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Honey Jo, my favorite childhood toy

Honey Jo came into my possession when I was around 8 years old. My memory of it is pretty foggy but I recall being in the parsonage basement for a church auction. There were a bunch of items displayed on tables and everyone had fake money and they were raising their hands and calling out numbers. Quite frankly, I was bored to tears.

But then I saw a big teddy-bear on one of the tables and decided that I wanted it. When the time came I kept raising my hand and shouting numbers…I had no idea what was going on. There was at least one jerk that kept bidding against me, a small child, but others were frantically shoving their fake money at me as I kept raising my bid. In the end, the bear was mine, although I’m not certain how legitimate it was. Someone probably told that other loser to knock it off and let the poor little girl have the bear. Jesus loves you. Hallelujah and Amen.

The bear’s name was Honey Jo. I’m assuming that was the name on the tag because I know that I didn’t name him that myself. I was happy with my bear. He was a cuddly, snugly, armful of goodness…perfect for hugs.

But shortly after bringing him home, something just wasn’t right. Honey Jo just didn’t seem like a boy to me. He just didn’t. So after much contemplation, I did what any good teddy-bear mommy would do…

I had his bowtie removed.

The bowtie removal surgery left a few small scars. Then the bow was reattached to the ear as a lovely “hair”/ear bow. And Honey Jo became Honey Joanna.

…except he didn’t really. I never could bring myself to call him “Joanna”, and I was always confusing my pronouns. To this day I refer to Honey Jo as “him” more often than not. This upsets my daughter who now shares a room with Honey Jo but doesn’t know anything about his/her past. To her, Honey Jo is clearly a girl.

Whether I mix up my pronouns or not, Honey Jo loves me no matter what and is a beloved toy and trusted stuffed friend.

And he still gives the best hugs.

This post is linked to…
Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop 4.) A childhood toy you once loved.

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!

Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com

Posted in About Me, Childhood, True Stories, Writer's Workshop

13 Comments

Tags: childhood, writer's workshop

The Flight of the Midnight Moth

Jul 14

Posted by Jenn Rian

The Flight of the Midnight Moth
A True Story in 12 Lines

We could have been friends, you and I
But instead you decided to fly
Without warning too close to my face
Made me jump all over the place
Some of us are moth-friendly folks
Who like hearing moth knock-knock jokes
And would be quite happy to
Become Facebook friends with you
So next time please think before flying
And sending some poor lady crying
The whole thing makes me quite sad
When I consider what we could’ve had

(Ew. You can see the flash glimmering in his little mothy eyeball. So creepy.)

To read the full story of this terrifying moth-attack visit my other blog.

And since it is semi-related…this text cracks me up!
source

Leave me a comment in 12 lines!
Or just one…I’m not picky 🙂

*This post was a prompt for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop
2.) Write a post in just 12 lines.

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your
hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!

Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com

Posted in Humor, This Rhymes, True Stories, Writer's Workshop

6 Comments

Tags: moth, poem, writer's workshop

Awkward: I sold my teacher what?!!!

Jun 6

Posted by Jenn Rian

You may have already read this story on my other blog a few years back. But I wanted to breath new life into it and add some illustrations.

1991

It was around March or April of 1991. I was in 6th grade. I was 11 years old. I had the misfortune of having the same math teacher two years in a row. He wasn’t all that bad and still I wasn’t very fond of him. Maybe because Math was my least favorite subject and my grades were slipping that year.

(Look at that face of innocence! And also that sa-weeeeet outfit ;))

Middle School was the time when we learned what “going together” was all about (sorta). Kids were “going together” and breaking up every week. “Going together” more than 2 weeks was rare and nearly unheard of during these formative years. I myself had already had one other “going together” and breaking up experience so far that year. Now I found myself “going with” another boy. I don’t remember much about our “relationship”. I don’t remember how we got together or how we broke up…I only remember that it happened and was, in the scheme of things, quite an uneventful period of time in my life. The only mention of the “relationship” in my diary was short, cryptic and written 3 months after the fact.

(Names were erased to protect the privacy of those mentioned in my diary ;))

The spelling is literally killing me. 3 “mounths”, wow!

There’s probably more I don’t remember about this experience than what I do remember and I regret that I can’t provide you with all of the compelling details. All I know is that the halls had recently emptied, I’m guessing that the bell was about to ring for the start of class. My boyfriend was in the hall with me and before he left he gave me a quick peck. I’m fairly certain that this was the first time that had happened, yet it happened so quickly it almost seemed routine. I’m not even sure the kiss hit my lips although I know it had intended to.

Then he came walking up to me…my math teacher. Tall (in comparison to me), round, balding, and bearded he towered over me with his eyes narrowing at me through his round glasses. He informed me that he had just seen what had happened and would be calling my mother. I wanted to yell that he had kissed me and that I was the innocent victim of a hit and run (which was the truth), but I said nothing and walked with my head down, red-faced and embarrassed into class.

I don’t think my math teacher ever bothered calling my mother because she never talked to me about it, and believe me, she definitely would’ve talked to me about it. I suppose there was nothing to worry about, yet I still couldn’t help feeling embarrassed that my teacher thought me a naughty girl. In fact this very incident may have been what led to the ultimate demise of my “relationship” with Mr. Kiss-and-Run. I bet you’re thinking that this is rather a boring story and so far you’re right. Little did 11 year old me know the irony that awaited me 7 years later…

1998

It was around September or October of 1998. I was 19 years old. I was working in the lingerie department of a very newly opened department store in the mall. Half of our department’s merchandise consisted of respectable sleepwear and robes, the other half of bras and panties and other foundations. Far from being Fredrick’s of Hollywood or even Victoria’s Secret we only carried a few racks of “special occasion” lingerie, otherwise known as…the sexy stuff.

(Me 1998, still the picture of innocence.)

Because the store had recently opened I was scheduled to work with several other cashiers, something that would be unheard of in the future as many resignations and lay-offs would occur. I was standing near the register talking with another girl when I happened to glance over towards the “special occasion” lingerie…
And then I saw him. Looking through the racks of sexy lingerie was my 5th-6th grade math teacher. He didn’t appear as tall since I was now (a little) taller than my 1991 counterpart, but he was still round (although perhaps more round), still balding (although more bald), still bearded (although more gray), and still wearing round glasses.

Before I had a chance to tell my co-worker and then flee from the scene…horror of all horrors he came walking up to the cash register. Suddenly I found myself alone. Where did my co-worker go so quickly?! I took my long hair and threw it in front of my face to hide my features and turned my name badge around to hide my name. I was hoping he would quickly purchase a nice tasteful negligee for his wife (?) without recognizing me. Well, he didn’t recognize me…at least he didn’t acknowledge that he recognized me. In fact I’m not sure he even looked directly at me as I’m sure he may have been quite embarrassed of himself.

Embarrassed because, no…he was not in fact buying a nice tasteful negligee. Instead I found myself ringing up a pair of crotchless panties…in size 2XL…for my 6th grade math teacher! (*shudder*)
Paying with a credit card confirmed my suspicions that it was indeed him. Aside from me mumbling the purchase total I’m quite sure that neither of us spoke during the whole transaction including any hellos or goodbyes.

He left and I pulled my hair back out of my face which was much redder than it had been 7 years ago in the hallway at school. Once I had a moment to recover from the horror of what had just happened, a smile broke across my face and I found myself wishing that I had his mother’s phone number…that naughty, naughty boy!