Kohl's, King Kong and Canines

I've spent nearly a month at my part-time position at Kohl's. The jury is still out on whether or not I like it. It's about 50/50 on the things I enjoy and the things I don't. Remember those "10 Things Your Doctor Doesn't Tell You" type stories in Reader's Digest? Here's my own, involving retail:

• Obviously, making minimum wage is far from enticing. It's right next to making $3.50 an hour bartending, but at least while slinging drinks I could make tips.
• Standing on my feet for eight or more hours at a time not only effects my feet, but at my age, includes my knees, back, and neck.
• Why are you out shopping if you're so unhappy about it? Come back when you're in a better mood.
• I know you don't want to apply for the Kohl's credit card. I really hate having to ask you, but I have someone watching to make sure I do, so try to understand my position. (And on the same note, I know marketing, and let me tell you, I don't believe pushing people to apply for credit or giving me their email address after the first polite "no" is a good policy. The check-out is the last impression of the store, and if it's a bad one, it won't matter how good the rest of their shopping experience was, they'll remember the end.)
• Throwing all the items in a huge pile with interlocking hangers is NOT going to help me check your items at breakneck speed. Trust me on this one.
• I would rather take your clothes off the hangers and fold them nicely, but I've been told if it's busy, I'm supposed to leave them on the clothes and throw them in the bag. Oh, and if you want the hangers, especially the small ones for kids' clothes, I'll give them to you, just ask.
• If you have an item without a tag, it will save you time to bring another one up just to scan. I will love you for this.
• If you think I'm doing a good job, have a pleasant personality, or provided you with exceptional service, please go online or take a comment card and let my manager know. It's about the only way I can get a small bonus (like a "tennis shoe day" or "front parking spot").

I do love meeting all the different types of people. There are people who are so willing to share their life with me while we stand there for 3 minutes, that I feel like I know them and we should have drinks sometime. I also met one lady who talked so fast, I didn't understand one tenth of what she said, and I'm from North Dakota for Pete's sake! We normally talk fast.

And for a quick laugh...I was a bit nervous when I was on my own, wondering if I was going to screw up or have to page a manager when a young woman came up with a basket of stuff. I carefully scanned each item, folded and made small talk. Then I attempted to look for the UPC code to scan on the basket when I realized it was one the store provided to its shoppers. Brilliant.

We had our family night a couple of Fridays ago, and Kaiden insisted on watching "King Kong," the newest one with Jack Black and I don't know who else (I'm horrible at actor/actresses names).

How can you not love that face?

The reason he picked this one is because he plays a video game based on this movie. I've seen the original, the one in 3-D when I was younger and we only had one pair red eye/blue eye glasses between 4 of us, and now this one. I cry. Every. Time. I think it's the whole idea that humans just don't know when to leave well enough alone. Every one of those planes knocked out of the sky deserved it.

This past week, I also toured a college and met with a recruiter. When I was a kid, I had always dreamed about being a veterinarian. I had adopted every stray animal that crossed my path. When I finally graduated high school, I chose the art field. I think this was mostly due to the fact that I had heard a rumor that you had to attend more school to be a vet than to be a 'real' doctor. Obviously, the Graphic Design field isn't doing much for me, and surprisingly, the whole idea of animal doctor is quite appealing to me. The thought of having to deal with vomit, poop, pee and horrible smells does not terrify me like it did in my early 20s. After all, I AM a mom. I read the list of classes I would have to take, and I didn't flinch once. I was actually excited. My problem is, would we be able to survive financially if I went back to school? If not, it can't even be an option. I don't think I will qualify for any grants, as I currently have a BA, but I'm looking into it. Since I currently have a degree, it would only take me...at the longest...18 months, not Vet though, Vet Tech.

I nearly cried when Far Side retired.

A few other highlights this week:

Again, no shirt.

