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Can I add ‘Poet’ to my resume?

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

It was just over a year and a half ago when I started this fine piece of internet space… and it was then that my darling husband was on a mission to create a webpage that looked so fabulously fantastic, and as I awaited the fantasticness, I settled on this simple, understated, yet dramatic theme for my simple, understated and dramatic blog.   Enter present day - the DH has still not finished his fantasticness, and me and my slice of the www are still simple, understated, and dramatic.  In, deed.

So, in the great theme of the blog space, I bring to you this post, a haiku - titled: “If it’s not one thing, It’s another.”

I might have a job

but I still can’t work until

I have a license

<sigh>

Filed in annoyances, blog, doctorhood | Comments (1)

Went nowhere and all you got was this blog post

Sunday, June 28, 2009

While I realize I’ve been severely in absentia for the last few, er, yes, um, 3 months, let us not hesitate one more minute as I catch you up to date on whatchu’ve been missing.  (which- consider yourself warned - isn’t all that glamorous or interesting…)

School: HAH-lay-lew-ew-ew-ew-ew-ew-YAH.  I have finally <breathes out heavy sigh> finished the necessary requirements and have graduated from that sweat shop, er - dental school.  Yes, feel free to throw around the phrase “Right away, Dr. Luck” , if you’d like to boost my ego.  Additionally, I’m happy to report that not only did I earn a degree, but Howard left me a few other little gems of wisdom - namely, they taught me what not to do in the event I ever am in charge of running a dental school, they taught me that I should stock pile patience in copious reserves somewhere, and I learned that the limits of my sanity can most easily be extended with the addition of a large Red Bull (vodka optional.)  So, for the drama, the drive, and the DDS … thank you, HUCD.

Home and Fam:  Let’s be honest, this is the stuff you guys like to read about.   So, my family is crazy.  And by family, I of course mean Brody.  My lean, mean snuggle machine has traded in the cuddles and kisses for a new football player physique and relentless stubborn streak that I can only thank my own glorious genes for.  His two speeds are run fast fast fast or, trip cause your feet can’t keep up with the jet propulsion of your torso.  Black eye?  Brody hurled himself into (not ONto, INto) the couch.  Goose egg?  Brody practicing his Evil Knievels off the bed.  Countless bruises and scrapes?  Dunno, but it likely shortened his lifespan and lowered his IQ.  He never says yes or please, but has managed to clearly master no and NO (with foot stomp.)  He throws his hands over his eyes and sulks when you correct him (an attempt at looking remorseful, I hope)  but he’s a clear phoney as he’s easily lured away from the faux wimper with something, anything, edible.  He only loves doing three things in life - 1. sucking his thumb, 2. annoying Hugo, and 3. pretending every day is Opposite Day.   Hugo, on the other hand, is just plain annoying.  Question after question, game after game, Mommy how do you spell that after Mommy how do you spell that… he’s constantly looking for more stuff to put into his head, and in doing so, it’s sucking all the stuff out of mine.  The other day, Hugo told me I couldn’t count by two’s if I started at number one.  And I had to think about that for a minute.  Pretty soon he’ll be telling me that the human head weighs eight pounds.  He has his own opinions about his clothes, now.  This bothers me, because to the untrained fashion eye, red-orange matches UVA orange, and this Wahoo does not approve.  So, also at home, we have a new fab nanny, Janine, a brazilian native who puts the accent on the second syllable of strawberry.  So, it comes out strawBERry instead of STRAWberry.  And Hugo, el presidente of the Grammar RULES! club, loves to correct her.   She’s wonderful.  Welcome to the chaos, J.  Andy Rooney is busy making things happen.  You know, the wind beneath my wings and all that.  It’s a moderately thankless job that only he gets to do.   But, he’s married to a doctor,  and she cooks, so it’s not all sad city for him.

