My jade elephant totem

Haiku

Upselling
Do not shout at her
For asking about the cheese
It's part of the job.


Ice Storm
Blue lights twinkle more
On branches encased in ice
Urban wonderland

Valentine's Day
Men, please show respect
Even if you can't fathom
Her high holy day.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...Sooooooner Eeeeevery Yeeeeeeaaaarrrr

As a child and a teenager, the winter hollydays were my favorite time of year. Family gatherings at Thanksgiving wound into counting the days til the fat man was expected to deliver a bountiful harvest of Barbie dolls and cowgirl boots (and later stereos and Jordaches) under the tree. Living in the Deep South, I longed for JUST ONE white Christmas.

Being an adult and parent makes those joys move aside in favor of things like worrying over how Santa is going to afford that Wii system, and making holiday travel plans that now have to work around Mother Nature and her liberal sprinkling of white powder all over I-80. White Christmas, my eye.

But nothing, and I mean not even working in an ER (I'm guessing) will cure you of the sheer childlike joy in the holidays faster than working retail. There's the decorations for sale, which in our store were out before Halloween this year! The Christmas tunes on the overhead, which you'd expect to start getting peppered into the regular songs a day or so before Thanksgiving, maybe, this year made their debut November 14. They were joined by tunes on one of our local radio stations going all-holiday (just for the weekend so far, thank goodness), and bell-ringers at every mall entrance appearing like they sprang forth from the very pavement. The very cold pavement.

Mother Nature has obliged this holiday look, sound, and feel by making it very cold and dusting that aforementioned white powder all over the place. Which we mall employees get to enjoy all the more, since we often have to park at outlying store parking lots and trek overland to work. It's hard to look attractive and professional when you have major hat-head from bundling up like Nanook of the North just to schlep from the mini-van.

It's not all bad. The good thing about WMEE playing only holiday tunes after Thanksgiving means they have to be a little more creative in their digging for variety. I think there's an FCC law about how many times a day you can play "Do They Know It's Christmas Time?" (And if there isn't, there oughta be!) I derive endless amusement from this one lady who rings TWO bells at once during her shift at the red bucket, and singsongs over and over "God BLESS you, have a HAP-py HOL-i-DAY!" And with my firm belief that I was a cat in a former life, being attracted to red, shiny things makes the decorations not so bad.

It's just a case of too much of a good thing, yanno? I know folks who work in retail who WILL NOT have a tree in their own home, because they get enough of that at work. I will have a tree, but it will go up when it is supposed to - Black Friday - and not a moment before. Cause goodness knows I won't be caught anywhere NEAR the mall on THAT day!!

Copyright 2008 Cheryl Lee

Eli Mattson and Mushmouth

Tuesday night last week, our family went to a nice dinner buffet, then hurried home to settle in together and watch America's Got Talent. Or so we thought.

We'd arrived home just fine, taken our shoes off, and we were getting comfy when our youngest, aged 4, was goofing around a bit and fell, hitting his mouth on the corner of a big Rubbermaid tub. We're used to him falling and crying a bit, and I held out my hands to him for comfort. Then I saw the blood.

I said, "Ohhh..there's blood this time." Don went and grabbed a WHITE hand towel. I held it to the boy's mouth to try and slow the blood. At this point I thought he had just busted his lip, but the blood wouldn't slow at first, and wasn't JUST coming from the ouchie bottom lip. Upon further inspection, he'd torn some of the skin of the lip away from the gum, and that was the cause of the flood o' blood. He'd bruised his upper gum pretty good, too. Seeing how deep the lip was cut, and seeing that ickyness under the upper lip, I informed Daddy a trip to the ER was in order. Daddy immediately goes into freakout mode: "Why? What's it--what--why?" Which causes the baby man to go into fresh cries, this time of panic rather than pain. I'm trying to give comfort, staunch bloodflow, keep blood OFF my workclothes, and soothe Dad all at the same time.

We all got our shoes back on. I had the presence of mind to start the VCR recording for AGT (was gonna start in like 20 min), and we headed out the door, lil holding his own towel now. (Still managing to cry through the fluffy terry-ness)

We'd arrived at the end of valet time, but we managed to find one of the "Emergency Patients Only" spots right outside the doors. I was worried about the kid, but also had visions of CPS visits in my head...especially seeing as his first day of school was the following DAY.

Once inside, I was careful to try and let lil answer for himself. But of course IF we could get him to move the towel, poor thing sounded like Mushmouth from Fat Albert. We went through triage pretty quickly, and they took us back to one of the trauma rooms. I finally got to wash my hands, and wet a paper towel to wash off lil's hands, as well. We told him he could put the towel down now, but he showed us that when he put it up there and pulled it away, there was more blood on it. Ok, fine, whatever makes you feel better. But then the shock had worn off and he was saying OW a lot. The nurse came in, asked what happened, talked to him a bit. As she left, she pulled the door shut, telling us the room across the hall was the prisoner room, and the language sometimes could peel paint. Wonderful! Something else to worry about.

