Wordless Wednesday – After the Storm

16 03 2011

Sportsmanship for the Preschool Set

15 03 2011

Big G coerced me into playing Wii Sports with him yesterday (translation: it was just easier to say yes than to deal with the impending tantrum). It went pretty well, with one glaring exception: my 5-year-old loves to trash-talk.

If I were a truly mature adult the trash-talking would be hilarious, because it’s completely unfounded. Let’s use yesterday’s bowling game as an example—I was players #2 and #4.

After five frames, player #4 was clearly kicking everyone else’s tuchus. However, when I bowled 9 pins with one ball, Big G gleefully declared, “I’m better than you!”

“Big G,” I said, “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” and also not at all true.

“Oh, sorry.” His tone became quiet, almost contrite as he said, “I’m gooder than you.”


A frame or two later, he yells, “I might be the winner!”

That is, of course, when I felt the need to take a picture of the screen, because I’m so mature.

Those are my avatar's elbows, perverts.

We kept playing. I hit 8 pins. “Not good, mom. Not good at all.”

He was really starting to piss me off.

Historically I’m not a good sport. This may be one of the biggest understatements I’ve written on this blog. Family members, when you read this, you really don’t need to write massive comments about what a poor sport I am. Really. See up there? I just admitted it. It’s out in the open for everyone to read. And pathetic though it may seem, after several months of tolerance and patient correction, the taunts of a 5-year-old boy are really starting to get to me.

It’s not just games and sports, either. It’s everything. If I say I don’t think it’s raining and a single raindrop falls on the windshield, I’ll hear about it for twenty minutes. Or, even more maddeningly, sometimes he’ll tell me I said it wouldn’t rain and I was wrong when I never said any such thing! Honestly, half the time it’s like I’m being gaslighted by a preschooler.

Sorry. Bit of a tangent there.

As I am a patient, tolerant Wii-bowling mother in real life, I shall use my blog to do what I so maturely avoided in real life.

BOOYAH, Big G! IN YOUR FACE! Who's winning now? Oh, yeah! That would be me.

Okay, this isn’t my proudest moment ever.

*Those of you mocking my Wii Bowling score should see me bowl in real life. It’s a sad, sad thing.


Kids These Days

14 03 2011

Basic conversation after church today:

Car: The teenagers in the youth Sunday School class are out of control.
Me: Bummer. Kids are like that.
Car: I need to split them into two classes, but that means another teacher. I think I’ll end up teaching them, but I need another adult in the class with me.
Me: Noooooooooooo. Okay, fine.

This is just a basic outline, of course, as I was busy downloading WordFeud onto his phone and wasn’t paying close attention. Shut up. I have ADD.

Anyway, this got me thinking about a recent Twitter conversation I had with Liz, aka @grouchyteacher:

So I have no idea who the crap Fred is, but it seems rude to ask. In retrospect, that cracks me up, as I’ve never actually met Liz. Why would it be impolite to not know the people in her life?

That’s true enough, right? Still, I’m wondering who this “Fred” person is who would want to watch my children, so I finally come clean.

That’s right, I used the word “tweep” and included the ever-jovial winking emoticon!

I’m assuming Fred is a pseudonym to protect her daughter’s anonymity. If it isn’t, I need to quickly unfriend Liz. Anyway, I’m vastly relieved that she pre-reads my blog before allowing a 14-year-old to peruse its contents, because let’s admit it: I have my moments.

Still, y’all have to admit I’m a vast improvement to her other reading material:

Fred, let’s have a chat. I get the “forbidden love” thing. Really, I do. I was 14 once. I even get the vampire thing. But Twilight? No. Twilight fanfic? Oh, hell no. (Liz, please let her read that. It’s just a little swear and we must convince her of the error of her ways.)

Anyway, given that I have 14-year-olds reading my blog and I’m going to be sitting in on the teen Sunday School class, I think we can only come to one conclusion:

I’m a role model.

What? You had a different conclusion? Jerk.