So fans, I think that is all for now.  I’ll try not be a stranger to my blog if you don’t…

-L

Filed in Andrew, Brody, Hugo, blog, dental school, doctorhood, family | Comments (3)

10 Things I’ve given up on:

Sunday, March 29, 2009

1. knowing what I’m doing with my life

2. keeping Hugo from jumping on my bed

3. graduating dental school on time

4. teaching my kids manners, and unteaching them Britney’s “If you seek Amy” song

5. eating pomegranates

6. getting Brody to stop sucking his thumb

7. finding a full-time job

8. claiming I drink martinis for the olives

9. wishing I had a permanent residence at WDW.  (maybe not given up yet per se, but it’s looking grim…)

10. being an awesome blogger… sorry fans  - been busy.

Filed in Brody, Disney, Hugo, blog, dental school, stress, travel, what's in my brain | Comments (2)

The Luckness monster!

Monday, February 23, 2009

I pride myself on giving my kids reasonable names.   They are pronounceable, spellable, non-obscure, unique enough to be trendy, and common enough to be cool.   Hugo Christopher.  Brody Holden.  Simple, handsome, timeless.  (Stinkers to you if you don’t agree - fyi, nobody asked you.)

I personally went through much heartache and torture as a kid with the name Leah Rachel.  Sure, it’s in the bible - the famous sisters who married the same guy, kinda scandalous, even for B.C. - but would you believe how many people could not pronounce or spell it?  I begged, yes begged, my mother repeatedly, to puhhhleeeze switcheroo my name around and call me Rachel Leah.  It was bad enough I had an Aztec nose and frizzy hair, why couldn’t I just have a cool name?  It was either that or I just wanted a whole new name - Naomi, perhaps.  Do I even look like a Naomi?  No.   But alas, as time, God, and maturity would have it, I finally made amends in high school with my hair, my nose, and my name.  Leah Rachel had frizzy curly hair, and no, she’d never broken her nose.  Enter Andrew Luck.

So it was pretty evident from the start of our relationship that Andrew was my person.  You know that thing that people say, “You know when you know?”  Well, let’s just say I knew.  So maybe about a year or so after the first “I love you, I love you too” exchange, I <gulp> contemplate the idea that one day I might take this man’s last name.  And that pretty much brings us to present day Leah.

Luck is a difficult last name.  It is hard finding kid’s names that go with it.  For example, I love the name Noah, but we can never use it because of the inevitable “Noah has No, uh… Luck!”  Or the cluck sound made when you get any first name that ends with a K, like Frederick.  Frederi Cluck.  Terrible.  And, pretty much any one syllable name is a mess because that makes your entire name a whopping two syllables long - Hal Luck.  Joe Luck.   Andrew and I both adore the name Dirk, but since Dirk clearly violates two of the Luck-naming rules, rest assured we will never have a son named Dir Cluck.

So I have had this name for just over 4 years now: Leah Luck.   Sounds harmless, right?  Wrong.  Because Leah Luck makes people think of Lady Luck, which makes them automatically assume they have been touched by the hand of God and need to go play the lottery right now.  When no, I just want my latte, thanks.  And sure, I consider myself a lucky person, but just like Jones, Miller, or Smith, I do have to work at it most of the time.  No, it’s not a stage name or a nom de plume - we all know I would’ve picked Naomi - this attitude right now is just real annoyance, not acting.   No, my parents didn’t pick it because it alliterated, because when they picked it, it didn’t alliterate.  And for the record, Mexican people do not look Irish, especially this one.  You name it, and I guarantee you, in the last 4 years, I’ve heard it.

So, a word of warning - if you ever encounter the Luckness Monster, run.   Very very fast, very very far.  Especially if your name is Luke.