Then the intern came in, asked what happened, then asked him if he wanted something to make it feel better. I asked him if he wanted Tylenol or Ivory Potion (what my kids call Ibuprofen), and he said, "ibory poshub." She brought him an ice-pack and later a nurse brought a dose of Ivory...errr, Ibuprofen.

So there we were, sitting in a trauma room in the ER, watching America's Got Talent cause we just can't miss seeing if Eli makes it through (and he wasn't even on til THIS WEEK). At least we were together, watching it as a family, even if we weren't at home, and even if one of us had this HUGE ice pack held up to his poor lips with one hand, and reaching for (and holding) Mama's hand with his other.

After a while, the intern came back in with the ER doctor. He introduced himself and shook hands with Don and then me, saying he was Dr so-and-so, the Physician on Duty. Don snickered as he closed the door once again, saying "he said doody."

I can't take him anywhere!

It flew over the Dr's head, but the intern got it. She chuckled a bit.

Doctor took a look, said we'd let the frenulum heal on its own, but we'd need a couple of stitches in the bottom lip. They'd put in ones that would dissolve within a few days, they said, and the lip would probably be healed even before they dissolved. He told the intern how to do the stitches - one down inside the lip, and one bringing the skin surface together - and left. Meanwhile middle child piped up he had to pee. Don took him in search of a bathroom, with lil trailing behind, cause he ALWAYS has to pee.

Lil got back to the room just ahead of the intern with her lil kits of torture, and she got all set up. I ran interference at the door, and when Don came back with ds6, I asked him to go find me something to drink. Don has a MAJOR needle phobia. He can get shots and have blood drawn, as long as he doesn't SEE the needle.

Lil was pretty brave for the numbing needle, except for keeping putting his tongue in the way and saying it tasted bad. I thought it would be cool to watch the stitches being put in, and I was fine until it seemed like he was feeling some of it, then I got wound up inside. I'm afraid Don got his head bitten off a bit after the intern and the nurse who assisted her left, and Don was fidgeting with the bed, trying to get it back like it had been before they did the procedure. He was starting to get stressed out with it, and I just couldn't take one more thing at that point, yanno?

Poor lil was right as rain after. Playing and being his old self that very same night. Poor Mama, though, is still recovering. At least he doesn't have the fat lip anymore, and even that seemed to bother me a lot more than him.

On a side note, Eli IS through to the Top 10. Woohoo!

Bad Valentine's Pome

Won honorable mention in the Southern Humorists' Yahoo Group 2008 BAD Valentine's Love Pome (sic) contest. Without even a bribe to the judge, or a flash of boob.

(Sung to the tune of The Beverly Hilbillies theme)


Come and listen to my story bout my boyfriend Joe
A feller you can't trust any farther than you throw
When we first met I believed his love was true
But all that got me was a pot of the Blue
(Ointment, that is. Rub it on. OOOH that stings)

Well the next thing ya know I showed him the door
Then he called up talking sweet like the way he did before
I soon found out that he didn't sleep alone
And he brought more than clothes into our happy home
(Gonorrhea, that is. Gift that keeps ON givin. Grrr.)

Now y'all don't worry cause soon we'll be man and wife
Joe will have to be faithful for the rest of his life
Cause the last time that he and I got into a tiff
I didn't sleep alone, and now we have the syph!
(Syphilis, that is. French disease. Don't worry, Joe, I'll take care of you.)

Don't Try This at Home!

Finished October 26, 2007
Don't Try This at Home!

Cheryl Lee

A southern girl's life is often somewhat sheltered, and mine is no exception. My mother was very strict, which didn't protect me from some cousinly exploration at a very young age, but did put an end to it when she found it out. I was mostly a good little girl, being a virgin until I was 18, in college, and engaged to the guy.

Boy, have I made up for lost time! My first lover/fiancé was a talented director in the bedroom (or kitchen table, or couch, or shower, or bent over the washing machine), and he taught me many interesting and fun things about staging scenes, from props to scenery to even bit players. It was mostly those bit players that made that fiancé never become a husband, as I told him to take that show on the road.

But the sense of adventure, exploration, and fun stuck with me. I have done many things that my mother never, ever wants to hear about. Most of them (my mother's opinion notwithstanding) I really enjoyed and remember fondly. This story is, unfortunately, not about one of those!