•  My oldest now has three teeth missing on top in front. Lisp-city.
• After detecting a faint odor in my downstairs office, and after my version of the Spanish Inquisition, I learned that my youngest had peed in my garbage can because the light was off in the downstairs bathroom.
• The aforementioned child also told his Grammie that he, "thought she was dead" because my husband's phone does not have her on speed dial, and when he tried to call, it only continued to ring.
• He also called his older brother a "freak show." Not common terminology in our home.
• I found no less than 3 empty boxes in my cupboard at the exact same moment that I had a craving for what had been in those boxes. Add that to a bowl of mini-wheats that sat in the frig overnight because I have been adamant about not wasting ANYTHING. (I will never eat those again.)
• The vitamin packs that I had been taking to help stave off heart disease, clogged arteries, high blood pressure and low energy caused me to gain weight. Yeah, I'd rather be skinny(er).
• Kamrin's excuse for not going to sleep tonight? "My tummy wants something to watch and there isn't a TV in my room." Hmmm.
• My husband has never been the romantic type by any means, but after being down in the dumps for two days and an 8.5 hour shift at work, I came home to a bottle of wine...and he hasn't had a drink of alcohol since October 2009.
• I had a huge 30 pageview spike on my blog, several days AFTER I had written. I can't help obsessing about why that is.
• I overheard my son tell his friend that his mom is, "sorta famous, because she writes things that a LOT of people read."
• I'm worried about my dog. He has always hated spending a lot of time outdoors. He has no undercoat (he's a Shar Pei), so he gets too hot or too cold easily. Suddenly, all he wants to do is lay outside. He's been a bit clingy lately. One day I went to look for him, and he's sprawled out on the patio. I seriously thought he was dead. He didn't respond right away when I said his name. He is a bit deaf and has vision problems, but it scared the living crap out of me when he finally jumped up.
• Why is it that a man can drop his clothes right next to the bed and crawl in while a woman has to shut off the TV, lights, lock doors and start the dishwasher before going to bed?
• I've said it a million times...if you put the remote back in the same spot, we wouldn't have to spend 20 minutes looking for it so we can see what the weather is going to be like!

And finally, this is what happens when it snows in the middle of April and the boys can't play outside.

Yes, he did this himself.

Gone To The Dogs

It never fails. After the whirlwind, we call breakfast, and the Tasmanian Devils have been dropped off at daycare and school respectively, the hubby and I plop ourselves down at the kitchen table. After prying syrup laden plates off its surface, cringing while scooping soggy rogue Mini Wheats into the palm of my hand and then into the garbage, and after half-heartedly swiping a damp rag across the table, we have a moment of peace. This is when we both wrap our hands around our lukewarm second cup of coffee and figure out what each of our schedules will be for the day, make comments about what the latest headlines and the weatherman has to say. In one of those comfortable pauses that married couples have, I notice two chocolate eyes staring at me from just over the edge of the table. They stare at me and then quickly dart to the right and back at me. I return the stare. The eyes dart again. I slooowwly turn my head and yes, there is a minuscule piece of waffle, quite nearly teetering on the edge of the table. The eyes belong to our dog. He's trying to let me know, that if I'm not in the mood to wipe up that piece of food, he'd be more than happy to help me out with it.

I elbow Shawn and nod towards the dog. The head doesn't move and the eyes continue to hold my gaze, but suddenly his tail swish, swish, swishes. Shawn will do it first, "Hey, I don't mean to interrupt, but, ummm, there's a piece of waffle right there. I mean, RIGHT THERE. And umm, I'd be happy just to slide my tongue across that little area, and it'll all be good." Thing is, he says it in a voice that's somewhat of a cross between Patrick Star on Spongebob and Hugo, the abominable snowman. (I will love him, and pet him and squeeze him and call him George.)

This is old school. Loved him!

We all create voices in our heads for our dogs (oh yes you do, don't lie!), and that one is Bo's. I don't know why we make him sound stupid. Wait, I take that back, yes I do.

Shawn had Bo when I first met him. Found him on an adoption site with floppy ears and a big pink nose.

