If You See Me Coming With Bags, Don't Stand Behind Me

It is true what they say, Shopping trips do make for great blogging material.

One of the reasons I posted pics of my centerpieces yesterday, was specifically to precede what I would blog about today. The joy of making returns.

I first ran to "Target" to utilize five minutes I had before I needed to pick up Ro and Ate who were about 8 blocks away. This went pretty smoothly. I returned all 12 of the salad sized plates I used for the reception's cocktail table centerpieces. While some might say this is unethical, since they were actually used (albeit, not for food), I say it is more ethical to return money to a non-profit organization. What I mean by that, is to put money back on my credit card because the non-profit organization has not reimbursed me yet. And I DID wipe the plates down first. Anyway, I would like to consider my purchase of the plates in the first place, as a RENTAL. I got what I needed and "Target" had some of my money in the bank making them a little interest. So we all win!!!

Then I was off to "Michaels" - the craftiest craft store ever. I think I have been there a total of 8 - 10 times since September. I had to actually place all my returns in a cart before I entered the store. I returned, 5 bags of acrylic chips, 8 unopened bags of leaves and pine cones, 3 unopened bags of organza, 9 rolls of ribbon, 8 bags of river pebbles, 4 bags of round gold floating candles and 7 garden bowls (which may or may not have been used???).

(oh, before I continue, another shout out to someone who does not want shout outs, because I saw you at "Michaels" on Thursday a few lanes over, but too far to say hello. And if you happened to see me on the way out and I was not looking your way, it was not because I am rude, but quite distracted by what I will continue to blog.)

So, after waiting my turn behind two people making purchases, it was finally my turn to unload. Not like you do with a bartender, but I unloaded my cart full of crap onto an unsuspecting 19 year old, who probably worked there for only 4 weeks.

After she rang everything up, and only after, was when I realized, I should probably mention that the first receipt I had which contained the bags of pine cones and 7 garden bowls included tax, however, all the receipts after that were purchases made with a tax exempt letter and therefore, should not be returned with tax. (So I return used items, but I don't steal money - yay, I am ethical after all).

I don't think the lady waiting behind me and the 8 others behind her were impressed with my very ethical qualities when they heard the poor registrar say this -
"Oh, I think we are going to have to do this all over again"

To which, irate, impatient customer behind me responded,
"Oh mother f#%$^!"

The lovely, inept registrar began the process over and I had trust that she knew what she was doing, which may have been premature on my part. Back to irate customer -
"I think you should have the next registrar over there take me next because I have been waiting so long."

In her defense, it was taking a long time and probably my registrar could have responded in such a way to appease her, or responded altogether. But we have all been there. I have the good fortune of always picking the lines where price checks are done and credit cards don't go through and someone runs out after 86 items have already been scanned to go get five more items which are located in the farthest part of the store. Today, it sucks to be you.

And my registrar continued to rescan my returns, when the crazy lady behind me started on me -

"Maybe you should let me go ahead of you because I have been waiting so long."

"I am sorry, I realize this is cutting into your scrapbooking hour, but I am a customer too, and I waited just like you to make my returns, and s!*# happens, but do you really think I will let you with your 20 items ahead of me? And then what about the 9 people in line behind you? I think you need help, but it will not come from me. It's called a {manager}, or anger management class."

I probably did not say it in so many words, but I DID say it.

I actually don't know what happened with her, because I no longer looked behind me. But when my registrar was done, something was not kosher, and I knew the final numbers were off, and not to my advantage. But I am not a total a- hole, so I did not stand in line to figure out what was wrong, rather, I left to my car.

I pulled out my new phone with the touch screen calculator and realized they were off by about $40.00. So I went back in, waited my turn behind two people, and told the flighty 19 year old that something was not correct and maybe she should call a manager, please. (That is how you ask for help, irate customer behind me)

She figured it out, and I did indeed get about another $40.00 back.

I would have loved to hop over to "Bed Bath and Beyond" to return the 35 gold chargers, but I think "BB&B" thanks the guy who threw out the boxes they came in.

