Tuesday, August 18, 2009

New blog site

To get to my new blog go to http://jlakec.wordpress.com (or click here & bookmark it).

I was able to import all the posts and comments from this blog. I'm still working on the format and sidebar items.

The biggest change is that I'm discontinuing the nicknames. I'm outing by name in two days unless you speak up before then.

Crap, I have to go make dinner now.

I'm moving

The blog that is. I'm switching to Wordpress. It will take me a few days of messing around to get it up. I'm not tech savvy . The title will still be "I'm really not that busy." I may post a few more things here before I'm ready to make the move. Just stay tuned.

The most annoying toy EVER

Most mom's would pin that title on a different item. Like maybe one of those V-Tech toys that periodically talk even when no one is the room (or has touched the toy for three days). Or possibly a board game like Mousetrap that looks cool and then ends up leaving your kid in tears because it's hard to put together, doesn't really work, and you end up screaming a profanity and throwing it in the trash putting it away for "when you're a little older." Other mom's might choose video games that turn your kids into screen zombies for hours at a time (I rather like those). Not me. This punching ball's days are numbered.

This ball has caused no less that three screaming fits - all Worm because it's Huck's toy and Huck doesn't like to share it. Two near heart attacks - I startle easy and Huck likes to carry it into a room & suddenly start punching it. One bonked head - Worm likes to grab it and run from Huck, but he can't really see around it. And one pre-syncopic episode - it's hard to air up.

Green punch ball, I'm coming for you. Now I'm doing the thing where you point to your eyes and then at the thing you are coming for.

Monday, August 17, 2009

But it's true!

Today was Huck's back-to-school ice cream social. I spent a few minutes speaking with his new teacher. She's new to him and new to teaching, so all kinds of newness happening. Later, Truck and I were discussing our impressions of her. I mentioned she was really lucky to get him in her first class. He said, "I know, you actually said that to her and I was kind of embarrassed."


No really... what?

It's not bragging when it's true. Seriously, ask Miss J., she'll back me up.

I mean, if I can't be immodest about my kids, what's left? I'm over 35 so mini skirts are out. I don't have a job, so professional accomplishments are out. None of you are commenting on my recent organizational feats, so that's out.

Let me live vicariously through my kids. Apparently it's all I have left.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

New sidebar item

I'm adding a list of blogs written by people I actually know. If you have ever met me and you write a blog, please tell me about it. I will read it and comment on it and put a link on my site.

I'm really not that OCD

Next to the spiffy pantry, the catch-all area by the phone started to look worse than usual. I'm not usually into cooking, cleaning or organizing. I like a clean house, but I pay Jazmin and Maricela for that. I like good food, but I consider take-out Thai good food. And my feelings about junk have always been, "If it's behind a closed door, it doesn't exist." Do you think Truck is whispering subliminal messages in my ear at night? "You love to clean." "Baking is fun." "Messy cabinets are the devil's playground."

On a roll

The pie is gone.
I made flourless peanut butter cookies.

Friday, August 14, 2009

The whitest boy in America

Worm is obsessed with the song Boom Boom Pow (Yes, I know the lyrics aren't the cleanest. I also let them watch cartoons that say the word stupid and sometimes drink juice that is not diluted with water. I'm a rebel). Every time we get in the car he demands to hear it and then we end up listening to it on repeat for twenty minutes. While it's infinitely better than kiddie music, it's starting to grate my nerves a bit. I know I could just refuse to turn it on, but twenty minutes of continually escalating shrieks is the alternative.

This morning we were driving Huck to his clay class, listening to the usual, when Huck asks a question.

Huck: "Mama, they're saying 'Let the beat rock', right?"
Me: "Yes"
Huck: "Do they mean beat or beet."
Me: I'm unable to speak due to uncontrollable laughter.
Huck: "It's not funny. I don't mean pickled beets or anything, just regular beets."
Me: Laughing harder and trying to cross my legs while driving so as not to pee myself.
Huck: *sigh* "You missed the turn."

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Stirring the pot

Huck started soccer today. He is terrible. He also read a book to me today and did not stumble over any words, including: unnecessary, ridiculous and embarrassing. Basically he is mini me.

