USA

Gangbangers
The kids and I are all home from church today because Bella has been sick. It is Sunday, the day I try to rest and think about spiritual things, so I thought that maybe I should blog about something a little more serious. Gangbanging seemed serious enough.

I have been reading this book called “Convicted in the Womb” by Carl Upchurch. I borrowed it from a friend of mine who is getting his Masters to be a Therapist. It is a good book that allows you to get into the head of a child who later finds acceptance by joining a gang.

Because I try to be a good Mormon girl, I really cannot recommend this book. The swear words just keep on coming and some of these words are bad enough that I have never even heard them before in my entire life. And because I am a little bit rebellious I just keep reading, but at least I simultaneously pray that I won’t advert to pulling out the curse words the next time I get angry. I am not reading the book for the curse words, I am reading it because I want to understand the human race better. It is so unfortunate that there are actually children in this world who grow up in an environment like Carl Upchurch’s. It is just so foreign to me.

For example, he had one pee stained mattress on the floor that was his bed. The mattress was located on the underside of a leaky sink. The family’s rat trap would need to be emptied almost every morning. The cockroaches were so bad that he slept with the blanket over his head so that they couldn’t climb all over him at night. His grandma was a prostitute and his mom did nothing but collect welfare checks. Carl never got any affection or affirmations or anything that could be construed as positive. He never was taught to shower or brush his teeth and never had clean clothes. To my dismay this was in Philadelphia the 60’s. He went without food a lot and it was his own responsibility to get up for school and out the door every day, from the time he was in kindergarten.

I have been living in a state of shock for the past 24 hours while I have been reading this book. I know that there are kids out there that live like this: a lot of them went to Abigail’s old school, but I just didn’t realize that it was this bad. It makes me want to go and round them all up and bring them home for some good old fashioned love and concern.

So, it now makes sense to me, while it never has before, why these kids grow up to be gangbangers. Being in a gang is the only way they find belonging. While our children grow up with that at home, the only way for these gangbangers to have a similar experience is to join a gang. So, sometimes you have to get through all the cursing to learn something new. Who of us does not want a solution for gangs? I am here to tell you that the solution is so simple: it is pretty much the solution to every societal woe: the solution is simply love.

Well, the reason for this entry, is to write a story about my mother. As you all know, my parents are both pretty crazy. It wasn’t hard for them to produce a child like me. I got a little of each of their nuances which are slightly crazy and a little crazier. I love my parents dearly and after reading a book like this, I am more grateful for the way that they raised seven children in a loving and flourishing environment.

So, my mom took this loving and flourishing environment with her everywhere. She learned to love from her mother; it was in her DNA to show love and concern for everyone she met, especially children. I cannot tell you how many times, I would come home to find my mom sitting at our kitchen table discussing something heavy with one of the friends of mine or my siblings. I never understood why our friends liked to talk to my mom so much. As a teenager, I did everything I could to avoid her. But again, reading has given me new understanding. These friends felt the unconditional love of my mother, some of which may not have felt it at home.

So, here is the funny part of the story (I bet you were getting worried that you wouldn’t be getting a chuckle today, huh?)

While we were growing up, we had a few favorite places to take family outings. One was the beach, one was Thrifty’s to get ice-cream, one was the Oceanside pier to get XL jawbreakers. Others were the movies, Sav-on to get some candy, and the mall to get a Shaved Ice. (Funny that all of these places involve food) And lastly but not least by any means was Show Biz. Show Biz was the original Chuck E Cheese. All of ShowBiz’s have been converted to Chuck E Cheeses, including the one from our neighboring town Oceanside, CA.

My mom and dad would take us to Show Biz a few times a year and it was a huge treat. I am sure that my mom had to convince my dad to spend the money. Buying pizza and tokens for seven kids is not a small feat. I mean most people only spend that kind of money when one of their 2.5 children have a birthday party and invite all their friends.