The question is, should I go back to "Michaels" and return the other 28 garden bowls that were used for the dinner centerpieces? What do you think?

EXTRA, EXTRA : Because I Needed To Put The Pictures Somewhere

I stole these pics from a photographer (sorry Yudi). But if you live in Chi town, look up "Rine Photography" they do great work.

So the first pic is of Hun and myself (which I am sure he will be very happy to know that I put up here). Just keep in mind, I currently retain extra fluid, on account of the pregnancy. Who am I kidding, I have been eating like a fox in a hen house.

The second pic (as good as it'll get) is the centerpiece that was made for 12 cocktail tables during the reception. It was a Target purchased, brownish square salad sized plate with gold leafing throughout one corner. On top of the gold leafing area was a transparent glass candle dish from the dollar store. In the dish was one round gold candle. And on the other corner of the plate, next to the glass dish was my own homemade swag. I cut a window curtain into 12 equal pieces. The curtain was a sheer brownish color with embroidered leafing of bronze and light green colors - also a Target special. I turned it into a bowish type shape and centered gold beads and white clay flowers with green leafs and a gold framed pearl in the center. All of this sat on a gold crushed table cloth.

In the final picture, is the dinner centerpieces. A gold charger had dried, shellacked leaves and pine cones and or gourds of some sort spread around a glass garden bowl. The bowl was filled with clear acrylic chips which contained 4 small led lights hidden inside for a bluish glow. In the chips sat a battery operated water fall that had a place for two tea lights. Also 3 votive candles surrounded this whole centerpiece. One I placed in a sheer, gold organza bag. One I hot glued sheer bronze and gold ribbon around. And the other one came with a white on glass design.

We also thought of putting candy in a tall martini glass to offset the lower centerpiece. We placed this on a bronze L'Amour table cloth with a gold lame (pronounced luh - may, not as in they were lame or boring) runner down the middle and gold L'Amour napkins (which I noticed actually showed up in different shades).

It was fun, but it is soooooo over. Until next year, anyway.

A Pickle Of A Story

HOLY MOTHER OF BLOG HITS!!!

I was in shock this morning when I realized that my little tracker device leaped from 863 to 939 yesterday. If my math is correct, that means I received 76 hits yesterday. This was 76 page loads. And might I add, even after 76 page loads, there was only one comment (thank you Shosh).

However, I took a little looksy at some information, and realized I had a visitor from New York who took time out of their, I can only assume, very busy schedule, to read about 30 of my posts. No, I do not know who you are my very welcomed, new, New York friend. So I wonder - do I know you? Are you family? Are you a friend? Are you a complete stranger? It's so mysterious. I love it. Are you willing to come forward and introduce yourself, or will you remain a distant mystery? Or will you not even be reading this particular post because something in one of my previous posts inadvertently offended you and now you will never return?

And now I digress...

This morning, my six year old So, with the explosive imagination and too much creative energy for her own good decided to write a quick one page story in the midst of her pancake nibbles. And I share it with you, exactly as she wrote it, with no spelling corrections and no punctuation.

"The Picol"

Ones upond the time Ther was a picol named picols
he had picol friends
one day well Picol was walking He herd his Picol friends wer trapde B Hot dog fase We half too do sumthing
ase they said it it work
they wer out
yey chird picol

So what do you think? A future writer?
I love it!!!

My Confession

I don't know why it is, that I can't limit my visits to my local supermarket to only once a week. And when my yo crunch yogurt supply is disappearing because my kids go through it like water, and I have no fresh bread in the house, this becomes an emergent situation. Because lacking these two staples in my house, means I have nothing to send to school with my kids for their lunch. And on top of this, today I sent So to school with no plastic spoon for her yogurt. She'll figure it out.

While taking my usual zombie walk around the store today, because once again I left my list at home, I noticed something unusual. It could be, this "occurrence" has happened years previous, but I only noticed it today. I heard a Chanukkah song playing over the loud speaker.

