I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: July 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.
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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?

Oh no you didn’t!

So our flight out of San Diego was cancelled. It wasn’t just any cancellation. American Airlines pretty much flipped us the bird, laughed at our dismay, and then mooned us just for good measure. It was such an uncomfortable and exhausting day for the boys that we resorted to allowing Worm to do anything he wanted as long as it would keep him from screaming in public.

You want to throw your dinner on the floor?
Okay.
You want to throw my dinner on the floor?
Okay.
You want an entirely different dinner?
Okay.
You want to throw that on the floor too?
Yeah, okay.
You want to run through the airport, cackling like a maniac?
Okay.
You want to run through the airport, cackling like a maniac, pushing your own stroller?
Okay.
You want to touch every gadget in Brookstone?
Okay.
You want to sit on the back massager chair that could pinch you?
Okay.
It pinched you?
Yeah, saw that coming a mile away.
You want to sit on it again?
Look there’s Jo, the bestest aunt in the whole world, run to her! Run away from the gadget store! Run, Forrest.
You want to walk around with Jo?
Okay!
You want to walk around with Daddy?
Okay!
You want to walk around with Mama?
*sigh* okay
You want to walk around with Huck?
Um… okay, but I’ll follow at a safe distance.
You want to ride up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down on the escalator?
Okay, but hold my hand.
During one of our many time killing excursions, Worm barreled between two business men, bumping into their legs. It was after eight p.m. at this point. One of the men looked down at Worm and then said under his breath, “Why would you travel with a kid that age this time of night?” Clearly, he did not mean for me to hear him because when I whipped around and looked at him, he immediately turned red.
About nine clever comebacks popped into my mind as we walked away, but all I could think of at the time was, “Our flight was cancelled, asshole.”
It kills me that’s all I could think of in the moment, but at least I got to call him an asshole in front of his colleague. It made me feel just a tiny bit better.

Wormainian , the Sea World edition

One thing I forgot

The moment we stepped onto the airplane for the first time, Worm began to scream “NO NO AIRPLANE!” He continued to scream this until a few minutes after takeoff. We got a lot of unhappy looks. FYI, toddlers could give a shit if they are making you uncomfortable.

Updates from San W

I’m tired, but I have some readers who are curious about how the trip is going.

I think we got Huck’s pukiness fixed for now. We stopped the prescription Axid & started 20mg of Prevacid Saturday night. This was all based on internet research on my part. I am so

NOT an internet MD kind of mom, but I was desperate to get him well enough to enjoy this trip. He’s about 90% better. Looks like we are going to have to take him to a pediatric GI when we get home. Poor kid.

Now that Huck is all well, Truck is sick. He is also having GI issues. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?
Today, Jo and I let Truck hang in the hotel room and watch golf while we took the boys to the beach. They had so much fun! The best part was figuring out what Worm was calling the waves and why. Tif thought he was calling them scary bubbles. However, I am fluent in Wormainian, so I realized he was calling them sorry bubbles. You see, the waves were knocking them around, and when I bump into Worm I always say ‘sorry’. This must happen a lot, because he now says sorry when he bumps people, the cat, the fridge, walls… he bumps into a lot of stuff. Anyway, waves are now sorry bubbles. I love how that kid’s mind works.

Yes, I do want to go to the seaside

Preparations for San Dub-Ya

We’re going to San W on Saturday. That’s San Diego for those who don’t read every word I write plus all the comments. Oh and possibly a few personal texts between me and Jo. So, yeah, you probably don’t get that, sorry.

Hey? You don’t read every word I write plus all the comments… why the hell not?

Anyway, the preparations for this trip are kinda eating into my ‘not that busy’ time. It’ll be Worm’s first experience with air travel. I’m driving myself crazy making sure I’ve thought of everything he might need for a safe and comfortable trip. I’m scared shitless concerned that he will have a mid flight freak out and the one thing I decided to leave home is the only thing that will calm him down. At the same time, Truck is a work-week travel snob. I have to keep the carry-ons reasonable so I don’t have to listen to endless sentences starting with “It’s travelers like you…”
Plus, I’m a travel wimp. I get scared during take-off, every mid-flight bump makes me yelp, and landing always makes me nauseated. I puked during the landing of our honeymoon flight to Cancun. Romantic!
So, don’t become overly alarmed if Homeland Security announces a sudden rise in the domestic flights threat level on Saturday. It’s just me, Pukey McSherpa Pants, with a barf bag in one hand and the entire contents of her toddler’s bedroom strapped to her back, screaming at her husband to just shut the eff up already!