So, this one Saturday, we had all had our fun at Show Biz. I am sure we had been there for a good couple of hours before we headed out to the station wagon to go back home. What a surprise that we exited into the middle of an ensuing gang fight. Now, you have to know my parents to know how unfortunate to the fight was the arrival of my parents. My dad was and is a big tough former Highway Patrolmen and my mom is an unlicensed and unofficial social worker. (She probably helped more kids in her lifetime than any social worker could imagine). My mom also has been known to have a mouth like mine. One day she almost got my dad into a fight with a Hells Angel at the 25cent hamburger joint (but that is another story)

So, what happened from this point on is not only the funny story but an inspiration to mankind. Mind you, all seven kids are lined up like ducks in a row behind my parents. My brother Erick was approximately the same age as these teenage boys and he was staring on up front with mom and dad. My mom says to the gangbangers, “Boys, what do you think that you are doing? This is no way to solve anything. Don’t you know that people care about you? We don’t want to see you killing each other.” My dad stood next to his wife in words and stature. He didn’t say anything, but his mere presence was enough.

One of the gangbangers had shouted out, “Hey (probably some cuss word), mind your own business.” The details are shody here, but I am certain this is approximately accurate to the actual story. My dad’s glare was enough to shut the gangbanger up. My mom continued on as her initial speech didn’t seem to have enough impact. My mom and dad were not about to walk away and let some kids kill each other. And remember this was in the 80’s before the cell phone was invented, so there was no, “Hurry call 911.” The following words came naturally from my mother’s mouth, “Boys, this is nonsense. My husband and I love children too much to let any one of you get hurt today. Now c’mon inside and my husband will buy you all some pizza.”

It was as if a bomb had been dropped. I can still remember the shock so apparent on the faces of these hardened criminals. A stranger was going to buy them ALL pizza. Both gangs looked back and forth from their homeboys to their blood sworn enemies. The glances were asking each other, “What do we do now?” There was no need for them to discuss because my parents didn’t give them any time.

My mom went and wrapped her arm around the leader of one side and my dad walked over to the other. They led the leaders into Show Biz and there was no other choice for the homeboys than to follow. We little Wills children brought up the rear. What a delight it was to see my mom take all the gangsters into the Show Room and find them each a seat, while my dad went and doubled his money output for the day by ordering 12 more pizzas.

It didn’t stop there. My mom said, “Rick, get these boys some tokens. They fight because they don’t have anything better to do.” She made sure she said that loud enough for them all to hear.
Dad bought them each a generous amount of tokens, (which after clarifying with my mom and dad, was only really 4 tokens each -all they could afford-, but hey, that was still another 20 bucks they didn’t really have) hoping that if he and mom could keep them inside long enough having a good time, then maybe the fight would be cancelled all together. We all exited feeling like the heroes who had saved the day.

The discussion in the car on the way home went something like this. Mom to Dad, “Do you think that they will still have a fight, should we call the police?” Dad said, “I can’t believe you Sharon. You are one crazy woman.” Mom to Dad ,”One crazy woman that you love. And, one crazy woman that may have just saved a life.” Mom to kids,”Remember this kids, all people have a part of them that just wants to be loved. They act badly because they haven’t been loved.”

Yep, that’s my mom and dad. As a couple, they could do anything, including stomping out gang activity from the world as I knew it.

And in the words of John Lennon:

All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love, love,
love is all you need.

Leave it to Beaver
The other day, on the radio, I heard someone reference Leave it to Beaver. I thought, “That show is something I haven’t thought about for a while.”
This morning, I check my blog and realize that I have a comment from somebody new…how exciting. I love making blogging friends. I was astounded by her link to: an apron making contest. These aprons are popping up everywhere. Are we really going back to wanting to be like June Cleaver? This could be a good world, where all the women are dolled up making dinner for their perfect little families. I am just a little worried that I may not fit in?
I did buy this apron at Christmastime, does that count for anything?

Oh, and I got myself a sewing maching for Christmas too…I just am still trying to figure out how to use it…maybe an apron should be my first project, so that I could actually finish it before the trend is over?

To my readers from Kentucky

So, I am finally famous. Somewhere in my own little world, I am celebrating. I would love to be a famous writer, but I know that I need a lot of help with my writing skills before that will ever happen. (Practice is one of the reasons for this blog – it is a great way to force myself to write)

So, why am I famous you ask? I have told myself if my reader’s ever get five deep, then I will be on my way. Well, what do you know…that happened just this morning. Here is the chainlink: I told Missy about my blog, who told Erika, who told Renee, and then an old friend Kristen found me from Renee’s blog this morning….so, I guess that I am not famous. (oh how fast the glory was ripped from my clenched fist) This is only four deep. (Math is not my expertise) And, I guess to be fair, I already knew Kristen and so she may not count. But, it is sure exciting to feel loved!!!

