Inappropriate Target Conversation # 331

July 13th, 2008

“Jennifer WEE ner,” read six, hanging by his armpits on the side of the red cart, and peering down at my first item, a hardcover edition of Jennifer Weiner’s new novel, Certain Girls, on which the author’s name appears in large letters overshadowing the smaller title.

He snorted out a giggle. “Mom, who’s Jennifer WEEEEE ner? What’s that book about?”

On our big Fourth Weekend trip to Target last week, I decided to swing through and grab a book to read on vacation. Committed to checking out library books this summer, I had been patiently waiting in my library’s line for Weiner’s latest. But it is a vacation … I figured I could break my library rule for vacation. I tossed it in the cart.

“Actually,” I replied, “I have it on pretty good authority it’s pronounced Jennifer WY-ner.”

“It looks like Weeeener,” he said again, undaunted, and clearly amused.

“Jennifer Wee-ner,” said 5, mimicking her brother’s pronunciation and smiling up at me as she leaned back, precariously swinging off the end of the cart by one arm.

“Be careful!” I snapped sharply, “You’re going to fall off of there. And, enough. It’s WYner. Let’s go find the watermelon.”

“WEE-NER, WEE-NER WEE-NER” chanted Kong. I zoomed away from the books, toward the grocery aisles, trying to divert their attention without appearing to be trying to divert their attention.

“What should we get to eat at the cabin?” I asked.

“I know … how about Weee nerrrs?” 6 offered and laughed proudly at his own joke.

“Jennifer WEEE ners?” 5 added, conspiratorially.

“Guys,” I said, exasperated, “enough, it’s Wy-ner.” “Plus,” I tried reasoning with 6, “if it were wiener it would be spelled ie instead of ei. See. W-E-I — it’s WY ner.”

“Hey, mom” asked 5, still performing acrobatic feats on the end of the cart, “do you know what a wiener is?”

“A hot dog?” I said, hopefully, as I reached the bread aisle. Please let it be a hot dog I prayed silently.

“It’s another word for a Penis” she declared instructively.

“I have a Penis,” piped Kong, as a slender, gray-haired, grandmotherly woman squeaked out a suppressed laugh and pretended to concentrate on the fat-free mayonnaise, “But 5 has a PA-china.”

“Yep,” I nodded to Kong, “you’ve got it.” My face darkened to the same shade as the ketchup bottles on my left. “Who wants donuts??”

Nope, things haven’t gotten much easier in the last two years. But, at least it wasn’t this conversation … yet.

Gone Fishin’

July 6th, 2008

Be back soon.

Cold beer and Hot sun

June 27th, 2008

Over at my favorite internet haunt, as part of their Summer Cocktail Series, they are posting the stories and recipes that make us think of summer. I sent one over that’s up this morning. Swing by and check it out.

What would happen if they actually called it “lesser emergencies”?

June 27th, 2008

When I started blogging, I decided I didn’t want my blog to be a place for ranting about all the tiny dramas of a day. I didn’t want to send all my unnecessary negative energy out into cyberspace where it would multiply like a gremlin in Iowa. After all, this is why God created sisters and best friends. These people can listen to me whine, and I can save this blog for more thoughtful reflection.

So you can blame HLS for this post. I think her cell phone battery is dead.  She’s not picking up.

Last night, while 5 was playing T-Ball, 6 had a playground accident that resulted in a sizable rip on the inside of his lip. I was about to declare this a wound for icing and a peroxide wash, when we lifted it up and, seeing the tear, all the moms gasped “ooh, I’d take him in.”

After a stop at the pediatrician, whom I sort of expected to prescribe ice and a peroxide wash (but they pulled it up and gasped “ooh, you should probably take him to emergency for sutures”) we headed to the closest ER … in North Minneapolis.

Unless you want to leave your car in a no parking zone, you have to park about a mile from the ER. As this didn’t seem like the kind of injury that justifies law-breaking, we parked in general parking. We were quite a sight really, me wrestling an overtired Kong into the hospital while 6 trailed a few steps behind clutching a bloody ice pack to his face.

When we got to ER, there was no one else there, but, still, we received a little beeper. It was one of those light-up, vibrating devices they give you when you’re waiting for a seat at TGIFridays. We took a seat in the waiting room. I wrestled with Kong, while 6 sat quietly and clutched a bloody ice pack to his face.

About 20 minutes later, our beeper beeped. We were checked in by a nice woman who gave us some papers and told us she was sending us to “Fast Track.”

I wrestled Kong into the elevator, and 6 followed with a bloody ice pack clutched to his face. “You can just have a seat,” said the nice woman behind the desk at Fast Track. 10 minutes later, she checked us in again and took us to a room where we were seen by a nurse. The nurse pulled back the lip and said “ooh, yeah, we’ll need to suture that. Wait here and the doctor will be in soon.”

We turned on the TV, and I wrestled Kong off of various pieces of medical equipment, while 6 clutched the bloody ice pack to his face.

A few minutes later the ER doc arrived. She looked at the lip. She asked some questions. She did not stitch.

She did, however, prescribe ice and a peroxide wash.