Luke-isms

Top o' the Monday morning to ya! I trust that everyone had a great weekend. If not, I will arrange a do over in about five days.
For me, the weekend was relaxing and ended with an employee appreciation lunch at my part-time gig. Brantley was working, so I took Luke with me. As you might have imagined, Luke rocked that party, even choosing to keep his sunglasses on indoors. I helped set up, and when I walked back over to Luke I overheard the end of a conversation he was having with my bosses husband. Luke closed with, "...and so that's how I got a crack in my booty."
Judging by the puzzled look on the gentleman's face I could tell he had no idea what Luke had said. Crisis averted. However, I wish I had heard the entire conversation because I too, would love to know how that happened.

Backstreet's Back! Kind of...

Last week provided me with some much needed R&R, and time away from the mess that is our house. If you haven’t been following the blog, then allow me to summarize the last couple of weeks for you. My son, Luke (3 yrs. old), flooded the upstairs sink causing it to rain in the living room. Suffice it to say that after a lot of clean up, the house is livable, but not cozy.

Perfect time to take a vacation? You bet your buns it was. Some friends drove down to meet us in Florida mid-week, which allowed for catching up and reminiscing, both of which are very important. Luke really enjoyed playing in the ocean, and was moderately well behaved, except for the last two days, which we won’t discuss. In summary, a purr-fect week.

I don't want your emails telling me that I'm holding the paddle incorrectly.  And, yes Luke is crying.

There was even some free entertainment in the way of the next-door neighbors. “Who,” might you ask, “were you lucky enough to be in such close quarters with?” None other than the once famed Backstreet Boy, Brian Littrel. Although to be quite honest, we should probably now call them Backstreet Men, but I digress.

Backstreet Boys. Brian Littrel is on far left. 

Mr. Littrel and his entourage vacationed harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. In fact, every morning I would clean up the beach after their late night vacationing. If I was smarter (which I’m not) I would’ve saved those empty beer cans, bottles of water, and Dixie cups to auction them off on EBay. I could have scored at least three or four dollars.

I nicknamed his wife, Tits Littrel, for reasons that I am too classy to discuss. Do you get where I’m going with this? Are you feeling me? She had some tig ol’ bitties, okay.

Well, it became quite apparent day after day that it was Mrs. Littrel’s job to drink heavily and be perky 24-7. In fact, one day while they were on the beach in front of God, families with children, and a couple of dolphins, she commenced giving Backstreet Boy a lap dance. Have you ever seen a dolphin throw up?  I have.

Later, she sauntered around in the waves and did a slow stripper walk while Backstreet Boy photographed. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion we could not turn away. Neither could their kid.

Enjoy the photo, but before you shake your head at me for snapping it, please understand that no one has ever wanted to be noticed and photographed more than these people, right down to their overtly ostentatious vehicle (a Hummer with a black and white toile pattern and purple writing).

This photo was taken right after his body guard wallowed in Luke's sand pit. 

The Heck Out of Dodge

I’m not one to hang around a messy construction zone, especially when it’s in my house so Luke and I packed our bags and hit the road for a few days. In preparation for our road trip I needed to have the oil changed in my car, and the air pressure checked in the tires. Instead of going to my usual trusty mechanic I went to a different one, one that was near a restaurant so Luke and I could have lunch while we waited. Lunch came and went, and when we returned to the mechanic Luke decided he needed to go to the bathroom.

We walked into the “office” and were immediately hit in the face with the pungent odor of, well something pungent. It could have been the two dirty litter boxes, or maybe the fly-covered, open cans of cat food on the floor, but either way it was rank. I had a sinking feeling as I asked if they had a bathroom. The lady at the desk said, “Yes, let me see if it’s clean.” She then turned to right, leaned over, and said, “Yep, it’s clean.” I thought my eyes were deceiving me. There, in the very same room, was a toilet with a curtain in front of it. I thought I’d sooner die than let my kid use that bathroom, but the car wasn’t finished and Luke persisted. “Mom, I neeeeeed to go poopoo.”