Well, to honor the moment, I thought I would give Renee and Kristen, some Kentucky humor. Kristen said that they were friends in Kentucky. You can tell that Kristen is a Kentucky transplant because she says that we Tennesseeans are more Southern than Kentuckians. I guess she doesn’t know that Kentucky has more of a reputation for being backwards.

So, here is Kentucky humor from my father-in-law. Brought to all of you in honor of my blog almost being famous in the small State of Kentucky! (Hey, I’ll take what I can get)

Pikeville Kentucky Commandments

Some people in Kentucky have trouble with all those “shalls” and “shall
nots” in the Ten commandments. Folks just aren’t used to talking in those
terms. So, some folks in eastern KY got together and translated the “King
James” into ” Pike County ” language…. No joke, read on…
The
Hillbilly’s Ten Commandments(posted on the wall at the City Hall in Pikeville
KY.)

(1) Just one God
(2) Honor yer Ma & Pa
(3) No tellin’ tales or gossipin’
(4) Git yourself to Sunday meetin’
(5) Put nothin’ before God
(6) No foolin’ around with another fellow’s gal
(7) No killin’
(8) Watch yer mouth
(9) Don’t take what ain’t yers
(10) Don’t be hankerin’ for yer buddy’s stuff

Y’all have a nice day.

Mitt Romney

I am not sure how many of the people who read my blog are actually political. (I know I try not to be; I loathe politicians, or anyone who acts like a politician – the 2nd of the two being the worst – at least politicians have a good reason to be so superficial) Because I try not to get too involved, my heart is not set on Mitt Romney for President, but I do think it would be great to have a Mormon for President (if he wasn’t a politician)

Well, I got an interesting e-mail yesterday that I thought was worth sharing. It starts out like this: (All the words from the e-mail will be italicized and I am unsure who to give the credit to)

If Mitt Romney became President of the US, won’t we have something we’ve never had before — a president who goes to a specific church?

Let me explain for my non-Mormon friends. In the Mormon church, you don’t get a choice of which congregation you go to, it is always preassigned by geographical area.

All other presidents belonged to religions that didn’t have tight congregational boundaries. Now, think about that: What Ward would the Romney’s be in?

Again for my Non-Mormon friends. Every Mormon congregation is called a ward and every ward is presided over by a Bishop. We believe a Bishop is called by God to serve for about 5 years. He can be any worthy male in the congregation (your dad, husband, best friend, car mechanic – the key being anyone – they can be totally smart, totally not smart, totally rich or totally poor, totally humble or totally prideful – but, in any case just a regular guy that you already know fairly well)

If you are Mitt’s new Bishop, here are your top questions:
1. Can you call Mitt and Ann as the Nursery leaders. (the people who work with the toddlers for two hours every week)… even if you really feel inspired?
2. Who is going to home teach them? (every Mormon is assigned a male Priesthood holder to visit their house monthly – the purpose being that we all check on each other and teach the gospel to each other as well as provide anything needed) Will you call someone who needs activation (you are called inactive in the Mormon church if you don’t attend regularly and sometimes callings are given to inactives to help them come back out) but may not pass the vetting and national security screening?
3. If Harry Reid and Mitt Romney are in the same High Priest group, will you need to be there to keep order? (This is funny because the High Priests are usually the old guys who are tired and ornery)
4. Exactly how will tithing settlement work? Will the Secretary of the Treasury come too? (Again, Mormons, go and see their Bishop at the end of every year to declare to the Bishop if they have paid a full 10% tithe that year)
5. Will you be inviting the new Romney family to speak in Sacrament Meeting and if they go a little over at what point do you ask them to sit down? (Mormons don’t pay preachers, people chosen from the congregation speak every week, and sometimes they get a little lengthy)
6. Will the Secret Service do a sweep of the building before each meeting? And if the Romney’s always leave before Sunday school, will the Sunday school president need to interview them? If they stay, where will you hold the class? (Funny because it is always a trick to make sure there is enough room for all the Sunday School classes, especially one which the President would be attending)
7. Can you call the Secret Service agents to help out in Primary? (Primary is where the children go for two hours every week after the family attends the first hour together. Many people aren’t willing to work in the primary, even though the church’s unwritten philosophy is that you never turn down a calling from the Lord)
8. If you give Mitt a calling and the two Democrats in the Ward raise their hand AGAINST sustaining him – partly out of habit – does the Supreme Court need to be involved? (Whenever service callings are given, the whole congregation always has the opportunity to sustain or not sustain the individual by raising their hand)
9. If you can’t give them a calling (job), and they don’t attend very often (for presidential stuff) will that mean they’re ‘less-active?’ If they’re not active, can you give them a Temple Recommend? And if you do,can they go? Will the Secret Service have to screen the temple too? (Only active members are considered worthy to hold a temple recommend and attend the temple which we regard as The Sacred House of the Lord – (we are encouraged to go to the temple as often as possible) I add my question, do you think that Mitt could just hire all temple worthy Secret Service agents to make life easier for everyone, and if so, what kind of scrutiny would there be?) 10. If the President wants to hold Sacrament Meeting at Camp David or the White House for security reasons, is that a conflict of Church and State?

