Life As I Know It

He Will Always Be Life In The Snow

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 17:35:00 +0000

What in the world does this picture of Allen have to do with this post? Wait for it...

Because I love music it pains me to hear lyrics which are sung incorrectly.

My oldest brother, Toby, will forever be etched in my memory as a destroyer of songs. Give him a perfectly good song and he can sing it in a way that you never dreamed possible.

I pleaded and reasoned with him numerous times but I could never get him to sing the lyrics the right way. Why? Because he was right, of course, being the oldest brother. This was in the days before internet, before looking up song lyrics with the click of a button. It was a case of his-word-against-mine and he wasn't one to admit defeat easily.

One lyric that he was adamant about was: "Every Time You Go Away, you take a piece of meat with you."

Huh?

"Toby," I would rationalize, "why would someone take a piece of meat with them every time they go away? It just doesn't make sense. The lyric is 'take a piece of ME with you.'"

Then he would come back with, "What does that mean? Take a piece of the guy with her? So, is she like an axe murderer or something? Is this a song about dismemberment?"

Which, actually, I'll have to admit he's got a point with that one. But meat? No.

And don't even get me started on his rendition of Groove Tonight. Did anyone else think they said, 'stethoscope' instead of 'let this groove'? What does a stethoscope have to do with getting your groove on?

One day when I was singing Losing My Religion Toby would not stop laughing. "What is so funny?" I finally asked, annoyed. So he sang back to me what he thought I was singing: "Let's pee in the corner... let's pee in the spotlight..." I just told him that one was right so he could sing it that way around his friends. I mean, who am I to tell my older brother that he's wrong?

It could be that it just runs in the family. My dad always requested that we play Madonna's Material Girl. We eventually figured out that by reading our lips as we sang along he thought we were singing about his favorite cereal and that Madonna was professing "I'm a Cheerio girl".

One of my favorites, though, has to be the misunderstood lyric that I caught my own husband singing. You know the song Endless Love? (If you click on that link please make a game of counting the grammatical atrocities in the video.) One day it began to play over the car radio and, as is standard, we were singing along. At the end of the chorus when it says, "You will always be...my endless love," I heard him sing "you will always be...life in the snow." "Life in the snow?" I asked. "Yeah, that's what they say. Life in the snow." I put that in context for him, reminded him of the title to the song and he immediately realized his error. You know what the best part is? That song's been around forEVER and that's how he always sang it. I can't help but remind him of that every so often. Life in the snow! (giggle)

Anyway, I know it's not only my family; I think misunderstood lyrics are as common as sliced bread. And one thing's for sure... as long as songs exist, there will continue to be people who annihilate the lyrics.

And I will be here to correct them.

You've Got Mail

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 14:48:00 +0000

I LOVE this cartoon from nataliedee.com

I have always loved mail. You'll notice I use the word love there, and not just like.

I'm talking about being a kid who would lay (or is it lie?) by the front door in the afternoon, waiting for the mail slot to open and letters to fall to the floor.

I'm saying I was a teenager who watched in anticipation from the balcony of our apartment for Fred, our mailman to arrive. Yes, we were on a first-name basis. He called me 'Miss Ga-berta', as in, "Miss Ga-berta, are you feelin' lucky today, young lady?" Then he'd root around in his sack and proclaim, "I have in my hand one bona-fide letter addressed to none other than you, yourself! Shall we celebrate?" And then he'd sing, "I got sunshiiiiiiiine, on a cloudy day! When it's cold outsiiiiiide, I got a letter for you today!" Man, do I miss that guy.

(side note: Fred = best mailman, ever.)

I'm telling you that when I moved 3 states away from home I planned my work schedule around the time the mail would arrive so that I could get to it before any of my roommates. Psychotic? Maybe. But the truth of it is just that...

I. Love. Mail.

Want to read more about it? I thought you'd never ask.

Please join me at Four Perspectives today. You can think of it as a letter from me to you.

The Power Of Like

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 12:45:00 +0000

"Mom, WAKE up!" Curly pleaded with me repeatedly the other morning.

She continued to speak to me in her cute little 3-year-old voice as I continued to pretend I was still asleep, hoping she would let me snooze just a bit longer.

"It is DAY so it's time to waked UP, Mom!" she tried reasoning with me.

