead in a week to someone who was a virtual giver of life?

As for the bling, I’m sure that jewelry is appreciated.

But I can’t help thinking that there’s something better. Something more suited to the magnitude of the sacrifice. 

I had a high-risk pregnancy that resulted in seemingly endless hours of special tests, ultrasounds, and constant doctor visits. I had gestational diabetes, so I was shooting insulin into my stomach three times a day and eating a relatively carb-free diet. I had to have a semi-emergency C-section, where the nurse failed to give me enough dextrose before my epidural, which resulted in me vomiting throughout the entire birth of my child. Instead of cuddling my new infant post-op, I was rushed to some sort of ICU where my body temperature plummeted dangerously and I lay there drifting in and out of consciousness, shivering for four hours despite the special heated blankets heaped upon me.

What kind of material object could possibly compensate me for all of that? And mine is by no means the worst pregnancy/birth story out there.

Ahhh, now that’s more like it. I think I shall call it St. Glinda’s.