If you’re assigned to be the Romney’s home teacher:
1. Can you just drop by, no appointment? (Funny because all Home Teachers have a reputation for not being so consistent)
2. Can you even call them for an appointment or do you have to go through the Chief of Staff?
3. Can you bring by Christmas sweets and cookies? Will they be analyzed? And for how many people – family, secret service details?
4. If you don’t come can the IRS do an audit on you?
5. Will they want to do a national security background check?
6. Do you have to have a permanent companion who has been vetted? Can you just grab any teacher or priest (priesthood holders who are 14 or 16) to come with you? And what if that priest has been a little wayward? Do you need to search him first?
7. Do you have to help him move in and out of the White House? (funny because everyone calls their home teachers when they move, that is what they are for – to help when you are in need)
8. If Ann Romney gets sick, are you allowed to bring in meals or at least tell the Relief Society about it? (The Relief Society is the Woman’s Organization that has the reputation of always knowing how to help everyone in need)
9. What can you share with the Bishop about the Romney’s?
10. Do you have to ask them about their year’s supply? (All Mormons have been encouraged by their church leaders for at least the past 50 years to have a year stockpile of food in case of emergency or famine)
11. If you get a late night call for a blessing will reporters follow you around wanting to know what was wrong and what you said? (All worthy male men in the church are given the Priesthood, where they can give blessings of comfort or healing by the laying on of hands – Men are encouraged to call their Home Teacher if they need a blessing)

If Mitt Romney is assigned to be YOUR home teacher:
1. Is telling the group leader you haven’t been home taught a national security breech? (funny because it is a temptation for everyone when they report at the end of month to say they’ve gone even if they haven’t)
2. If he wants to come at the end of the month, do you accept his reason,”I’ve been out of town?”
3 Will he drop by unannounced or will the media crews give him away? Grin!

There is more to this thing than the non member public can conceivably understand!! I wonder if Mitt and Ann have even stopped to ponder the possibilities.

I hoped I helped the Non-Mormon public understand. It sure seems that I took all the laughs out of it. And, here is my last question. You always refer to your Bishop as Bishop (whatever their last name is). Like LeGrand would be Bishop Gold. This is a way we show respect.

If Mitt Romney were the President of the United States, could his Stake President call him to serve as a Bishop at the same time? If he is a Bishop, do you call him Bishop President or President Bishop?

Blog Blah Blah

What is your blogging philosophy? I had a conversation with my brother today who told me that I needed more pictures on my blog. I am purposefully not putting a picture here. I love being passive aggressive, or just aggressive. I am never passive, even though it is my goal every year of my life to learn to be passive.

My blogging philosophy is this….Do whatever you want with your own darn blog. That is why you have it. Blogging allows you to actually control something in your life all by yourself. My favorite blogs are the ones like mine, that actually have some commentary. The more personal the information the better (few people dare to live their life as an open book and people who do dare have my utmost respect – as long as they can actually talk about something besides themselves)

I like to read people’s opinions and love the internet for bringing them all to my very own house. I can get millions of opinions with a few clicks. How is that for someone who still has a market research bug somewhere deep down inside? I loved calling and bugging people for their personal information when I was telemarketer, but I am now the first one to hang up on them. I don’t need them, I have blogging now. And, I now get my high from the comment click. Woo hoo.