I groaned and rolled to face her. "Why do you want me to wake up, Curly? Why can't I just sleep a bit longer?"

"P-cuz I like you, Mom," she answered. How adorable is that?!

I smiled, dragged myself out of the bed and jumped to my feet in front of her with my arms stretched high above my head. "I'm UP!" I proclaimed with an expression of joy which was nothing close to what I felt. And that is where she discovered the power in liking me.

Since then, she has used it as her reasoning for every other thing she does. "I'm following you p-cuz I like you," she told me with a smile as she shadowed me throughout the day. When it came time for dinner, she insisted on the seat beside mine. "I want to sit by Mom p-cuz I like her!" she scolded Hubba. He moved.

I wonder if this would work for me like it's been working for her?

(picture me at a Godiva Chocolatier...)

Godiva Lady: How can I help you?

Me: I'd like 5 pounds of your finest milk chocolate covered nuts, please. For free.

Godiva Lady: Huh?

Me: (smiling sweetly) P-cuz I like you.

Godiva Lady: (pushes the button under the counter to summon security)

Okay, maybe not. But it sure is cute when Curly says it.

I'm certain she's going to grow out of this stage in a blink... but for now, I'm going to enjoy it.

P-cuz it sure is nice to be liked.

Life Is A Highway

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 00:41:00 +0000

Yesterday we made the long trip back home from our annual visit to sunny southern California. As we drove and the scenery changed from the Joshua Trees of the high desert to the bright lights of Las Vegas; from the crimson cliffs of southern Utah to the snow-covered mountains closer to home, I realized that these road trips are a lot like life.

Sometimes the roads are free and clear with no obstacles or distractions, but other times we get mired in traffic and chaos and we have to make a choice. We can patient and wait until we pass through it all or we can become angry and frustrated about the surrounding chaos - even though it is something beyond our control.

Often we will notice that the traffic is stopped on the other side of the road. This makes us thankful that we are traveling in a different direction just then.

There are times where we may become lost and unsure of where to go. We can choose to stop and ask for directions or try to make our own path to our destination but either way we are usually able to eventually get to where we are going. Some paths are more difficult to travel but offer a much better view while other times the road will be easy to navigate.

We may encounter ground-shaking storms or patches of ice which require us to slow down for a bit or maybe even to stop altogether in search of shelter. Other times we will enjoy perfect weather; sunshine with just enough cloud-cover to offer warmth and protection at the same time and road conditions which are near perfect.

When we start to run out of gas it is an opportunity to pull over, stretch our weary bodies and fill up our tanks again. The road is always there, but we don't have to rush to get back to it; we can take our sweet time, take pictures, and resume our road-trip when we feel ready.

Some journeys are long and seem almost never-ending, other trips are much too short, but the excursion is always worthwhile for the people we meet, the experiences we gain, the memories we make and the beautiful scenery we take in along the way.

And regardless of the length of our drive or the things we encounter, the journey is all worth it when we reach our destination in the end.

Sweet Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 19:52:00 +0000

Remember all the things you hoped to become someday? The things you and your friends used to talk of accomplishing and dream of actually doing eventually?

I've had many thoughts along these lines recently. Come reflect on past dreams with me at Four Perspectives.

Unexpected

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 13:25:00 +0000

Last Sunday was a little worse than what is typical. Allen had some meetings that prevented him from attending our meetings with us so I was left alone to wrangle the youngest kids.

About 10 minutes into the meeting Little O started his squirming which then became whining which developed into full-fledged You-Better-Get-Me-Out-Of-Here-NOW-Or-The-Whole-Congregation's-Gonna-Be-Sorry.

I grabbed Little O in one arm, the diaper bag and bottle in the other, and headed for the foyer. When I got there I realized that Hubba and Curly had followed me out as well. Curly wanted me to help her color a picture. Hubba wanted to pretend he was a train headed into a volcano that was ready to shoot hot lava UP TO THE SKY! Little O wanted to run. I wanted to die.

I looked back into the chapel to get some reinforcements (aka The Teenagers) but realized that they were all heading up to the front to participate in a Christmas musical number. All-a-Boy sat on the edge of the bench, reading something, while Princess and Cowgirl tried desperately to annoy each other. I let out an exasperated sigh. What could I do from the foyer with a wiggly, screaming little boy?