Worm refused to wear anything but a diaper and high heels until 9 a.m. He also insisted on a "cold faffle" for breakfast (Eggo waffle right out of the freezer). Later he freaked out because I wouldn't let him eat a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm. I'm thinking this is the Collins genes at work.

Jo? Truck? Comments?

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

My life: According to Dead Milkmen

I saw this quiz on facebook. You're supposed to choose a group or artist that has a lot of meaning for you. That felt too sappy for me, so I went for pure fun!

This is my life according to song titles by Dead Milkmen (runner up answers in parenthesis because it was hard to pick).

Are you male or female? Punk Rock Girl (Gorilla Girl)

Describe yourself. I Walk the Thinnest Line (I'm Going to Purgatory)

How Do You Feel? Take me to the Specialist (Two Feet off the Ground)

Where do you live? Tacoland (Tiny Town)

Where do you want to go? Where the Tarantula Lives (Beach Party)

Favorite form of transportation. Bitchin' Camaro (Nitro Burning Funny Cars)

Your best friend is... The Girl with the Strong Arm (God's Kid Brother)

What is life to you? Epic Tales of Adventure (Life is Shit)

You Fear... Takin' Retards to the Zoo (Big Scary Place)

What is the best advice? If You Love Somebody, Set the on Fire (Nutrition)

How Would You Like To Die? I Tripped Over the Ottoman (Surfin' Cow)

My Motto... Don't Deny Yout Inner Child (I Don't Wanna I Don't Wanna)

You may now worship me for the domestic goddess I am





Not only did I redo the pantry, I also scrubbed the indoor trash can, hosed out the outdoor trash can (which smelled of vomit) and baked a lemon meringue pie. Plus I did it all in high heels, a crinoline, and red lipstick. Okay strike that last part, but still!

The pantry is irgnized now

I was going to edit that texted post, but I think the word irgnization rocks and will now add it to my vocabulary. Before and after pics of the irgnized pantry coming up shortly...
This is a text post, so sorry for any spelling/grammar/ general readability issues. I'm at Sonic right now treating myself to a gigantic drink.I'm going home to clean out the pantry. It's a huge pantry! Hopefully the lethal amount of caffine I'm consuming will get me through it. Jo just cleaned out her closet so I felt the need to one-up her with my superior irgnization skills. Not really. My drink's here. Bye!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The cat

So we have this cat. She's pretty much like every other cat on the planet. She sleeps 22 hours a day. She acts as if she's starving if her food dish isn't filled to the brim. She horks up a nasty little hairy alien every few weeks. She stops in front of me when I am carrying large objects in an effort to trip me. She sleeps in the sink. She thinks paper bags are cool.

Every cat on the planet does this shit. If you think your cat is unique because of these things or anything similar, you are mistaken. Your cat isn't special unless it can play Chopin on the harpsichord.

What makes our cat unique is that she also poops anywhere BUT her litter box; and only when we aren't looking. This means she craps all over the house at night. We got so tired of playing find-the-cat-poo every morning that we started making her sleep in the laundry room. Now she craps all over the dryer. I fold the laundry in my bedroom.

This is the first 20 minutes of my life pretty much every day

Wash hands
Start water boiling for coffee
Make Huck's Nexium
Grab paper towels and head to laundry room
Pick-up cat poo
Flush cat poo
Wash hands
Stir freshly ground coffee into boiled water
Disinfect top of the dryer
Give cat fresh food and water
Wash hands (disinfectant + cat food, not my scent combo of choice)
Take Nexium to Huck
Get lots of hugs and and earful of chatter (Huck is a morning person)
Push plunger down on coffee
Drink coffee

I seriously have to wash my hands three times before I even get to drink coffee and I'm not even a germaphobe. Anybody want a cat?

Thursday, August 6, 2009

This post sucks

I am trying to overcome writers block by just writing whatever I can and hope that it will jar something loose. This post sucks. Don't read it.

I can't think of anything to write. I decided to just start typing to see if something will turn up. Turnip. Rutabaga. Spinach. Okay, writing whatever pops into my head is stupid....

Wow, I really suck at this free form writing thing. All I can think to write about is how I have nothing to write about.