Now this is not terribly surprising in the particular supermarket I frequent, as it is located in a very Jewish populated neighborhood. However, in the past, I have not really experienced anything other than random music and Christmas music playing over loud speakers this time of year.

And then I thought about what I was hearing :

Chanukkah, Oh Chanukkah
Come light the menorah
Let's have a party
We'll all dance the hora
Gather round the table, we'll have a treat
Shiny tops to play with, latkes to eat

And while we are playing
The candles are burning low
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago...

And I thought to myself, self- I really rather be listening to Christmas carols.

I am not sure if I am supposed to be "ashamed" of these thoughts, because baby Jesus and Santa Clause are not really part of my fundamental upbringing. But the bottom line is, my Christian brethren have come up with WAY better songs.

And I know I am not the only one of my fellow Jews who feels this way, but I am admitting here today...

Christmas music is beautiful.

In over 2000 years since the Macabbe revolt and the miracle of one days worth of oil burning for eight days, we have not come up with a decent Chanukkah song.

We have plenty of songs about lights and dreidels, latkas and horas and not one of them is good. Not one of these songs makes me want to sing along or actually dance a Hora. But I can probably be found singing or humming songs and tunes the likes of,

"Sleigh Bells Ring, Are You Listening..."

"Oh Holy Night..."

"I saw Mommy kissing Santa Clause..."

"I'm Dreaming Of a White Christmas..." (although this one sometimes finds me replacing the word "Christmas" with the word "Chanukkah")

"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer..."

And oh so many to choose from.

Someone HAS to come up with some better Chanukah songs. Where is the love for the Macabees?

So "fess" up my Jewish compadres, I am not the only one who feels this way. And if my blog has any lovely Christian followers, tell me, are there any Chanukkah songs that you like? I am curious to know.

Full Circle

Yesterday, my father had a most interesting encounter with his past. I have mentioned previously, in passing that my father is a Holocaust survivor. He had been to many camps including Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, but he was liberated in 1945 from a camp in Austria called "Ebenshe" (pronounced Ee-ben-zay). My father, still today, has extremely vivid memories of his victimization at the hands of the Nazis as well as everything that unfolded at liberation. He had mentioned many times to us the story of the exact moment he realized he would become a free soul.

He was standing at the gate in Ebenshe, watching the U.S. tanks rolling up. He remembers that the tanks opened and the soldiers arms raised out of the top of the tanks and then boxes of cigarettes and crackers were thrown towards the prisoners. While my father just stood in place and continued to watch, his fellow prisoners all leaped for the strewn boxes and ultimately created a pile up, much like you would see at a football game over a fumble. Unfortunately, because of the skeletal and weakened state of the prisoners, there were many bodies on the bottom of the pile, who had made it this far, but would make it no further. As hungry as he was, my father was grateful for his own good judgement and decision to avoid running for the crackers.

So yesterday, my father happened to meet one of those U.S. soldiers who rolled up in the tank that day. This man remembered, as well, the fate of those prisoners who leaped for the crackers and cigarettes. And they reminisced together, each with different perspectives and made plans to get together at a later date.

This whole story reiterated to me, the notion that this world is so truly round, and our past can direct our future. The people and experiences that surround us today, will pop up again in some form or another, and will in some way, influence what will be our tomorrow.

I know this to be true, as past lives and past meetings, actually helped bring my husband and I together.

A man named N. who was in the Israel Peace Corp was not yet married, and was sent on a mission to Europe, to oversee the Jewish Refugees who came from the camp Ebenshe. This man N. met my father, and my father to this day, has a picture of himself as a refugee with this man N.

N. met B. also a Holocaust survivor, while on his mission post World War II and they ultimately married and moved around the world while N. was working many missions on behalf of the Israel Peace Corp. They had four kids, but the oldest, A. is their daughter and she is the one to remember.

My father ultimately ended up in Chicago. He married my mother who was from NY and brought her to the "Windy City" . After my father had worked in many businesses, including a food manufacturing business, he was now settling in with a wife, and began his own sales business of a specific product.

Remember all that, as I am moving on for a moment.