I was lucky to have a friend who was happy to have Curly sit with her. This left me with the two rowdy boys and a whole hour yet to keep them un-rowdy. Hubba kept trying to jerk away from my grip and get closer to the gym where he wanted to run for the remainder of the meeting while Little O bashed his head back against my face and chest hoping I would let him down. I was trying not to cry as I stood there feeling helpless and I offered a silent prayer in my head.

Please, Heavenly Father, I pleaded, I am trying to do what's right. I want my kids to know that church is the right place to be today. I don't want to let them run around but I don't know what to do. Please, help me to make it through this meeting without breaking down. Help me to do what is right. Help me not to cry in front of people.

I stood for a few moments longer, wrestling with my boys, and just when I was nearing a point beyond frustration, help came.

I like to think that my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor, because the help I sought came in the most unexpected and unlikely way...

It was a cat.

She came out of nowhere and started pawing at the doors to the church, meowing and jumping about. Hubba noticed her first and dragged me to the doors. "Awww, mom, that cay-at is so cold outside and it is so warm in he-yer. She just wants to come get warm for a minute. Can't we let her in? She just wants to he-yer the people singing..." After I explained that cats do not come inside churches he and Little O were content to stand near the door and just watch her.

She would strut from one end of the doors to the other, occasionally stopping to stretch or roll or pounce at a stray leaf and they were mesmerized.

That cat silently entertained my boys for the rest of the meeting. Then just as the congregation began to sing the closing song, she turned and left.

Some may say it is a coincidence that the cat showed up when she did, but I see things differently. Coincidence or not, that cat was an answer to my prayer. It was evidence to me that my prayers are heard and that my Heavenly Father will not leave me alone when I am frustrated and upset and at my wit's end.

Yes, a cat, of all things, was evidence of my Savior's love for and understanding of me.

And I was so very thankful.

Snow Day

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 17:59:00 +0000

photo from trekearth.com

Is it snowing in your neck of the woods?

Not only is it snowing outside, it is also snowing inside over at my place.

Is there a hole in the roof? A broken window?

Come check it out at Four Perspectives.

Holiday Cheer

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 17:54:00 +0000

As a general rule, last minute Christmas shopping = misery.

Except for one small moment on Saturday.

We have a tradition of letting the kids buy gifts for each others' stockings so Allen and I each took a portion of the kids shopping. I had Coolister, Thumbelina, Princess, Hubba and Little O with me as we looked for fun items to stuff stockings with. At each store Coolister would hoist Little O up on his shoulders and my little trail of duckilings would follow me in.

When we came to a bookstore a gentleman and his wife held the doors open for us - me at the front and Coolister with Little O at the back of our entourage. As Coolister thanked him for holding the door the man responded, "My pleasure. You two have a good-looking family!"

Coolister looked to me, rolled his eyes, and thanked the guy... even though I know that he was probably disgusted that someone would think he was married to his mom.

It's the little things like this that make my holidays awesome.

Feel The Sun In Wintertime

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 21:03:00 +0000

We need more sunshine when it's cold and snowy outside...

Today I'm over at Four Perspectives ; I'd love to have you join me.

The Golden Rule

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 21:20:00 +0000

Today's Sunday School lesson was all about the golden rule and making good choices. After an extensive message on doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, I gave the kids examples of situations they could be faced with and then asked what would be the right thing to do.

I asked Super C what he would do if he found a wallet full of money on the street near his house.

"Give the money to someone who needs money?" he asked.

"Well, that would be very nice for someone who needs money, but you could maybe look inside and see who it belongs to..."

"And buy them some gum?" he asked.

"Well, no..." I started to answer, but then he excitedly answered,

"Oh, I know! So the people who need money that you gaved the money to can tell them thank you!"

Close enough.

Next I asked Hubba what he would do if he was playing baseball in someone's yard and broke a neighbor's window. His response was immediate.

"Run!"

"No," I told him, "you don't run. They would probably see you running off anyway and then you'd be in even more trouble. What would be the right thing to do?"

"Hide?"

*sigh* Sometimes I wonder if I am actually teaching these kids anything.

But this much is true; they certainly know how to make me laugh.

Season's Readings

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 21:51:00 +0000

Every year at Christmas our family likes to read a holiday story together. These are my two favorites and I often recommend them to others whether it is the holiday season or not.

Let me tell you why.

