Motherhood

Right on Target


So, I had a short stint as a cashier at Target this year. Wow, was that enjoyable! If you ever need to be motivated to go back to college, just go and take a $7/hr job that deals with the public and retail during the holidays.

I have no idea why, but I have always had this dream of being a cashier ever since I was a little girl. I always loved to play grocery while growing up. I think I dreamed of being a cashier because it combines things that I love: meeting different people, working at a fast pace, pounding on a keyboard, and organizing (you can’t put the bacon in with the Tampax now, can you?) It only took two shifts for me to totally outlive my dream of being a cashier. Well, as LeGrand says, “It’s a good thing you got that cashier stint out of your system because I am on the virge of making the big bucks.” Time shall tell. When LG is a millionaire, I don’t think he will want a Target cashier for his trophy wife.

Well, anyhow, it is late and I am tired and I want to get to the funny part of my story. There were many things that happened funny at Target. I may remember all of them someday. There were also many unfunny things that happened to me at Target, like the day I left a customer in my checkout line with a quart of spilled chocolate milk. What person did I find to help me on my third day…the only person not working…the HR lady….what did she do….She exclaimed, “You left a spill, didn’t you watch that training video?” Oh, yeah, I vaguely remember that video that said to never leave a spill…but, if no one else is willing to help, how in the world will it ever get cleaned up unless you walk away and get some cleaning stuff? And, I had asked the customer to stay there and watch it. It was her own darn fault for handing the bottle to that darn toddler to chuck it down on the ground at least 5 times.

Well, you know I became the expert Target cashier because on my next to last shift when a woman urinated all over my checkout line, I didn’t move a muscle. I stood there like a statue and flipped my blinking light until my team lead came and took care of the situation (Yes, he took care of it alright – he told me, he would watch the spill while I ran to clean it up…yes, the joy of being management- another reason to go to college or work at Target for 10 years straight after getting your GED – And, he was quite helpful – he said, “You may want to get some Lysol off the shelf for this one”)

So, the short funny story. One evening, a woman came through. She was purchasing a bunch of “for kids only” stuff, including mylicon drops and detangling spray. Now, you know my goal in working at Target was to make sure everyone left with a smile. (not because Target told me to, just because I like to make people smile.) Now, if any guest left with a laugh, then I would be able to come home feeling really underpaid. (there is no feeling that can compare to being underpaid)

So, I strike up a conversation with this woman as I check her out. “Have you used this stuff before”, I ask as I chuck her mylicon drops in the bag. “I have three daughters and have never tried it.” She says, “Oh yeah, if you have three daughters you have to have it. You epecially need it with curly hair. You would not believe how much it helps.”

I say, “Really, curly hair, I have never heard that before. I have only heard that there is a link between babies with hair and a pregnant mother’s heartburn.” At which points she starts cracking up. I say, “I can’t believe that, children with curly hair have more gas than those with straight. That would explain why I have never needed those mylicon gas drops, all my girls have pretty straight hair. Who knew.” I keep going with, “Well, they did get some gas when they were really little; I wonder if that is when their hair was curlier.” She just laughs even harder, at which point she takes the bottle of Detangling Spray out of the bag. She says, “I thought you were asking me if I have used this stuff before, not the Mylicon drops.”

I am sure that my face turned a brighter shade of red then my beautiful Target polo. At which point, I started cracking up. I had no reason to be embarassed, she was loving this funny conversation. As a few other people around us started laughing too, my shirt immediately flushed back to it’s normal color, which is roughly the same shade of my Target khaki pants. Now, don’t you think that they should have given me a raise to at least $7.50/an hr. I made at least 6 people laugh that night, not to mention the skill of making my skin the same colors as my uniform.

Santa Claus is Coming To Town



YOU
BETTER
WATCH
OUT!





YOU
BETTER
NOT
CRY!








YOU BETTER NOT POUT.
I’M TELLING YOU WHY.

SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN. So, bring on a mother’s work. Here I am trying not to cry yesterday while I was head to toe in elf costume. I really wanted Santa to keep me on his nice list, so I tried really hard to stay happy. I won’t dare pout beyond what I have already done in my last entry. Didn’t my little elf turn out cute?