Filed in Andrew, I just don't get it, annoyances, family | Comments (1)

I’ve got mail

Monday, February 16, 2009

I get a lot of spam.  Don’t ask me why, I just do.  It’s a little annoying at times, okay, all the time - I see my inbox with 12 new emails, then delete 11 of them as complete and total spam, and finally briefly contemplate reading the remaining 1 email containing a subject line that begins with the dreaded three letters FWD.  Man, I hate the FWDs.  People, please - if you love me, I mean really love me, you will either do one of two things: 1. Never FWD me, or 2. FWD me, but take out the FWD in the subject line so I don’t know I’ve been FWDed… that is, until I get to the end of it and realize that I have to FWD 10 or so more people before something obscurely terrible happens, like having lots and lots of bad luck in love because I refuse to FWD the virtual box of chocolates.    The clever thing, or not so clever thing (I can’t decide which) is that typically you’re always asked to make sure that you FWD it back to the person who FWDed you in the first place.  Which, if thought about, and done correctly, means that you will be locked into FWD-ing and re-FWD-ing the same virtual box of chocolates for as long as you have an email address.   And, I have to believe that any reasonable person would not want to be locked into such demanding virtual gift-giving, so I have to think that they really don’t want you to FWD it back to them,that it’s just the one-time gesture that they are extending.   But then again, maybe they do want to be FWDed back, because they want to know if they are worth a virtual box of chocolates to you, which is why they FWDed you in the first place.  Hmmm…

This is not to say that all spam is bad.  Just most of it.  I’ve heard that roughly only 0.03% of spam in the US has been reported as decent.  Yes, I made that number up.  But, as a seasoned spamee, I can vouch that it’s probably accurate.  Most of my spam is like some random website’s newest online deal, because twenty-seven months ago, I purchased something from their “sister-site” and based on my one-time purchase, they’ve suggested items I might like… but don’t worry - they aren’t sharing my name and email with anyone else.  (unless that someone else is brushing the Benjamins in front of their noses and/or becomes the forty-fourth new “sister”) Scammy spammies.

So, the 0.03%.  Well, that is the spam that actually does stuff for me.  Like namely, making me laugh.  My most recent dose of spam laughter came from the folks at RealAge.  Yeah, I have no idea who they are either.  But their spam discussed the “3 nontraditional comfort foods”  which are, in no particular order that I could tell: 1. Fortified cereal, 2. something with saffron and 3. fish dishes.  The cereal I will let slide, even though I’m sure Lucky Charms doesn’t qualify.  The others leave me perplexed - but I’ll sprinkle some saffron on a big bowl of cookie dough ice cream and get back to ya.  Another winner recently was Crate&Barrel’s email titled, “$999 Troy (OH Boy!)”  It was for a sofa - how, sigh, anticlimactic.  I was hoping for a Zac Efron auction.   And from Professionals in the City, (whoever they are) I get two emails: “Men needed for 35+ wine tasting.”  Delete.  And, “An evening at the Embassy of the Republic of Slovenia.”  How delightful.  Rubbing elbows with slovens, er, I mean, Slovenians.

So, to sum, to conclude, in summerato (<– I made that one up, teehee hehe), I get spammed a ka-ton.  So if you are, in any fashion, contributing to my email frustrations, don’t do it folks.  Because I am quickly and carelessly junkboxing all saffron-sprinkling sofa-selling Slovenians over 35 who FWD.

Filed in annoyances, internet | Comments (0)

Happy Birthday, H.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

On this, the 4th anniversary of Hugo’s birth, I am dedicating this post entirely to him.  Most of it, anyway.  That is, until I run out of things about him to write about at which point I’ll change the topic should I need an extra paragraph or so to make the post look substantial.

So, Hugo.  Oh, where do I begin?  He’s a good blend of Andrew and me, with the Andrew-part comprising the bulk of his physical features, and the me-part comprising the bulk of his temperment.  Oh how I wish it were the other way around.  We fight fire with fire sometimes, and have the overly-exaggerated  “nah, uh!”/”yes, huh!” battles.  Currently, I win, but only because right now I still have the height edge, which allows me to glare disgustedly downward, and also, I can read.  Read?  Yes, read.  You’d be amazed what H will do, or not do, to make sure he can have his bedtime storytelling.