Christmas Jars is the story of Hope, a reporter who is grieving the recent loss of her adoptive mother when her apartment is robbed. Soon after someone leaves a small jar full of money anonymously on her doorstep. Eager to learn the source of this unexpected generosity, Hope uses her skills as an investigative journalist to find other recipients of 'Christmas jars'. Her search eventually leads her to the family who first began the tradition of saving a year's worth of spare change to give to someone in need at the holiday... but that's all I'm going to tell you.

It is a wonderful story which teaches the power which lies in giving of yourself... and may inspire a new Christmas tradition for you.

A Return to Christmas is a heartwarming Christmas story which follows the lives of two young boys living in different worlds; Artemus and Chess. I don't want to give away too much of what happens, but through a simple twist of fate these boys are thrown into unexpected circumstances which teach them both much of who they really are. It is a story of Christmas miracles and family ties and enduring love. This book is written by Chris Heimerdinger, who is one of my favorite authors because of his ability to write in such a way that his stories are brought to life.

Both books are great to read aloud with your family or all by yourself, wrapped in your favorite quilt with something chocolate nearby.

Celebrate the season with a little bit of readin'!

(Re)Gifts of Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 20:32:00 +0000

Regift: (verb) To give an unwanted gift to someone else; to give as a gift something one previously received as a gift.

I just found out about the greatest holiday: National Regifting Day. It takes place on the third Thursday in December and, as the name suggests, is the day to regift items you've received but no longer want or need.

I don't know about you, but I've got all sorts of great regiftable items. But who to give them to?

Hey... why not YOU?

Here's what I want to do... If you have something you'd like to regift and are willing to send to someone else, leave a comment on this post. Briefly mention what your regifted item is; just remember that if you feel that an item is undesirable, the recipient probably will too. Let's keep it fun for everyone involved.

Next, email me at gerbdonna at gmail dot com so that I have your email address.

I will close the comments at midnight on December 16th.

On Thursday, December 17th, National Regifting Day, I will number each gift that is up for grabs. I will place slips of paper with the names of all those participating into a bowl and randomly choose a name to correspond with each numbered gift. I will then put the giver and receiver in contact with each other and everyone will send their gifts off and receive one in return.

It's like a blogger-friends Christmas party, minus the face-to-face interaction and fruitcake. Good times all around!

Are you ready? Let's do this! Leave a comment and then come back next Thursday to see what you're getting.

Presents for everyone!!

Want to know what my awesome regift is? Better go check the comments.

Your word is your bond, here. Please only sign up to participate if you intend to follow through with mailing your gift to whoever is chosen to receive it. Thanks!

'Tis The Season

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 17:26:00 +0000

Have you found Christmas yet? I finally did, with a little help.

I'll tell you all about it over here.

Christmas Letter 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 16:33:00 +0000

I finally got around to writing our family Christmas letter. I try to make it fun every year - a bit more than the typical "our family is awesome" (although, we ARE awesome, make no mistake about that!). Parts of this poem may not rhyme or fit well because I had to switch out the kids' real names for their blog names. But either way, you're all on my Christmas card list, so here you go. Enjoy! And happy holidays everyone.

p.s. If you would like an actual hard-copy of the picture and poem, I'd love to send you one. Really. All of you. Even if it's just so that you can have more Christmas photos on your fridge than your roommate or neighbor. I'm all about competition. Just tell me so in the comments or send me an email at gerbdonna at gmail dot com.

This year was exciting, fantastic and fun!

Let me tell you some of the great things we have done.

Allen & Coolister came back, all ranting and raving

From scout trips with rafting and camping and caving,

And biking and hiking and canyoneering, too.

There is nothing that these two scouters can’t do!

The oldest 3 kids are involved in all sorts

Of reading and writing and singing and sports.

Cross country was great for Coolister(16) and ElemenoB(15)

And basketball’s in the equation as well.

Thumbelina’s(13) in “Annie” and an all-girl choir,

All-a-Boy’s(10) a Webelo who loves a good fire,

He, Thumbelina and Cowgirl are writers of prose

They always impress us with what they compose.

Cowgirl(8) was baptized because she turned 8,

She, All-a-Boy and Princess think choir is great!

Princess(6) loves the first grade and lunchtime at school

She always says ‘awesome’, thinks reading is cool.