My husband (before I knew him),was roommates with a cousin of mine in NY. My cousin's mother thought I should meet him. For some reason or another, I did not meet him until a year later. However, we realized later, that we were both at my cousin(his roommate's) wedding at the same time.

I did not meet my husband until a year later, when a couple from his home town in NY came to Chicago for a wedding and stayed in our home. They were asking me about myself and thought of a young man for me. They started to tell me about him, including the fact that he works with his father in a business that has him traveling to Wisconsin a lot, and maybe he could stop in Chicago to meet me. Their description of him was very familiar, and then I realized, this couple was referring to the same man that my cousin had told me about a year earlier. I agreed to meet him.

In the meantime, back in NY, Hun was telling his father about what he had heard about me, including my last name and what my father does for a living. Hun's father realized he knew the last name S. and he spent a moment thinking about how he knew it. He then remembered that one winter,years and years ago, he got stuck in Chicago due to weather when he was trying to get back from Wisconsin to NY. He did not know anyone in Chicago, but needed a place to stay for the weekend. A business friend of Hun's father directed him to Mr. S. (my father) and the man who was to become my future father-in-law stayed in our home that weekend. (I don't remember him being there, but I imagine I behaved well).

Hun's father then told him, if this family is as I remember, then marry the girl. And how did this business friend of Hun's father also know my father. Because the food manufacturing business that I mentioned my father had dabbled in, was the same business Hun's father is currently working in, and they share a multitude of mutual friends.

But more interestingly, Hun's father is married to A. Remember her? She is the daughter of B. and N. Remember them? N. is the man who can be found in a picture with my father as he was liberated from Ebenshe.

It was pasts and family connections and then some, that ultimately brought Hun and I together. And it continues. Our three precious children exist as a result of so many choices, decisions and general circumstances of people's lives who came way before them. So life does come full circle.

Not Me! Monday (If Only I could Fit It All In)

I do not secretly live every day of the week desperately waiting for Monday. Thanks MckMama.

I did not tell my dinner co-chairmen last Sunday that they did not need to come over and help because it would only take me 30 minutes to pack all the supplies up to take to the dinner venue. I did not curse myself out later, when I was still packing boxes at 1 in the morning. It did not, in part, take me until 1 in the morning because I took a short adequate break to blog last weeks "Not Me! Monday".

I was not secretly hoping that the snow fall we had last Monday would ultimately cancel our Organizational dinner. I would never wish for something like that based on my own inadequacies when it would affect the "fundraising" aspect of the dinner. My feelings for the "fundraising" aspect of the dinner did not go to hell when I had to carry 12 boxes and eight bags down iced over stairs to load a mini van.

I did not secretly want to punch out the dinner attending parent, of the boy who bullied my precious So on the bus causing her to miss her stop which then left my babysitting parents two minutes shy of calling the police. I would never have gotten physical with a parent (when I could have just slashed his tire).

I was not angry at the caterer for not realizing on his own, that in as fancy as a venue that our organization chose, you do not serve soda out of two liter bottles poured into plastic cups. I did not secretly want to slash his tires as well.

I was not punished by G-d at the end of the night for my unholy tire slashing thoughts when my husbands tire shredded while rounding a corner. I did not consider for even one second, hitching a ride home with one of my co-chairmen while Hun waited 90 minutes in the cold, by himself for Triple A to arrive and change the inoperable tire. I did not change my mind and wait it out with him because AAA showed up in only five minutes I love my husband and would never leave him out in the cold by himself.

I was not completely shocked and taken aback at So's parent/teacher conference when her teacher told me So was "soft" spoken. I am not still wondering if she was not referring to someone else's child.

I did not make Hun drag my two year old in his stroller through our complex Saturday morning in two inches of freshly fallen snow, so I could get out of the house to Synagogue instead of staying home and going stir crazy. I did not laugh at Hun as he dragged the stroller backwards behind him and tell him he looked like an Eskimo carrying a papoose. I did not feel terribly bad for any of this after it just took me literally 23 minutes to bundle up three kids so we could trek six blocks in the snow. (No seriously, I did not feel bad, should I have?) I did not then walk So and Ro through snow on the sidewalk yelling "CAR" like a mad woman every forty seconds to Hun who was pushing the stroller in middle of the street.