And while I am sharing my opinion, I am not a huge fan of blogs that have only one purpose…to chronicle and scrapbook one’s own family. C’mon give me some substance. Every Mormon family blog looks exactly the same. I don’t care how cute your kid is! Although I am giving my kudos to Meagan for at least admitting that her blog is what I don’t like. (I like it all the more now that you were willing to openly talk about it.) he he – Now I know that I just ticked some of my blogging friends off. Sorry. I do still read all of your blogs, or should I say, I do still look at each and every picture. But, if you would like some other comments from me besides “cute picture” then do something daring and give me some juicy stuff.

And, just for the record, here is the official definition of blog: a Web site that contains an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks provided by the writer

I think you will be surprised at knowing that most blogs don’t fit the definition, including mine. I don’t really journal all of the details; I never link often enough, I talk too much, and evidently I don’t have enough pictures either. Oh well, I gave up a long time ago trying to please my brothers.

I like this blogger.com’s definition better:

A blog is a personal diary. A daily pulpit. A collaborative space. A political
soapbox. A breaking-news outlet. A collection of links. Your own private
thoughts. Memos to the world. Your blog is whatever you want it to be. There are
millions of them, in all shapes and sizes, and there are no real rules. In
simple terms, a blog is a web site, where you write stuff on an ongoing basis.
New stuff shows up at the top, so your visitors can read what’s new. Then they
comment on it or link to it or email you. Or not.

So, happy blogging everyone, even you family people!

Conversation Pieces

LeGrand has repeatedly warned me that blogging about “the bedroom” is off limits and so I hope the following two funny conversations don’t cross the limits. If you are the kind of person who is afraid that you may not want to read further, please stop here. I don’t want to embarrass you or me. If you are even just 1% like me then I am sure I just peaked your curiosity and I know you will have to keep reading, even if you don’t know if you want to. If that is the case, I don’t mind if I embarrass you a little, just don’t tell me if I’ve offended you. I offend so many people in my life, and I just don’t need one more. Consider yourself warned.

LeGrand and I have been trying to get pregnant for 8 months now with no luck. We’ve never really had to work at it before and so we have gotten a little worried. As we were talking for the two minutes that we actually saw each other last night, LeGrand felt it necessary to share with me the infomercial that he had heard on the radio. I vaguely remember, as I was half asleep, but the commercial mentioned that there is a link to an enlarged prostate and fertilization. So, my memory was jogged about another short conversation that had occurred that I meant to blog about: (for your reading pleasure, here it is)

So, we were at LeGrand’s parents for Christmas and an interesting conversation took place that I thought was worth sharing. LeGrand’s little brother Logan started commenting that he needed to go and relieve his bladder in the bathroom. This small statement blew up into a huge thing. Jordan, the middle brother, starts telling Logan that he shouldn’t hold it for so long. “It’s not healthy.” Logan then says, “Yeah, when I hold it too long it almost starts to hurt.” So, this conversation is going on and on and it is almost making me uncomfortable re-sharing it here. (At the time it didn’t seem to be such a big deal) During the whole conversation, where even Faye and I added a few suggestions, LeGrand, the oldest brother, was sitting across the room at his laptop, totally oblivious. All of the sudden, LeGrand looks up and loudly exclaims, “Oh yeah, well I have an enlarged prostate.” What in the world? If you aren’t already laughing, then you have to imagine the look on the face of my usually quiet and subdued husband. The look was as if to say, “So, top that, you wimpy bladder brothers!” LeGrand swears that he was trying to warn Logan that he may have the beginning of prostrate problems, but I think he was just bragging.