Blurry, but still cute. And his nose is pink, just doesn't look it here.

He's part Lab and part we-don't-know-what-the-heck-he-is. Some say it looks like Collie, or maybe even greyhound, or maybe a wild combo of several canine breeds. He's a puppy trapped in a small horse's body. He's as lovable as they come. He tolerated the kids pulling his ears, tugging on his lips and catching a crack the whip ride on his tail. But he's dumber than a box of rocks. Oh we love him, trust me. He's just not that blessed with doggy sense. Some examples:

He uses his nose to push through his doggy door, but will sit and whine if "trapped" downstairs because the door is only open three inches.

He'll suddenly bark at thin air, bowl you over on the way to bark at the thin air through the window, yet remained mysteriously quiet when our car was stolen out of the driveway.

He sits thisclose to you while you're in the bathroom doing your business, not for affection, but because he's waiting for you to remove your butt from his watering hole, even though there is a fresh bowl of water in the kitchen.

He once spent the whole day on a throw rug, because he didn't want to walk across tile.

The minute the garage door is open, he'll shoot out to go exploring, but he won't jump the 4 inches of fence that is still protruding from the snowbank he is standing on in the backyard. (Yes, the snowbanks were that high.)

One time, Shawn had to get up in the middle of the night to the sound of whimpering. He followed the sound out into the kitchen, flipped on the light, and found Bo had managed to climb completely on top of the kitchen table (for a scrap of waffle, I'm sure) and stood frozen on four shaky legs because he couldn't get down.

I was trying to get a cute video of my son in his plastic swimming pool, and upon playback, see Bo wander in the background to lift his leg...for a solid 3 minutes!

You get the idea. When we met, I also had my dog. His name is Ripley, because he is a Shar Pei. He seriously looked like a manatee when I first got him.

Ripley

Manatee

I fell in love. (I find that the uglier the dog, the more I love it...bulldogs, pugs...that kind of cute, not the cute only a mother could love like Chinese Hairless with no teeth and bulging eyes.) He's totally opposite of Bo. He's dark, Bo's light. Bo has a beak and Ripley's snout nearly touches his eyes. Ripley has a deep baritone bark, and Bo's bark causes a streak of light to blur my vision. Bo is tall and big, Ripley is short and stout.

Getting them together wasn't easy at first, but they've learned to tolerate each other...somewhat. Ripley's "voice" is a bit higher, but probably just as dumb sounding. Bo is kind of a bully. He gets let out and then waits for Ripley at the foot of the two stairs, just so he can pounce on him before heading outside. He feels a need to 're-mark' his territory. Where ever Ripley pees, Bo must pee in the EXACT same place, sometimes he doesn't wait for Ripley to move before he does. We have the bowl of food in two separate bowls, because, like my children, they can't share. But once both bowls are filled, Bo will hover between the two. If Ripley picks one, Bo will run over to it. Ripley will move to the other one, and suddenly THAT'S the bowl Bo wanted. Sometimes he won't even eat, he'll just make sure Ripley doesn't eat either, until I have to step in and break it up. Even when they do play, Bo's long beak-like nose can reach places that Ripley's flat face can't. I've had to treat some pretty serious wounds.

Bo craves attention, all the time. "If I sit right here and stretch my neck, I might get petted. Almost there, almost!" (Voice again.) The problem is when you pet him, he gets so excited he'll feel a need to stand on his hind legs to give you a big hug, one giant paw on each shoulder. I would pet him more if he just sat there, but the minute I start, he leans in to it, rolls across my feet and leaves a small pillow of hair on my pants.

Since I've had time at home, I realize all they do is sleep. Bo moans like an old man when he switches position and Ripley snores louder than a freight train. I do notice one thing though. Before each of them find their spot for the night, they will each take their turn, walk into each child's room and walk up to their bed as if they are checking on them to make sure they are okay. They good dogs. Even if once in awhile they'll eat a box of crayola crayons. Makes the yard look like the Easter Bunny ate some bad Mexican.

They are loved.