The list of things I used from around the house to make this costume include but are not limited to: packing tape, electrical tape, thread, needle, ribbon, newspaper, wire, pom poms, leatherman, feathery boa stuff, a Santa belt, a dress from younger sister, handed down boots (passed down just in time from cousin Kearan), and last but certainly not least – an old hat that I made in High School to go with some pj’s from a Christmas pajama party dance.

The inspiration for the costume of the year came from google and the cover of one of our favorite movies, Elf. We watch this movie all year; it is so funny and pretty wholesome. (it is hard to find both innocence and humor in the same world) The only two items I ended up buying for the costume were the elf ears, which are not included in this picture, and the white tights, which Abigail needed for church anyway. Pretty good huh?

Do you think I redeemed myself from last year? Here is Abigail’s sparrow costume from her last year’s performance.


I know, I know, what was I thinking? The poor girl had to sqwack around on stage like this. The best compliment of the night came from one of Abigail’s best friend’s father. Ryan’s dad, Matt, has a pretty good sense of humor. He said, “Abigail you were the best tropical sparrow I have ever seen.” SO FUNNY!

Skipping Christmas

 

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Call me Scrooge, but I hate putting up the Christmas tree. Yes, of course, I am always happy when it is done and we are greeted by twinking lights in our living room for a whole month! (two, if I never get around to taking it down in January) But, c’mon what sadistic Martha Stewart came up with the tradition of putting away every knick knack in your house just to unload 6 huge boxes of junk. Is this really a necessary part of enjoying the holidays?

One of these days I will get the courage up to skip Christmas as I read about in John Grisham’s book.

Here is a picture of LG enjoying his Thanksgiving holiday. I am not trying to make him feel bad; I really am glad that he was enjoying some down time.

But, shouldn’t we all be able to enjoy our holidays, regardless of our gender?

We need an ACLU Christmas. We need to keep all of our National Holidays, yet, the week after we celebrate, we should have the ACLU version where the men do all the work that the women usually handle and the women act like the men (ie. sitting on the couch reading a book, playing football with our friends, watching sports on TV)

Think about it. Who does the work? We’ll start with Easter for the pure delight of making a point. Who buys the candy, who shops for those cute Easter outfits? Who makes sure that they get up at the crack of dawn to stage the fact that the Easter Bunny has visited (Abigail does read my blog now and so I have to be careful what I say here – I know she doesn’t believe in the Easter Bunny any more)

Next holiday – July 4th – Who buys and prepares the food and plans the outing? Really, all the men have to do is set off the fireworks..and is that really work?

Halloween – Who buys the candy, who tries to keep everyone from consuming the candy when you bought it the week earlier? Who makes the costumes? Who runs around like a mad woman on 10/31 making sure that all the preparations are accomplished for trick or treating, including the dinner, and making sure that you can somewhat tell what the kids are dressed up as, even under their coats?

Thanksgiving – who combs all the adds looking for the cheapest turkey? Who bakes the pies and the rolls and the, do you really want me to finish the food list? Who has to clean the house like a turkey with her head cut off to accomidate all the company? And, who is that actually sets that darn table? If all of that isn’t enough. Now, in American culture, we are expected to get up at the crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving to make sure we get the best deals for the next holiday coming up.

and Christmas … I don’t think I have to explain the thought process.

I think I would really be willing to give up the two Woman holidays of the year (Valentine’s and Mother’s Day) to eliminate all the other holiday work throughout the year.

I know, I know, I am a whiner. It’s all about the memories we are making. I can’t help it that I prefer to make memories without working myself like a horse.

Not that you care, but I really wanted to add a picture of me in here of decorating the tree last night. Guess why I didn’t? I spared you the trauma of staring at my big fat bum. Every picture that was taken I was leaning over and picking something up, moving furniture, or plugging something in. Yep, you got it….working.

And were you wondering what LG was doing through all of the Christmas festivities – you got it – not working – unless you consider taking my picture work – which come to think of it – maybe he was working – staring at my bum really can’t be considered enjoyable. HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

Oh, and I just added the bonus picture of Kitty Bear. I think she may feel like I do about this whole tree nonsense. Check her out; she’s staring it down.