I did not want to shoot myself in the head when I drove all the way to Nordstroms to get Ate a pair of boots and had to barter with him for ten minutes just to get him to remove his shoes. After all this, I did not make good use of my acting skills by pretending it was no big deal that Nords did not have one of the five water proof boots they just pointed out to me, in stock in his size. I did not consider calling Hun to let him know I would take Ate somewhere else to look for boots. No, I really did not consider making this phone call because I still had no working cell phone.

I did not pay ? amount of money on a new cell phone when it could be I only needed a fifty dollar battery for my old one. Why would I spend money just so I could have a more up to date phone with about 99 bells and whistles I am never going to use.

How could I accept "Not Me! Monday" in all it's MckMama glory without hearing from you, what it is you did not do this week.

My Own Personal Vaudeville Act

There is no other way to describe the banter that sometimes takes place between my parents, then to call it a vaudeville act. Their back and forth comedy repertoire is well known in my family and within their circle of close friends as nothing less than entertaining.

My father typically uses third person in reference to my mother, even if he is talking directly to her, so I imagine he always thinks he has an audience. My mother's voice tends to escalate at least 10 decibels when she is engrossed in conversation. These two idiosyncrasies alone, make for some big time funny.

On Saturday, before we sat down for our extravagant lunch that no one was particularly hungry for after some good eats in Synagogue, my Mom entered into conversation about her impending exit from my home and return to hers, as her construction is nearing its end.

Mom: "You are going to miss me."

Me: "Well Hun is going to miss you."

Mom: "Yes, isn't that nice, I have a son-in-law who is going to miss me."

Hun: "I like to hear what you have to say Maa."

Mom: "Isn't that nice, I have a son-in-law who WANTS to hear what I have to say."

Me: "I guess I did well for you then Mom."

Mom: "Yes you did, you did very well."

Now, granted, my Mom and Dad only live about seven blocks away from me, but as you might have noticed, I avoided answering the question of whether or not I would miss them. And I was thinking about it all through lunch, when my parents began their latest Vaudeville act.

My parents began talking about their house. How my mother can't wait to cook in her new kitchen. And the first thing my father wants to do is hang pictures back up on the wall. And then of all things, the conversation turned to toothpaste.

Dad: "Your Mom will spend good money on some things, but she won't spend money on a new tube of toothpaste."

Mom: "I will spend the money on a new tube when the old one is finished."

Dad: "Na! You nickle and dime every tube."

Mom: "I know how to get every last penny out of it."

Dad: "I throw away the tube, and I think she takes it back out of the garbage."

Mom: "You throw it out, I can get another week out of it."

Dad: "She squeezes the heck out of it, I throw it away again, and again she takes it out of the garbage."

Mom: "I can get another week out of it."

Dad: "Yeah, I think you can afford a new tube of toothpaste. She takes it out, she squeezes it. She can't let go of a tube of toothpaste."

Mom: "You always have something to complain about. I get use out of toothpaste for another week, you won't let me clean your dirty shirts, because they are not dirty enough for you. You need to wear dirty shirts for another week?"

Dad: "Na! They are not dirty, you don't need to have the vasher going to clean, clean shirts."

Mom: "No, I can't clean the dirty shirts, but you would throw anything away, one day you will just throw me away..."

I think this sketch went on another fifteen minutes or so. And if it doesn't seem funny in this blog, I guess you had to be there. Included in the banter, is my father's Eastern European accent and my mother's bellowing voice.

And what did I realize from all of this, besides for the fact that my parents are a little nuts.

I will miss them. They will be a two minute car ride away (20 minutes if I have to bundle three kids up and buckle 'em in), but I will miss the immediate banter and entertainment I have become so used to for the past year and three months. And when they have their banter at their house, it will just be weird when my father uses his third person in reference to my mother and he lacks an audience. I will miss them.