For twelve long minutes I stood in that awful, stinky place while Luke made it worse. When he was finally finished we opted to sit in the hot car to wait out the rest of our service. As I helped Luke into the car I noticed his pants were wet. “Luke, did you peepee in your pants after all that sitting on the commode?”

He responded with, “No, Mom. I didn’t peepee. It’s just a little penis water.”

De. Liver. Me.

When It Rains, It Pours...In My House

Yesterday morning started out better than most Monday mornings. I woke up without having to be shaken, and I even spoke to my family before my usual thirty-minute silent period. I had a load of laundry going in the washing machine and left Luke (3 yrs. old) upstairs with his trains while I went downstairs to empty the dishwasher.

He immediately called down and requested apple juice, and I obliged on the condition that he come retrieve it. I was a proud Mom as he told me, “thank you.” Luke then headed back upstairs, but before he got to the staircase he noticed his Play-Do machine in the floor. “Mom, can we pwease pway wif pway-do?”

“Of course,” I said as I helped him open all the containers. I was actually thinking about what a great day it was, and that I wouldn’t freak out (this time) if he mixed the Play-Do colors together. About an hour later he grew tired of Play-Do and we started up the stairs. “What’s that sound?” I asked.

“Wook, Mom! It’s waining in my house!” It was, indeed. I flew up the stairs and straight into his bathroom where I discovered the bathroom faucet running full blast and the drain closed. I was standing in half an inch of water. I unplugged the drain, turned off the faucet, and began throwing towels all over the floor. Then, I remembered the living room.  I ran back downstairs to find water pouring from the ceiling onto the floor.

I grabbed a garbage can and recycling bins to catch the falling water, then ran back upstairs. That’s where I found Luke splashing around in the bathroom like he was singing in the freakin' rain. I sent him to his room and called his father and the insurance company, but the damage was done.  When the emergency clean up crew arrived three hours later, the ceiling downstairs was beginning to buckle.

(One of several)

All of the commotion wore Luke out so he decided to take a nap. I resented this a little (a lot), but knew it was best if he didn’t see me losing my mind. When he woke up he was scalding hot. I took his temperature, and my fears were confirmed. 102.6 degrees, but we couldn’t leave the house and go to the doctor due to the necessary work being done on our home.

(The Water Bandit)

I made him an appointment for this morning, where he was diagnosed with Hand, Foot and Mouth virus. Awesome. When we returned home we were met with the owner of the reconstruction company who told me we were going to need a new ceiling, new carpet padding upstairs, steam cleaning of the old carpet upstairs, and refinishing of the downstairs floor. This can’t happen, of course, until the ceiling dries out which will probably take a couple more days. Then they will paint.

(These fans make so much noise that you can't hear the garbage disposal.)

So for now we remain banished to three rooms of our house. The good news is they are the most important rooms- Luke’s bedroom, the master bedroom, and the kitchen. I realize that there ARE bigger problems in the world, but I feel as though the old adage is true. What doesn’t kill you...cripples you instead, and really, really pisses you off.

Keepin' it real and makin' it rain.

PS: How was your Monday?? I would LOVE to feel better by comparison.

A Message from Your Stalker

I would like to personally thank you for "checking in" everywhere you go. It has enabled me to follow your every move and for my burglar colleagues to rob you blind while you're away. Keep up the good work.

Sincerely, the creator of the Foursquare mobile app

PS: I just checked in at the mental hospital

Are You Ready for Some College Football?

College football season starts in less than a month and I am SO ready. Commence smack talk in 5, 4, 3, 2...



Sorry, Georgia fans. Oh wait, no I'm not. Boom shacka lacka. I look forward to hearing YOUR smack talk in the comments section, unless you're ashamed of your team. Ohhhh snap!

(This video clip is from the show Squidbillies. If you haven't seen it, then you probably don't stay up late enough.)