And another funny conversation that is totally not related yet is in a round about way. (has to do with male body parts – again stop reading now if you are easily offended) This is a conversation that happened between my brothers and sisters and I about a year and half ago. I have wanted to share it for a long time ago but have never felt appropriate. (I am going to now lose the two new readers that I gained this week, but hey, this blog is for me anyway and I like writing about funny things)

We were at my sister Sarah’s house. She lives in Lincoln, CA, and her house became the gathering place when my Grandma Dorothy died. The funeral was in close by Sacramento. All seven of us siblings were together for the first time in 6 years. So, where did the conversation head? – The natural place of course, what name were we each teaching our own children for the male body part. I have all daughters and so of course I wasn’t as involved here. My brothers, who all have sons were really getting animated. The following names were mentioned: Pe Pe, We We, Tinkles, Wa Wa, and on and on. Who knew there were so many choices? I had put my two cents in towards the beginning of the conversation, “We just teach the girls the correct scientific terminology like the parenting books tell us to….penis is the only word we use.” You should have heard the roars of disapproval from the peanut gallery. This is what really got the conversation going.

Seriously, I didn’t know when it would ever end. We were talking about his for about ten minutes, and the brothers started making up new names that would be good to use. I couldn’t stand it another minute. How could I possibly stop the conversation? Like a pro, if you ask me, “At our house we just call it King Kong.” (LeGrand is going to kill me because it really isn’t true) Yes, I really hope that you are laughing. But, if you are offended or not, I have to say that it’s o.k. because at the time, my plan worked like a charm. Everyone laughed so hard that we finally had a lull long enough in the conversation to change the subject.

Papa’s Puns

A comment left on my post from yesterday made me think that my father-in-law is secretly reading my blog. (I would be so honored) The anonymous comment was in regard to me working as a cashier at Target and said:”Some people hope for change; some people talk about change, but I’ve been working hard to make change since 2007!!!!!!”

Sure, anyone could have left this comment, but really, who left in this world has a pun in his pocket so readily? Duane does like to torture us all continually with his play on words, but it never really gets old. He may be getting old, but unlike him his humor will live forever. I don’t think that it would be possible to erase the practice of punnery from the Gold DNA. I am left to wonder where it all originated. I have been told that Grandpa Gold was a great humorist also.

So, I chose the picture of Duane above from behind. I am sure that he will be able to come up with something really good using the word behind. (He always does)

What is a pun exactly? It is just humor that is a play on words. Try to come up with some of your own, it is quite fun. I must warn you though, you may have to think really hard, I have been sitting here for the past 30 minutes and haven’t been able to come up with one. Thank goodness for the google search. It brought up this page from UT which left me wondering if punnery is a Southern thing. No wonder why all those Southern guys are funny.

In our family, Duane’s puns are numbered. Duane likes to pull out his little plays on words whenever his wit is up to the challenge, which unfortunately for us, is always. After ten years in the family, I have observed that Duane always awards himself with a little chuckle as to tell the intended listener that they had better acknowledge the humor also. I love this! And, I also love how the family tries to remember which number the pun is whenever Duane has succeeded at remembering. Really the jokes have never been assigned numbers for that would take all the pun out of it.

According to Erskine a pun is the lowest form of wit. Now, don’t be offended Duane, he also says it is “the foundation of all wit”. Freud also said that, puns are “the cheapest- can be made with the least trouble” (which Duane will find as a compliment I am sure because the Gold’s pride themselves on being thrifty.)

Leave it to Oscar Levant to astutely point out: “A pun is the lowest form of humor- if you didn’t think of it first.” I am making it my goal this year to memorize a few puns so that I can perpetuate the humor into my children. I would also love it if I could master the lowest and cheapeast form of wit – wit in any form, is good to me. It may be an accomplishment of a lifetime if I can ever think of just one good pun before good old Papa.

Here are some puns just for the reader’s delight: (these are all Duane typical)

1. I used to be twins. My mother has a picture of me when I was two.
2. I work as a baker because I knead dough.
3. A dog not only has a fur coat but also pants.
4. Today I’ve got a pressing engagement. I must go to the cleaners.
5. I recently spent money on detergent to unclog my kitchen sink. It was money down the drain.

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.

"You’re supposed to"

Last week we took the kids to window toy shop at Target. While I was chatting with a lady from our church, LG stopped at the books with the girls. Bella kept requesting LG to read from different books. At one point LeGrand told Bella to hold on. He was attending to Abigail or Sophia. Bella chimed out in a way that was bound to be noticed, “Dad, it says on the TV you are supposed to read to your children.” Classic.