At the time of this tale, I was living with the man who would become my second ex-husband. But I'm getting ahead of myself, seeing as how he wasn't even my second husband yet. We met in the old-fashioned way--in a chat room. He soon decided that 750 miles one-way was too far to drive for a booty call, and as his job paid better than mine, I moved to where he lived. Eventually we married, created a couple of kids, spontaneously combusted, etc. That is another story, another one about too many bit players. But I digress.

We had lots of interesting friends, and we'd heard some of them talking about playing with food. It was intriguing, so off to Wal-Mart we went. We selected the chocolate sauce, the strawberry flavored ice cream topping, and some whipped cream…yanno, the usual. We also got some frozen melon balls. So we head for the checkout counter, and onto the conveyor belt went condiments, melon balls, and a 12-pack of flavored condoms. When the cashier, who was trying really hard to keep her eyes in her head and her mouth shut, told us to have a good night, he could not resist. "Looks like it, huh?" Poor girl turned eight shades of bright crimson. We laughed all the way to the car.

At home, the condiments were a VERY nice lead-in to the frozen melon balls. To make it extra-fun, he tied my hands above my head. He then inserted one frozen melon ball. Encouraged by my gasp and "ooh," he inserted another. My eyes went wide, so he kept going. He must have put 5-6 of those things in there. My oohs were gaining in loudness and intensity, and he finally realized there was some amount of desperation in my voice! (Note to guys: when ooh turns to OW, you've gone too far.)

He asked if I was okay, and I told him the area was numb and painful at the same time. He got all manly and said "Here, I'll warm you up," and put himself against me. I asked if it was in, and his eyes went wide and he said NO a trifle too loudly. I told him I was numb and couldn't feel anything. So he tried to retrieve the offending fruit. Yes, I said TRIED.

Do you know what happens to frozen things when you put them in a warm, wet place? They LUMP! And the new lump of frozen succulent fruit would not budge. It was stuck. I started freaking out, understandably, I'm sure. He tried to separate them with no luck. Finally I filled my hot-water bottle with warm water and attached the hose, and managed to flush some of them out. I asked for a count so I could be sure that we had an equal in/out ratio, only to be told he hadn't kept track. This was need-to-know information! I had visions of serious infections in my head. He offered to make it up to me by probing for them with a special tool. By then, though, my passion had cooled along with my nether regions. He did make it up to me later, after about a half-hour or more of flooding the area with warm water to be sure all was clear.

There's not really a moral to the story…I mean, why start now with the morals, right? But if there is a lesson to be learned from all of this, it is DON'T put honeydew on his honey-do list.

At least not if it's frozen.

Maggie's Got Balls

Maggie's Got Balls

Another True Story

Through all three of my (successful) pregnancies, I have been POSITIVE I knew the sex. The first time I KNEW I was having a boy before I was even certain I was pregnant. He turned out to, indeed, be a bouncing baby boy. Same thing with the second…just knew it was a boy. Right again.

Sooooo…..

When I became pregnant a third time, and everything felt differently from the prior two times, and I had a strong sense that this was a girl, I had every reason to think I was correct.

Right?

I decided to call her Maggie Katharine. Everything was Maggie this and when Maggie gets here that. I actually bought some pink things and received others as gifts. After all, my sister had two girls and then a boy. My second husband had two daughters by his first marriage. A girl was not outside the realm of possibility. And there was, after all, my thus-far unbroken streak of correct guesses.

Then near the end of the eighth month, my OB was concerned about the size of my belly (I'm a big ol' gal) and wanted an ultrasound to make sure the baby wasn't getting too big. I was soo very excited, as my new boyfriend hadn't seen one of these before, and he was already excited about the baby, even though it wasn't his. (A story for another day, one not quite so funny)

We happily watch images of a little face, little hands, little arms and legs cross the screen. All the while we're saying "she" and "her" and calling her Maggie. Then the tech gets to the…erm…business end of things, and turns to us and says, "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you might want to think of some boy names real quick. Cause Maggie has testicles."

I was in total denial at first--there must be some mistake! I had been SO SURE! Perhaps what he said were boy parts were actually girl parts. But alas, no.

I knew I would be happy later--after all, I had two boys I adored already. For the moment, though, I let myself be disappointed. That quickly turned to concern, as my older two had to have a corrective surgery on their willies when they were one year old. Would I have to go through that a third time?

Well, I informed the biodad that we needed to think of a boy name STAT. He was no help, so I named the boy after my new boyfriend to honor the man who would be helping me to raise him. My youngest wears my bf's middle name and my middle name. I like to tease my boys because all of them had girl names waiting to go just in case, of course none quite like Scott's Maggie.

And as a final note on that story--we didn't have a third surgery to go through, after all. My best friend was in the delivery room with us, and when they laid the baby on my chest for the first time, he weed all over her shirt, showing us right away that his willie was just fine.