Hubba(5) loves trains, dirt and video games,

(And he thinks that Hubba is really his name).

Curly(3) enjoys singing and drawing with colors.

She loves to drink milk and play with her brothers.

Can you believe our happy Little O turned one?

He thinks that destroying and biting are fun.

But we’re always a sucker for when he will come

And snuggle up to us while sucking his thumb.

Allen’s year (in numbers) has been mighty fine.

He’s been alive for 40 and at his current job for 9.

Want to know what’s happening with me; Gerb, the mom?

Go visit gerbsrandomthoughts.blogspot.com.

For you in our lives, we count ourselves blessed.

We wish you all peace, love and much happiness!

It's Finally Here

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 14:48:00 +0000

This morning we looked out the window and saw this:

Which resulted in Princess' prayer this morning:

Heavenly Father,

We thank thee for finally covering everything with so much snow 'cuz it sure is sweet to look at! We know we can't play in it yet because we are good kids who hafta go to church in this morning but when we do get to play in it later we'll be thankful all over again.

We're thankful for the food we get to eat for breaftist because we can eat it while seeing all that sweet snow outside! And right now when we woked up it was still snowing so thanks for letting us really see the snow fall and make even more snow stick on the earth, too. It's pretty awesome.

I want to ask thee to bless lots of things but I can't remember them because I'm too excited about the snow. But bless all those things. You know what they are.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

$20? $20! Do I Hear $25...

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 15:52:00 +0000

I'm not sure how many of you have heard the story of the recent tragedy at the Nutty Putty Caves here in Utah. I'm not sure why it has affected me so much or why I can not stop thinking about what happened. We do not know John Jones or any of his family. Perhaps it was because Coolister had just been to the cave the week before and returned, along with his scout crew, with stories of excitement and adventure. Maybe it is because Allen and I were following the story online as soon as we discovered that someone was stuck in the cave.

We went to bed the night before thinking that the morning would bring news of a rescue and were shocked to learn that he had died. It weighed on me for the following few days and still makes my heart heavy to think about what happened and how this unexpected turn of events is affecting his family - specifically his young daughter and his wife who is expecting their second child next year.

It is one of those times when I really wish there was something I could do to help, but feel completely helpless... until yesterday.

My friend Rebecca posted on her blog about an online auction being held to raise funds for John Jones' widow and children. This is how I can help. And I wanted to pass the word along.

Just visit the online auction here, find something you want for yourself or maybe as a Christmas gift for someone else, and place a bid. New items will be posted until December 7th, so you can shop all week, all the while helping someone in need.

It's a win-win situation. So click over there and buy some stuff!

By the way, the warm fuzzies you'll get are free.

It's The Most Magical Time Of The Year

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 15:40:00 +0000

What tops your Christmas list this year?

I'd like a magical 8-ball, please.

Want to know more? Click HERE to read my post at Four Perspectives.

Girl's Basketball

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 01:35:00 +0000

ElemenoB made it onto the freshman team at her high school and today was their first game. I went to watch, somewhat excited to get a feel for what to expect this season.

It was not pretty.

First, let me say that the girls on ElemenoB's team seemed to be playing well and having fun. The coaches were encouraging and happy. To me, that's what sports should be all about.

The other team, as well as their spectators and coaches, were not so... what is the word? Courteous? Sportsman-like? Those don't quite work. Let me put it this way: the coaches loved to scream at the girls on their team, specifically the ones who were playing well. Especially pink-sweater-lady coach, who also took delight in telling the referees how dumb all of their calls were. That lady has some sort of issues going on in her life that just make her an angry person. I wasn't sure if she just needed a hug or to have someone tell her that everything's gonna be all right (rockabye).

The girls on the opposing team would yell in our girls' faces when they were blocking them (is that what it's called? Blocking? Guarding? Tackling?) or if they were trying to get the ball away from them. Things like BALLBALLBALLBALL!! or DENYDENYDENYDENY!! What the heck is that all about?

The home team's spectators would yell and scream and stomp their feet anytime someone on our team was shooting a free-throw, but if we did the same when their team was shooting, we got dirty looks and glares from every 13 and 14 year old tough guy in the gym. I was like, what? Why can't we be friends? We should all be friends. And all I got back was *glare, glare*.

