Freaking Lights and Why I Hate Hobby Lobby

Prompt courtesy of Mama Kat’s Losing It":

 3.) What was the last thing you bought?

I stand corrected from previously posted opinions. 

There is a place I despise more than Costco. And the only reasons I hate Costco have more to do with the environment (parking lot, crowds, negative energy of patrons, etc.) than what it offers. I DO spend money at Costco. And lots of it. That part is easy and, mostly, I enjoy what I buy especially the books, wines and meats!

I CANNOT STAND HOBBY LOBBY.

It used to be I went there several times a week for the "this and that" needs of my kids. It was the only place carrying stuff for projects and they loved going there.

As they got older, I finally got smart. Letting them off at the door, I'd give them a 45 minute shopping window and I parked the car to read. This worked well, I thought.

Yesterday, I found myself in need of things only one place offers. Cheap ass Christmas stuff!

Has anyone ever noticed that most of their stuff is cracked, broken or chipped?

I really needed extra outdoor lights for the backyard like this (the front yard is white):

And Hobby Lobby is the closest place. It’s right up the street.

I brought home four strands, strung them on the magnolia tree with the others already hanging there and pushed in the plug. Ta Da!!!

The freaking lights didn’t work. I tested them individually inside and they lit up fine. Just fine.

I packed them up, drove back, got four more strands and headed home.

I'm not dumb. So I tested them, together this time, in the kitchen before heading out. These freaking lights didn’t work at all! "Cheap ass Hobby Lobby stuff! Screw the freaking lights!”, I said to my husband. Actually, I may or may not have used stronger language.

I packed them up and drove back.

Yet there is a pleasant ending to this dreadful Hobby Lobby debacle. I picked up some mistletoe. And I hung it in the busiest thoroughfare in our home, the path from the stairs to the mudroom.

It didn’t take my husband very long at all to notice it. As a matter of fact, it was just about the first thing he saw when he came home from work. Maybe I planned this ;-).

There’s nothing like taking time to test mistletoe and I'm happy to report ours is in full working order. Hopefully our family will stop for a few moments in these next few nutty weeks and kiss the person standing under it. It will probably be me! 

Addy and I were the first true testers. Shush, don't tell!

I’m pretty happy with the very last thing I bought. Hobby Lobby was good for something.

What did you last buy?

You Know What They Say About Small Packages

Packing two overtired kids and a trunk load of presents into the car, my parents made the rounds to our grandmothers’ houses every Christmas Eve. The car radio set to a station that chronicled Santa’s journey giving updates as to his current whereabouts.

Our first stop was perennially the “old” Lithuanian neighborhood to drop off gifts for my great grandma and great aunts. Shortly after, we'd be turning right at the Baby Doll Polka Club just behind Midway Airport and our car would glide to the curb in front of Grandma Genny's house in Chicago. 

The big picture window framed her slight body, which was aglow in lights as she hung ornaments on her tree by herself. As a child, I always wondered why grandma never spent Christmas Eve with her mother and unmarried sisters.

Obligatory hugs and kisses traded, my brother and I sat expectantly on her plastic covered couch to patiently wait for “present time”. Once the grown ups settled into living room chairs with their beverages, our job was to distribute boxes as excitement bubbled over. 

Grandma Genny gave the best gifts. Covered with sparkling foil paper and candy, a fun toy or game from Woolworths was always inside. She didn’t have much but she gave thoughtfully.

Seeing my name on a box I thought was far too small, my nine year old heart sank. Eyes immediately shifting to my brother’s gift, gigantic in my opinion, sizing it up against mine. 

My tear-rimmed eyes found Grandma Genny’s and she patted the seat next to her on the couch.

“Good things come in smaller packages.” She whispered in my ear.

It's hard to believe that when you're nine.

“What order should we open presents this year, Grandma?” asked my brother.

“Why don’t we go youngest to oldest? Jimmy, you go first.” Grandma squeezed my hand.

Like a Tasmanian devil, my brother tore threw his larger than life package ripping heavy gauge tape to get inside. Screaming with joy, he spilled out 1,000 green army men and a plastic camouflaged tank from a nondescript box.

I looked to Grandma for reassurance, “Your turn, honey.”

Slowly unwrapping her gift, my eyes became saucers as I unveiled a white transistor radio for my bedroom. Ecstatic, I threw my arms around my Grandma Genny’s neck in thanks.

She was perfectly right. My small gift was far better to me than any big box of plastic soldiers. My brother was lining up army men and attacking them with pillows while she helped me tune into Santa’s journey.

The following year, as was tradition, my parents packed up for the same road trip around Chicagoland. This time, as my brother opened his extremely large box, I smiled knowingly at Grandma Genny.

My brother received a case of his favorite black olives.

And I opened a beautiful jewelry box.

Never again did I contemplate or compare the size of a present. I learned to trust the giver.