Google is my friend

Have you ever tried to “google” yourself? Laugh if you must, but I do it all the time. Sadly, Alice Gold never brings up anything to do with me. Interestingly there are many other Alice Gold’s in this country. Also interesting is that they all seem pretty accomplished. A third interesting note is that my mother-in-law is also Alice Gold. She goes by her middle name Faye, but unfortunate for her she doesn’t show up in google either.

So, when searching the engine for Alice Gold got old, I adopted a new favorite pasttime. Now, about once a week I will google “imsofunny”. Today I was absolutely elated when I showed up in the #2 spot. Man, I can’t believe that I am almost the famous writer that I have been dreaming about for so long. That was facetiousness, in case my naysayer anonymous commenter is reading. (and, yes I do know what facetious means, as well as budget conscience) It is amazing what one can find searching on the internet. One of my previous posts shows a funny find on Ask Jeeves. This search was in reference to one of my most liked entries: Cialis.

I cannot imagine life without google. LeGrand spent years trying to convince me that we needed to upgrade from dial-up to DSL. I always resisted! (Yes, this was before my blogging days) Well, now, occasionally when we go over our budget,(which unfortunate for me we have been doing a lot of lately) LG and I will discuss places we can cut back.

Now, the tables have turned and LG will sometimes suggest cutting out the DSL. I am dumbfounded that he really thinks he can live without fast Internet at home because you know we are NEVER going back to dial-up. Lucky for me, I made a very smart deal with LeGrand before I embraced modern technology. Before I got my DSL or my cell phone I warned him that I would be unable to go back. One point for me in the spousal war…it was as if I knew he would try to renege the offer. HA! I love unwritten contracts. He can never take away my cell phone or my DSL because I refused to get them without him promising that he wouldn’t renege.

So, what am I going to do on the computer next? Search for an elf costume for Abigail’s school play on Thursday. How did my mother take care of stuff like this in the old days? Can you believe that I actually went and sat at Hobby Lobby looking for a costume pattern today? What was I thinking? I just got on the information superhighway (whatever it is that Nadelie calls the internet) and found what I needed to do in 1 minute flat. Every second spared when you are a mother = one second to do something a little more enjoyable (like blogging). And, a good side note. I just saved us $40 on an elf costume. I’ll have to tell LG that the DSL paid for itself this month. He will be so happy.

Next blogging topic: mapquest.

What are you building?

The famiy room fairy and other forms of bribery have already been tried to help my three daughters learn their cleaning responsibility. I am always looking for new forms of bribery…any suggestions?

Last Saturday morning, the girls’ toys were everywhere, as usual. LG and I actually tried to bribe the girls with bacon. Can you say, “Will work for pork?” LG gave the girls the chance to earn four pieces of bacon if they could get the room clean during the 20 minutes we were preparing breakfast. All three of our girls would eat a whole pound of bacon if you let them. Can you believe our bribery tactic only worked for Bella? LG, Bella, and I loved eating all that bacon. Abigail and Sophia only earned themselves one lousy piece. Man, we were so hopeful!

On another note, the following story was shared with me via e-mail. I think that this may make some mothers out there chuckle, as I am sure they can relate to me and my bacon bribery as well as this anonymous author’s feelings about motherhood.

Unless you are a mother or plan on calling your mother and praising her name after you read this, you can stop reading now. And you mothers: get your tissues ready.

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”

“Nobody,” he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my goodness, nobody?”

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family – like “Turn the TV down, please” – and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking.

I’m invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.”

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She’s going¸ she’s going¸ she’s gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.”

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.”

And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over.

You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.”
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it there.”

As women, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Christmas Ornaments

I just found these darling ornaments by linking this site from Rita’s.

I love these great ornaments. They may really come in handy as replacements for Katie in New York, who put her Christmas tree up 2 weeks ago. And, she has two toddler sons. What was she thinking? I think that all of my girls are finally old enough to respect that Christmas ornaments break. Now, if I could just teach the cat to leave the tree alone, I may be motivated to put my tree up on Thanksgiving weekend like the rest of the country.