I think I will truly break down and cry the day that my white lies no longer work.  Yes, I lie to my kid.  I tell him that all stores shut down at dusk, because every single worker in the world has to go home and eat dinner with their Mommy.  This has saved me many a trip to whatever store he feels he needs to go to at whatever hour, to get whatever item.  I tell him that our yard doesn’t have dirt - no dirt exists anywhere in the vacinity of our house - so he will have to bulldoze carpet (clean, odorless, won’t-stain-my-pants kind of carpet) instead.  He lies back to me sometimes, but not as well - “Did you push your brother?” (enter lie)  “No.” (caught)  “Well, why’s he crying then, what did you do?” (holding fast to the lie)   “Well, nothing…. (wait for it…)  Well, he was in my way…. (wait for it…) so I just pushed him.”

So Hugo likes four foods, four foods only, one for every year he’s been alive:  Milk, Bread, Mac and Cheese, and Bologna.  Notice how exotic we get with every passing year.  I thank his Dad for his complex palate.  Surprisingly, I have concocted many a spin-off on Hugo’s main foods, and I throw in the invisible veggie or meat here and there to keep him on the growth curve.  Mac and Cheese (…and hotdog),  Bread = pretzel + milk = cheese ==> Nacho Cheese Combos.  Sooo Gourmet!

I also like H’s uncanny ability to tell me exactly what I don’t want to hear, or to want to do exactly what I loathe doing.  Like mini golf.  Or telling me that the dinner I made is “gustusting”.  Or that he wants to share my covers.  But on the flip side, he and I share a special bond over our need for instant gratification (hence why I had to invent the lie about stores closing at dusk) and our incessant desire to gooo somewhere and deeewwww something.  (WDW anyone?)  Andrew totally loves that.

And would you look at that, a whole post about Hugo.  Happy Birthday Kiddo.  Muah!

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Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Sunday, February 8, 2009

I like having both a spoon and a fork when I eat Cup Noodles.  It makes me feel like a more efficient eater, even though I’m dirtying an extra utensil.  Don’t ask.  And I like to alternate - spoon, fork, spoon, fork - so that the ratio of noodle to broth always stays pretty even.  Somehow I also feel like I’m eating healthfully when I have them, even though it’s chocked full of kidney-killing amounts of sodium and a carb count that would make Atkins freak.  But, shoot, this stuff has veggies, people.  And veggies equals healthy; I totally feel my vision getting sharper with those microslivers of rehydrated carrot.

In semi-related (but not really) news, I went out for dinner and a movie with a couple gal pals of mine recently.   Don’t fret - there’s more to this story.   So, we check in and our table is about 40 minutes from being available, so we wait at the bar with a round of mojitos.  Yum.  Well, except for when you suck up a thick piece of mint.  I never know quite what to do at that point - I don’t want to chew it, cause it’s kinda potent and I’m not into eating grass, but then you can’t spit it out because that’s rude and probably socially unacceptable - so I usually just end up taking a extra swig of liquid and sloshing the whole mess around in my mouth for a few seconds while I gain the courage to just swallow the darn thing whole.  Then I usually try to stab the mint pieces with the end of my straw to break them up into more swallowable pieces, should the unexpected leaf traverse into my mouth again.  I probably wouldn’t even drink the things if they weren’t so limey and refreshing. …and contained rum.

So anyhoo, we’re waiting for our table, begrudgingly swallowing mint flakes here and there, when we go to pay.  Our bartender, who had been kinda joking with us prior to that, told us that our drinks were being taken care of by the gentleman at the end of the bar.  We all laughed at him.  Like really big, ugly, guffaw kinda laughing.  He had been a fun (and funny) bartender.  But then we rethought his joke when his facial expression did not waiver.  He was serious.  And to prove it, he handed back our credit card and gestured to a guy down the bar.  It was some older-looking guy, donning a classy denim button-down, stone-washed and reminiscent those popular in 1984, smoking and drinking a Bud.  Oh, if only I were single… NOT.