Worm is watching Little Bear on the TV in my bedroom. Normally it is the sort of thing I can tune out. However, on this episode there is a chicken "singing" and it is incredibly annoying. Now Worm is screaming, "I hold card!" I just renewed my car tags online, so my debit card is on the side table. Worm made a beeline for it, so I had to snatch it up before it ends up at the bottom of the toy box with the Cheez-it crumbs and sticky Happy Meal toys. The stupid chicken is still singing. Now it's opera. I might need to take some Xanax to make it through this episode.

Mel and Huck are going through the house counting things.

Windows: They say 12, I say 11 because they counted the sliding glass door as a window and a door. Potato, Potahto
Exterior doors: 3
Interior doors including closets: 14
Drawers: 58
Cabinets: 34
Places to sit: 14 (We don't entertain much)
Mirrors: 7
Framed photos: 12
Paintings/Pictures that aren't photos: 19 (Some mom I am, more paintings than photos of the kids)

They're still counting, but I've stopped listening to the outcome. Damn singing chicken. Please make it stop. So now I'm wondering how I can have so many cabinets and drawers and still have nowhere to put anything. I should stop this stupid free form thing and go clean out some crap. With that many drawers I should have a few empty ones!

Had to stop for a minute. Worm rode his trike into the bedroom and then fell off. I have a strict no toys in the bedroom policy, so as soon as the tears are dry he's going to have to ride it back out.

I ended up taking the trike out myself, but I told him what I was doing and why. He'll get there eventually. It's a process.

Holy crap this is the most boring thing I have ever done.

Worm wants me to bite his feet now. Weirdo.

Okay, this was unproductive. We are going to lunch in a bit, maybe something blog-worthy will happen at McDonald's.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

I am a grown-up

You know how kids will inadvertently say something dirty? You know how when that happens you have to remember you're an adult, not a twelve-year-old? You know how sometimes its no fun to be a grown-up?

This afternoon, returning home from a pizza/arcade/dirty feet/stupid plastic toys sort of place, Worm wondered who was eating candy. He was eating candy. He could see that Huck was eating candy. He asked Mel, and she confirmed she was eating candy. Then he asked me. I was not eating candy. Worm said, "Mama no eat candy?" So I pretended to be sad and told him I didn't have any candy. Then Huck piped up, "I ate my sucker, but you can lick my stick."

I am a twelve-year-old.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

There's always something worse

Yesterday, I took Huck to the hospital for upper GI testing.

We arrived a few minutes early and went straight to admitting. The woman behind the glass smiled and indicated his paperwork was on the top of her pile. Then she proceeded to highlight, write, and staple all over several other people's paperwork while we stood there staring at her. I was just about to say REALLY?!?!?!, when she straightened her last little pile against her ruler and picked up Huck's papers. To me, this indifference to us was a bad omen. However, the rest of the admitting business followed without incident. I told myself she was probably ODC, which is good in hospital admissions, and to stop being silly.

In the waiting area, I began reading an entertaining new book to Huck. A dad was there with his son who looked about three-years-old. They had a backpack full of toys and an air of seasoned pros about them. They happily listened to me reading aloud. I got the impression it was nice for both of them to have a new waiting room activity. They were called back to the lab and returned a few moments later laden with cool stickers and completely dry eyed. In my mind, this was another bad omen. I mean, what are the odds that two kids in a row will handle a blood draw well? Would you play Russian Roulette on those odds? If you answered yes, please seek help, or revisit your 3rd grade math book.

I was correct about the bad juju this time. Huck somehow had gotten it in his head that they were going to prick his finger. I warned him several times this would be like a shot, but he was still startled when the guy pulled out a needle. He started to shake and tears began running down his cheeks. Another guy came in and held him still. I guess they pegged him as a runner, probably a smart move. The phlebotomist's idea of bedside manner was to tell him that the boy before him didn't cry, plus his actual vein puncturing skills sucked. By the time Huck's blood started to flow, he was crying in that opened-mouthed, half yelling, drooly sort of way big kids cry when they aren't trying to garner sympathy or get out of trouble. You know, real crying. When it was over, hold-em-down guy looked at needle digger guy and said, "Good job, Joe."

Excuse me? Practicing your embroidery on my son's arm and pointing out that the toddler before him didn't cry, constitutes a good job? What the hell is a bad job? Using dirty needles? Snapping the kid with the rubber tourniquet then showing him the syringe and saying - this mofo's gonna hurt even worse? Please let's refrain from giving false confidence to all medical professionals, shall we?