This is the way we do it in the south

So, I am addicted to reading the comments on my blog. The other day I was frustrated because none of my blogging friends have updated and no one is giving me the desperate attention I shouldn’t need. LG informed me that I have fallen away from what I do best, telling funny stories. “No one wants to read about your kids”, he said. He then informed me that I ruined my reading audience because back in the beginning I was getting at least 20 hits a day, and that now, if we could remember how to get to my tracker it would be just the same 5 friends. Oh well, I guess I’ll never be famous. Isn’t this blogging thing so egotistical? Who really wants to read anything that I have to write about except other bloggers who are just as desperate as I am for some comment action. I mean really, be honest with yourself, don’t we all blog for the comments?

So, on with my desperate attempt to entertain my readers with a story that doesn’t have to do with my children. Which may backfire because all of my readers may be in the future when my children get older and decide to do genealogy by reading their mom’s blog. And, then they will just want to hear their stories, and instead they will find this one. Man, us mom’s, sometimes we just can’t win.

A few years ago, when I was very new to the South and was trying to learn all the new vocabulary I had an interesting experience at WalMart. Of course it happened at Wal-Mart because Tennesseans don’t shop anywhere else. This story has to do with the picture above in a round about way…see if you can figure it out. I got the picture above from, I know you won’t believe it, the international towing museum, which is amazingly located down south a bit in Chattanooga,TN.

I was checking out in the regular line, as opposed to the infamous Self Check Out, which is where I normally check out. I may have shied away from Self Check Out a little after the above mentioned linked experience, and come to think of it, it was shortly after the funny check out story and I was checking out late at night (which explains why I wasn’t in my favorite closed self check out line.)

So, this night, a gruff looking man pulled his buggy up behind mine (we use the word buggy instead of shopping cart in the South) On a side note, I learned very quickly to holler (not yell) at my children to get in the buggy. No onlookers understood my discipline when I told my kids to get in the cart. I like to think of my audience you know. So, on with the story, as the cashier checked out my mountains of groceries, this gruff man asked her politely if she would keep an eye on his buggy. He explained, “I’m a wrecker driver and I just got a page.” He took off and the cashier pulled his buggy of merchandise out of the line.

I was perplexed. “What’s a wrecker driver?”, I asked the cashier, with as close as I can get to a Southern accent. I knew I would sound as if I was from a foreign country. The cashier looked at me as if I was from a foreign country. I explained further, “If you can’t tell already, I am not from the South.” (not hard for most people to notice since calling a shopping cart a buggy is as close as I get to a southern drawl) “So what that you aren’t from the south, are you stupid?”, her glare seemed to scream at me. So, I asked again,”What’s a wrecker driver, I really don’t know what that is.”

As she must have noticed the tear forming in my eye from frustration, she answered nonchalantly, “It’s a person who drives a wrecker, honey.”

I probably should have stopped there, but just couldn’t end the insanity until I got my answers. “What’s a wrecker?”

“Well, you know, honey, it’s the thing that people call when they’ve been in an accident or their car broke down.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, a TOW TRUCK!”, I responded feeling so enlightened.

She then replied, “What’s a tow truck?” I saved her the humiliation and explained, “It’s what the rest of this country calls a wrecker driver.”

Well surely this WalMart cashier must have been the more misinformed person because even the best of the best wrecker drivers call their museum the “International TOWING Museum”, not the “International Wrecker Museum.” I took pride in myself tonight for knowing more than the old WalMart checker about wreckers. Surely she doesn’t know about the wrecker museum or this website that I found tonight while searching for a picture of a wrecker to post.

Do you think I can pass as a true Southerner yet? I guess I’ll have the ultimate test when my car breaks down. If I look under the T’s in the yellow book before I look up the W’s than I will have failed. But, if I go straight to the “wrecker section”, well, then let’s just say that then y’all will know that I am at least one southern vocabulary word closer.

The Master of Folk Art

Here is my birthday present from LG. I saw these kitchen canisters on the 75% off shelf at Cracker Barrel last week. I slyly told LG to tell his mom to get them for me for Christmas. Lo and behold, I didn’t have to wait that long. THANK YOU LG. You mastered my folk art wish list today. I LOVE IT!

I was very happy this morning with my surprise. I thought that you were going to get me that body spray I have been asking for from Target, but these canisters were way better. Good sneakiness honey. Now you can tell your mom to get me that Duchess body spray that I want for Christmas instead. (According to this link I shouldn’t waste my time, but as you all know you can’t trust everything you read on the Internet, and I love the scent of this stuff – The blogger also explains why I can’t find the item online to link it) I guess you won’t have to tell your mom LG because she can just read my blog. he he I love this “wish list” feature of the blog!