If you are laughing at me at this point, fine. Go ahead, laugh. I know what you are thinking. Basketball is a competitive sport, Gerb! They're supposed to tackle each other and be jerks and yell and glare at everyone. Well, I don't like it when people are mean, sports or not.

This is SO hard! I want to be supportive of ElemenoB's new endeavor, but I feel SO uncomfortable around mean people!

I think I may have a solution, though. Sort of a Pay-It-Forward for girl's basketball.

Do any of you out there know the coach for Orem Junior High's freshman girls' basketball team? (I SO wish I had brought my camera so I could show you a picture! She was so pretty, but she'd be a whole lot prettier if she smiled once in a while.) If you do, could you do me a big favor? Give her a huge, squishy hug the next time you see her and compliment her on her pink sweater. Then ask her if she'd like to talk about what it is that makes her so mean and angry. Once you're done with your heart-to-heart and she's gotten it all out, give her another hug and then ask her to do the same for one other coach or player who seems mad at the world. I'm hoping this will have the effect of eventually increasing my comfort level at girl's basketball games because everyone will be nicer.

If she refuses or resists or gets in your face, could you do something else for me? Get as close to her as you can, look sweetly into her eyes and then yell at the top of your lungs,

"BALLBALLBALLBALL!!!!"

Thanks. (SO much.)

Life, Love And Learning

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 06:46:00 +0000

The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart. - Helen Keller

I am not sure I can adequately express what I want to, but I am going to try.

The children at church took a walk across the street with their teachers today to sing some songs for the residents of the rest home there. First we walked the halls, holding hands and singing a few familiar favorites, bringing some residents to their doorways to share a smile or offer a wave as we passed by.

We continued to the main gathering room where we congregated on a stage to present a few more numbers. As we stood there singing, I looked out over the crowd. The faces I saw were happy, almost lit up with joy. And why? Because some children that they didn't even know were there to sing some songs for them.

My heart ached for these people, despite their currently pleasant demeanor. Thoughts raced through my mind. Why were they here? Did they have family? If so, did they come to visit? Were they lonely? Hurting? Sad? Scared? Where would I be when I reached that stage of my life? I continued to stand there, mouthing the words to each song along with the crowd of kids, but not actually singing for fear that my emotions would come to the surface. I am not sure how to describe what was going on inside of me except to say that I felt a great deal of love towards our audience.

When we were finished with our music we turned to exit the room. Residents of the home waved farewell, smiling, some calling out things like, "Such beautiful children!" and "Come again!"

I wanted to take the time to hug each person there, to tell them that they were loved and important. But I didn't. Not only for fear that I would become emotional but also because it was time to get back - time to sit in my classroom with the sweet 5-year-olds who I have stewardship over each week. Time to teach the lesson that I had prepared.

As we gathered back at the church and settled down for class I had a similar emotion overtake me, only this time it was one of love and appreciation for each of the kids in my class. I am uncomfortable crying in front of others and welcomed the distraction of Little O being brought to me right then as I don't think I would have been able to hold back what was threatening to emerge.

As I walked through the halls of the church, my little boy in my arms, I continued to think over the things I had felt. And I realized something. At the rest home as well as in my classroom, I was not edifying them. They were edifying me, offering me a glimpse of things that I needed to see and feel.

In reality, they were the ones teaching me the lessons today.

Lessons about the power of music and the love of mankind and the ties that bind us all together.

Remembering to count my blessings.

And none of that even comes close to sharing what I really feel.

5 Minutes

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 06:59:00 +0000

I have 5 minutes before this day is over.

I said I would post everyday this month, and I'm a woman of my word. But I have no ideas.

I learned to do "free-writes" in some English class a long time ago, which is where you just write whatever pops into your head for a set amount of time. This is a free-write...

Yesterday we poured 6 yards of concrete around the borders of our property. I helped with setting the forms

(forms set, before concrete)

and doing the finish work once the "big, swirly truck" (as ElemenoB so articulately named it) came and dumped the concrete for us.

We were out there all day. When I am taught to do something for the first time, I am something of a perfectionist. Allen kept telling me I needed to think quantity, not quality, but I couldn't help myself. It was like smacking down a pile of mud with a trowel and then frosting a cake, nice and smooth. And it seemed to stay pretty mushy for quite awhile so I kept taking my sweet time... until it came down to the wire. Then the concrete was hardening before I could get to it. I had to spray it down and exert more elbow grease to get those sections pretty. By the time we were finished my whole body ached. Lesson learned: I would never choose to have a profession like concrete masonry. But when I went out this morning to see how everything set up overnight, I was quite impressed with myself.