Being friendly

Today I was driving on a narrow, windy stretch of road, uphill, in heavy traffic. I was in the left lane (it’s a four lane road, I’m not suddenly in the UK or anything) and there were construction barrels on my left. I was purposefully hugging the line between myself and the cars on my right because a road crew was working precariously close to those barrels. We’re talking young men in neon green shirts inches away from my tires. I figured, in case of emergency swerving, I would rather nick a car than a person. Right? In fact, the car in front of me was doing the same thing.

Apparently someone in the right lane felt encroached upon. He honked and gestured wildly (albeit, not rudely) at both of us as he passed. He then proceeded to speed and weave his way through the remaining traffic. Huck asked, “Was that guy waving at us? Do we know him?” I replied, “No.” I figured the no covered the fact that he was not waving at us and that we do not know him. I felt no need to elaborate. Huck then said, “Guess he was being friendly.”
You know how you see people driving like that and always wish there was a cop there to see it too? THERE WAS! Dude got pulled over. As we passed I said, “There’s our friend, let’s wave at him!”
Being friendly never felt so good.

You just have to see it

Huck has the complete cartoon series of The Adventures of Super Mario Brothers 3 circa 1990. Both boys are huge fans so it’s preferred viewing around here. This morning I was going to record a little of my favorite episode for you, but no one would shut the eff up long enough for me to accomplish anything the boys were a bit boisterous. Finally, I decided to just look for it on youtube (’cause if you can’t find it on youtube it must be a figment of your imagination, right?).

There were many versions to choose from, but this is the only one with actual Milli Vanilli music included. After the whole lip-syncing shakedown the music on the cartoon was changed to generic keyboard tunes.

Wormainian is being phased out

We’ve had some recent breakthroughs in Worm’s language development. This week he started saying his own name instead of calling himself baby. The cutest thing is that he makes it plural. Of course I might have nightmares tonight about Worm sextuplets or Worm clones.

Also, we got him to say I love you. Sort of. It comes out more like ‘luggie’. Hearing him say ‘Luggie, Daddy’ and ‘Luggie Mama’ is precious. Multiple Worms chasing me with outstretched arms and snotty noses screaming LUGGIE MAMA, not so much. Man, I’m really setting myself up for a terrible night.
P.S. Huck did not get a trip to Sonic today. He and Truck spent 5 (million) hours on the golf course, and then we all went out to eat at a real restaurant. He did get to pick the restaurant and did not have to share his food with anyone. I consider that fair. But, if he asks I won’t deny him that extra Sonic trip. He deserves it.

The shower gifts aren’t for me!

Crap, I have to tell you something about Worm too. Can’t the kids take a break from being cute and funny so I can just browse?

Anyway, Worm requested some “lice cheese” this afternoon (a slice of american cheese to those who don’t speak Wormainian), then headed straight to my bathroom. I stood behind the door and peeked at him. I thought watching him leave something in the shower might give me some insight into what’s going on in his freaky little head.
It was a total non-event. He just pulled open the door, put the bowl of cheese on the shower floor, reached over and grabbed a few bites out, shoved them in his mouth, shut the door, and walked out of the bathroom.
Then he walked past me and said, “Daddy shower.”
I guess the previous bowl of cheese and the dolly block were for Daddy.

Blabbing

I was going to be lazy today and not write anything, but I have to tell you about Huck….

We were having Sonic for dinner because promising Worm french fries was the only way I could get him to leave the pool. Huck ordered a corn dog and Worm wanted a “hamgerger.” However, once Worm got a good look at the corn dog, he changed his mind (he has inherited my love of all foods served on sticks).
Truck and I tried to purposefully misunderstand what Worm was wanting. “You want a drink of my soda?” “You want some ketchup?” “You want the toy?” We didn’t really expect it to work, but you gotta try, right?
Finally, I looked at Huck and said, “If you trade dinners with him I’ll take you back to Sonic tomorrow.”
HOLY COW I LOVE THAT KID! He handed his corn dog over to his baby brother with a smile. No whining. No eye-rolling. No bemoaning the lack of fairness.
I heaped praise on him and told him I was going to tell everyone I know what a great big brother and all-around fabulous person he is.
He basked in the glow for a minute and then asked, “Are you going to blab about this?” I said, “Sure, I’m telling everyone who’ll listen.” He replied, “No, I mean on your blab. Are you going to put this on the internet?”
Hell yeah, dude.
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