I love the idea of these canisters being in my kitchen (the place I spend the most time besides my bed). They will act as a constant reminder of the three greatest blessings in my life: Faith, Family and Freedom. How beautiful. I also love the style of these canisters. I am totally into folk art. Someday I am going to buy myself some authentic art. Or I can wait for LG to do it now that I’ve mentioned it on my blog wish list.

I also love the memory of being at the Cracker Barrel in Morristown when I found these. We had met my in-laws there halfway. We do this often when swapping off the kids for time at grammy’s and papa’s. It was Sophia’s birthday and we had already celebrated her special day on Sunday. She had spent two days with Duane and Faye and we were meeting to have a birthday dinner and exchange the kids back. Duane and Faye had taken them for a visit so that LG and I could discuss our future plans. I was distraught because with all the bar news ongoings I had forgotten to bring her a little something special for her actual birthday.

LG quickly comforted me with, “Don’t worry, all the girls love to shop at Cracker Barrel, I will just give her some money.” After dinner we all looked and looked for that perfect birthday toy. Everyone took turns suggesting to Sophia what would be in her budget of $10. Sophia only wanted the higher priced items. Abigail took Sophia over to the clearance side of the store and they came running back, “Mom, mom, come and see what Sophia wants to get.” Abigail informed me that it would cost under $5. (which is pretty amazing considering she is in 3rd grade and did the 75% off math for the original $10 item)

The item was a cute princess tiara wall hanging with shelf for the included mirror, brush, powder and the rankest smelling perfume ever. Of course I was sick for the next three days as all the girls sprayed it all over the house until I finally decided to hide it. Sophia was thrilled! She had found something nice for 75% off. These girls have been trained to find a deal! It was a proud parenting moment.

Not quite as proud as a few days ago when we were at Wal-Mart in the candy aisle. I was talking to LG on my cell phone and looking for single packaged peanuts as the girls ran ahead to pick out some candy. Bella came running back and questioned,”Mom, what is our budget for candy?” LG, with a chuckle, said in my other ear,”Did she just ask you what her candy budget is?”

Here is a photo of Bella playing the the Styrofoam from my birthday package. Bella has been begging to get on the computer and play Arthur as I have been typing this entry. I told her to hang on a few minutes longer so that I could type a story about her. She asked me to read it to her. She wants me to make the correction that it was Abigail that sent her back down the long Wal-Mart aisle to “ask mom what our candy budget is”

The Gold

“Vote for Abigail and she’ll give you some GOLD!” Abigail came up with her very own slogan so that she could run for Student Council. And, here is a poster made from her very own hands. I must say that LG sure did give our children a nice last name. When I ran for student council all I could come up with for slogans were “Vote for Alice in Lancerland” and “Where there’s A. Wills, there’s a way.” The latter was stolen by my older brother, Adam…you see, his name starts with an A also.

Well, Abigail’s kindergarten teacher surely led Abigail onto the right path with all that Irish talk. You can’t see it, but in her top right corner, Abigail drew a pretty detailed leprechaun.

I guess I have come full circle in my life. I thought that the world was over when I didn’t win my campaign for Student Body President at good old CHS, but when Abigail showed interest in 3rd grade Student Council, I was thrilled. I don’t necesarily want her to win because I know it may go to her head. I also don’t want her to lose because of course I never want her to be sad. I just want her to experience life to the fullest and everyone has to run for Student Council at least once. And, Abigail running as young as she is has been really nice because you should hear all the responsibility talks we have been able to have with her.

The cutest was to hear from LG (who never ran for student council in his life), but amazingly understands the meaning of it, “Abigail, do you know what the kids in your class deserve from you if your elected?” Abigail, “I don’t know.” LG, “Well, you are going to have to be extra responsible and be nice to everyone and listen to them and represent all the people in your class. You will have a big responsibility and you will need to live up to it.”

I imagined the entertaining end of the story with LeGrand saying, “Abigail you never want to dissapoint your constintuents.” Abigail, “What’s a constinuant?”