So then the question arose, what do we do now?  What’s the protocol here?  Do we nod?  Wave?  Go introduce ourselves and intentionally shake with our left hand instead of our right?  Buy him a drink back?  Well, like any good trio of women weirded out and feeling ultra awkward, we slink away from the bar, hoping the guy who has been noticing us all night (apparently) won’t notice that we’re leaving without so much as a “Thanks Mr. Denim Shirt!”  I felt bad.  I still do.  Poor guy spent his hard-earned money thanklessly on my mojito, instead of buying himself a new shirt.

Filed in I just don't get it, food, friends | Comments (0)

Toyness

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

It is so stinkin rare that you will ever get an early AM post from me.  I am not a morning person.  At all.  So feel privileged today.  You can thank my patient who cancelled and my morning tumbler of coffee for bringing you this fine work of literature.  (… at 7:30. yikes, that’s early)

We semi-recently went to Target, which Hugo informs me is the “store with the red circle”, because I had taken the boys out for a long, therapeutic shopping trip to the mall which just about kicked Hugo’s butt, followed by a Costco trip where Daddy picked out a new television and Mommy got some luggage.  So H needed a little sommin’ sommin’ for himself, and I needed H to get a little sommin’ sommin’ for himself, because, like those poorly placed speed bumps in the shopping center that you never see coming, I had hit and blasted right past (but only noticed because my internal engine was rattled and notably not functioning with the same serenity afterward) my threshold for whining tolerance back at the mall many many hours prior.  So anyhoo, we get there, and H is scouring the Thomas section for the next greatest (and *totally* needed) addition to his Thomas falderal.   And I look over at the cart, and see my little Brody, a darker-haired version of how Hugo used to act, sitting semi-quietly, contentedly slurping on red Icee.  Yes, I give my one-year-old red Icee.  So shoot me.  It’s then that I pull him out of the cart and allow him to explore the aisles, realizing that my poor second-born gets the hand-me-down shaft far too often.  Brody would get a little sommin’ sommin’ too.

Well, to make a long story short, or short-ER at least -  So I, speaking as Brody’s proxy, decide that he needs Elmo Live!.  (Double punctuation intended.)  So, Elmo Live! is like this talking Elmo thing that sings and tells stories and jokes and wiggles around and stuff.  It’s a decent toy, but it’s a toy that I don’t think requires an exclamation point.  I mean, maybe if I were 1, I might give it an exclamation point… but, speaking as Brody’s proxy, Brody agrees that it does not require an exclamation point.  Elmo has like 4 different trigger points on his body that you can press that will get him to do stuff.  Sadly, Brody seems to only be aware of the foot trigger, which to my irritation, is the “Elmo wants to think of JUST the right story to tell YOU!” trigger.   Long storytelling ensues.  And there are only 2 stories.  If my dear little angel Brody doesn’t discover the nose, tummy, or back triggers soon, he might end up being Elmo Dead!.  (Double punctuation intended.)

And Hugo picked Mr. McColl’s farm cars, complete with cow and sheep cargo.  Haven’t seen them since.

Filed in Brody, Hugo, family, parenting, toys | Comments (0)

One thought leads to another

Monday, February 2, 2009

The user-interface for my blog posting has been updated by WordPress.  You’re fascinated, I can tell.  At any rate, it’s throwing me off just a smidge, so if this post seems a little off-kilter, it’s because I’m not Feng Shui-ed to my new typing surroundings yet.

Speaking of Feng Shui, I recently watched a Samantha Brown episode, [Btw - I love her... she did a Disney World Great Hotels thing way back when and now I'm a huge sucker for her cheesy one-liners and infectious traveler-pep....] anyhoo, the episode was called Passport to China.  And now I desperately want to go to China.  I would almost trade my first born to go to China… and I’m pretty sure they do that sorta stuff there, so I think I’d fit right in.  Plus I love Lo Mein.