After that, I figured the worst was behind us.

When will I learn that optimism is a total waste of time?

To be fair, the x-ray tech and radiologist were fabulous. The x-ray tech, Gary, was a big Hawaiian guy. He called Huck "brah" & me "cuz" and said aloha & mahalo and crap like that. Huck was immediately taken with him. In fact, when I commented to Huck that his breath smelled particularly acidic, he offered to let the x-ray guy smell it too. Gary declined, but with a mahalo all the same.

Jim, the radiologist was clearly a dad. He asked age appropriate questions and knew just what foods to talk about to get Huck's stomach working.

At first, things were going great. The giant x-ray camera was familiar to Huck thanks to previous tours of Jo's workplace. He enjoyed seeing his ribs and spine on the TV. He wondered if people would grow extra ribs if they ate too many bar-b-que ribs. This got him a chuckle from the guys, so then he was ON. He was chatty and charming and clever. He even sipped the barium without incident a few times. I sat down to wait it out, confident that these guys had it all under control.

Then Huck hit a wall. Turns out his stomach empties much slower than normal, so everything began to take a really long time. He had to drink something that adds gas to your stomach, but then you aren't supposed to burp. Burping is the one thing that really makes his stomach feel better (well, except for actually barfing, but let's not count that), so we always encourage him to burp. At one point, he was having to roll around on the table, hold in burps, and take sips of barium - he just fell apart. Unfortunately, the next task was to drink about 6 ounces of barium in about 8 minutes.

I held the cup and straw, Gary held wet and dry wash clothes, Jim brought a barf bag and then snuck out (chicken!). He cried, he gagged, he sputtered, he cried some more. I had to play good cop and bad cop. Alternating between encouraging patience and drill sergeant is difficult. At three minutes remaining, I started to lose my patience. I'm a chugger when it comes to nasty medicine and was just about to demand the same of him...

Then I thought of backpack dad from the waiting room, my friend with Autistic twins, and the other people I know who go through medical tests and procedures with their kids regularly. I mentally slapped myself. With my shit sufficiently together, I easily guided Huck through the last 4 ounces. We took every second of the eight minutes, but he got it all down. Gary commented that he could see I was about to lose it and then it was like I just switched gears. I told him that's exactly what happened.

Later, at lunch, we told Coco all about our hospital adventure and I noticed that Huck was telling it all cheerfully. I wanted this to stick in his mind, but not as a bad memory, so I decided to tell him something to make him laugh about it.

Me Hey, dude. You know you had upper GI testing, right?
Huck Yeah.
Me Do you know what they do for lower GI testing?
Huck No
Me They take that same white medicine you drank, and shoot it up your butt instead.
Huck *blink*blink*blink* Coco, is she joking me?
Coco No
Huck I guess there's always something worse.

What a great lesson. Thanks, Huck.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Are you effing kidding me?

I took the kids to Wal-Mart today. I try to avoid shopping with two kids (I feel like putting a disclaimer here about how other people shop with bunches of kids and make it look easy, but I am not one of those people and having my attention divided makes me anxious and mean, oh look, I already have...), but we were out of everything except eggs and frozen veggies. I'm not saying I couldn't make a decent meal out of eggs, edamame, and bell pepper mix (actually that sounds kind of tasty), but I just didn't feel like trying.

On our way into the store, Worm decided he wanted to sit in a shopping cart NOW, not in one minute when we are inside and away from traffic, NOW. So I sidestepped to the nearest cart corral. There was only one cart in it, and it was pushed all the way to the back. I carried Worm in and as I am leaning over the entire basket to put Worm into the seat part, a man walks up with his empty cart. He smiles at Huck, he smiles at Worm, he smiles at me, and then he puts his cart in the corral and walks away.

Puts his cart in the corral.

While we are standing in it.

And walks away.

I have to push his cart backwards and pull the cart Worm is in forwards in order to escape the cart corral. His cart has a wonky wheel, of course, so it wouldn't push straight with one hand. I have to completely push his cart out of the way and then go back for the cart with Worm in it. Now, this wasn't a difficult task by any stretch of the imagination. But why did I have to do it?

Dude, Dubya Tee Eff?