So, teen readers, a few words of advice: Don’t use drugs or have sex until after you’re married. The sex, that is, after marriage. You still shouldn’t use drugs after you’re married.

Ahem. Shut up. I’m going to be a great role model.

Hi Fred!

*True story: I once told a group of teenagers that my most convincing argument against using drugs is “you have to write a lot of papers and pee in front of other people.” Hey, it’s not like they listen to the whole “you’ll ruin your life” speech.

Today Is the Day

11 03 2011

Hey, remember last year when I said I was going to blog every day for a year? And I started on my anniversary so it’d be an easy day to remember?

Today is my anniversary.

Technically, I should write a big wrap-up post about how the year has gone, but you know what? I’ll do that tomorrow. My parents agreed to take the boys overnight, and as soon as Car gets home we’re going to embark upon an evening of debauchery. (Okay, fine. Dinner and a movie. Plus we’re going to sleep with all the lights in the house turned off!)

In lieu of the aforementioned wrap-up post, I’ll leave you with this tidbit I overheard last night as Car gave the boys a bath:

“You do not put your penis on your brother in any fashion!”

Boys are awesome.

Let’s Add A Year to Medical School

10 03 2011

We’ll call the extra year “remedial skills.”

First semester: math!

Do the math with me, won’t you? 24 hours ÷ a dose every 6 hours = 4 doses. 4 doses x 5 milliliters each = 20 milliliters.

So…why, exactly, are we cautioning the patient not to exceed 30 ml in 24 hours? Because math is hard, and I’m guessing because we assume most patients will take more than they’re prescribed. So either the doctor’s math is lousy or his faith in humanity has been crushed. Yeah, I’m going with the latter.

Second semester: penmanship!

You know, this one isn’t as bad as others I’ve seen, partly because the quantity is a big tip-off when determining which medication the doctor intended.

I know doctors’ bad handwriting is a long-standing joke. We see someone with horrendous penmanship and say, “Ha ha! You should be a doctor!” But this isn’t funny. Sloppy prescriptions slow us down, and they increase the odds of medication errors. The prescription above is for a 12-year-old patient. Would you want your child on the receiving-end of this prescription?

I know I’m generalizing, and many doctors are wonderful, conscientious individuals who do their best to get it right. To those doctors I say thank you—I appreciate your efforts and wish all doctors were like you.

To the rest—the doctors with lousy handwriting with stupid instructions…the doctors who become angry when we call with questions—you aren’t God. You aren’t even God’s gift to the medical profession. Get over yourselves and remember who your customers are.

Whoops. This was going to be a light-hearted post about silly pharmacy stuff. Apparently I have some anger issues. Who knew?

*Adding to the “who knew” list for the evening: I’m British. At least, according to the WordPress Proofreader, which gave me this suggestion:

Wordless Wednesday – You’re Doing It Wrong

9 03 2011

I know I’m supposed to be wordless today, but I’m going to take a second to pimp myself. I entered Guy Kawasaki’s Enchantment Contest on Facebook (I really want that Nikon camera!) so if you’d take a moment to vote for my photo (which is, of course, completely awesome), I’d be much obliged.


Don’t Go Away Mad

7 03 2011

Girl, just go away.
~ Mötley Crüe

Dear rehab buddy,

You’ve called me several times in the last few weeks, and I won’t lie—I’m screening your calls. Every time your number pops up on caller ID I feel sick to my stomach and a little bit guilty.

I know you need help. I’m sorry for that. I’d answer the phone and tell you the myriad reasons why I can’t help you right now, but I don’t need to hear your lies or excuses. I don’t want to hear your sob story.

Here’s what I know: You tried to pass a forged prescription at the pharmacy where I work. I wasn’t working at the time, and I’m not even sure you know that’s where I’m employed, but it doesn’t matter.

You aren’t well. You’re using.

Perhaps the day will come when I can help you. Perhaps not. All I know is right now, I’m putting myself first.

I’m well. I’m not using.

Good luck.

Please stop calling.