In other news, we’re gearing up for said first born’s 4th birthday party this weekend, titled “Hugo School Musical 4: Pre-K Year.”  And per usual, I’m having fun theming out the party to the extreme, natch.  I have personally even concocted a Gabriella Montez, circa HSM 2, outfit for myself to wear.  (I wanted to make sure I got the full 5 style points on my karaoke score sheet.)  Go big or go home.

So, I’m so proud of my Gabriella outfit that I told Andy I was going to wear it for our trip to WDW in March.  He just looked at me funny.  Funny weird, not funny Haha - not a good sign.  Probably just jealousy that I hadn’t put together an equally as stellar Troy Bolton outfit for him.  But truthfully, we’d have to do a whole lot more overhauling than just wardrobe if he wants to look like anything remotely as beautiful as Zac Efron.  I’m just saying…

Filed in Andrew, Disney, Hugo, blog, family, travel | Comments (2)

25 things

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

So, there’s this note thing going around on Facebook lately, where basically people jot down twenty-five things about themselves that they may not normally disclose to people, or that they think are interesting… or something, and then they tag you on the note, and you’re supposed to respond back likewise and tag more people, and so on, and so on, etc, etc.  Sort of a glorified chain letter - glorified only in the fact that it’s on Facebook, and not email.   Riiiight.  Well, I’m boycotting.  Sorta.  I’m not Facebooking my 25 things at least.  Oh no… I’m making you guys, the whopping five readers of my blog, (four of whom are related to me) suffer through these 25 things, probably that you already knew:

1.  I’m addicted to caffeine; I get headaches if I don’t drink something caffeinated before noon.

2.  I loathe reading.  I never finished any novels on my Summer reading list to completion.  Ever.  In my life.  Ever.

3.  I’m always right.  Just so you know.

4.  I voted for John McCain.

5.  If I pull my hair up after I shower, and don’t take it out until that evening, it’s often still wet.

6.  I don’t like to run, or exercise.  But I like way I feel afterward.  And I like working towards a goal.

7. 98% of the television I watch has been pre-recorded.  I’ve been spoiled so much that I can’t stand watching commercials anymore.

8.  It bothers me greatly that the Discovery Health Channel is becoming the Oprah Winfrey Network.  Mystery Diagnosis is such a good show…

9.  When I picture a weekly calendar in my head, it’s usually continuous loop, starting and ending with Monday.  My mental monthly calendar is just a plain old column.

10.  I miss my dad sometimes.  It’s usually about then that I wonder if he’s missing me too, like in a movie.

11.  If I couldn’t be a dentist, I’d be a German teacher.  Or an English teacher in Germany.

12. When I cook, I don’t like following recipes.  Sorta like drawing outside the lines.  And rebellion tastes so good.

13.  I don’t like to do what people expect.  But if people expect something, I like to make sure I do it.

14.  If I had the money, I’d hire someone to decorate my house.  Cause I stink at it.

15.  I don’t like shoe shopping.  I think they are all too expensive and too hard to coordinate with outfits.

16.  I never went to Disney World as a kid.  Bummer.

17.  I’m a stickler about typing with your fingers firmly planted on the home row keys, and hitting a double space bar between sentences.

18.  I like the idea of a pomegranate, but I find them so annoying to actually eat.

19.  Andrew is my person.  And me and my person never go to bed angry.

20.  I think about God a lot during the day.  And I thank Him about just as many times.

21.  My biggest mom-complishment was potty training Hugo.

22.  I like hugs so much more than kisses.  The actions, not the candy.

23.  And I throw in the towel- it’s possible that Andrew is slightly smarter than me.  But only slightly.

24.  I’m rarely on time.  It’s rarely a huge problem.  But still, I feel bad. I’m sorry.

25.  I see no point in camping when you have a perfectly good house or hotel nearby.

And there ya go.  Consider yourself chain letter-ed.  Your turn.

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