(after)

I own this stretch of footings, as well as some along the west side.

I am woman! (rawr.)

Words To Live By

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 05:30:00 +0000

Happy Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Can you spot the girls in this picture?
(The Royce kids, circa 1979)

I will never forget the anticipation of Thanksgiving as a child. For us, it was almost as exciting as Christmas.

We lived much too far from most of our relatives on both sides of the family, but Aunt Jan lived close enough that we would occasionally make the long journey to her house. The six of us would pile into our little Volkswagen Bug with an ice chest full of sandwiches at mom's feet and off we'd go.

My favorite part was always being able to sit, knee-to-knee, with my younger brother in what we called the 'very back' seat. We felt bad for our older siblings who had to share the roomier seat in front of us. Funny thing is, they never seemed to complain.

We would pass the time trying to be the first to spot a certain letter of the alphabet or license plate, guessing how many miles we had remaining before reaching our destination and doing our best to annoy our older siblings in as innocent a fashion as possible. Our arms would be sore from playing Slug-Bug and our throats would be raw from the stifled laughter produced by inside jokes. We'd sing the songs learned from Sesame Street and The Electric Company as well as theme songs and commercial jingles.

For me, getting there was half the fun.

Once we arrived at Aunt Jan's place we'd stretch our cramped legs, run around like wild Indians for a bit and then immediately look for Aunt Jan's dog, Toby. I always got some secret delight from the fact that this little poodle shared a name with my oldest brother. Poor Toby (the dog, not the brother) would usually be cowering in the corner beneath the couch, not looking forward to our visit. Aunt Jan would have him all dressed up in a striped sweater and finally he'd come crawling out, resigning himself to his fate over the next few days.

I don't recall any specific dishes that were prepared but I do remember that mom and Aunt Jan would spend hours in the kitchen preparing our feast while we played outside in her yard. When we were called in to eat the aroma of turkey and stuffing blended with potatoes and hot rolls was intoxicating. I also remember there being such an exorbitant amount of food covering the table that I'd wonder whether we would be able to actually sit around it.

Well, times have certainly changed, but most things remain the same. We now occasionally cram our family of 11 into our suburban with an ice chest full of snacks to enjoy on long trips. Our kids sit in the back and sing songs, play traveling games and try to annoy their siblings in a way that allows them to feign innocence. When we reach our destination we all pile out and enjoy the freedom from the car's confinement. There is still too much food and plenty of visiting... but no Toby in his striped sweater (the dog, not the brother).

Memories, road trips, family, good times, food, laughter...

There is much to be thankful for - and not only at Thanksgiving.

The Key To Everything

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 16:07:00 +0000

Ever lose your keys?

It's a pretty empty feeling, isn't it? Wondering if you'll find them soon... or ever again.

Come see what I've got to say about it at Four Perspectives.

It's Hard To Say No

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 13:39:00 +0000

Coolister was asked to the Christmas Dance at the high school. (Which, incidentally, has the theme of 'Wear An Ugly Sweater' - awesome!) Unfortunately he was asked twice, which meant he would have to say no to one of the girls who had worked up the courage to do the asking. This was difficult.

He had told us stories at Homecoming of the way some others had given a 'No' response which appalled me. The worst was a girl who gave a guy a bucket filled with dirt along with a shovel and the note: I DON'T Dig You. In my opinion? Rude.

Coolister wanted to convey that he felt flattered to have been asked and was sorry that he couldn't go. He decided to go with a candy bar poster. With some help, he came up with the following note:

You were a SWEETTART to ask me to the dance.
We would have had a JOLLY TIME!
I feel like a NERD but the only RIESEN I can't go
with you is that I was already asked.
Thanks for inviting me! -Coolister

It still didn't quite seem like enough to make up for her efforts in asking him, so he added a flower and (with some bribery) his handsome younger brother as the deliveryman.

Here's how it turned out:

I thought it was much more 'tasteful' (haha!) than the dirt and shovel approach. You dig?

Bedtime Songs

noreply@blogger.com (Gerb) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:40:00 +0000

I do not sing to my children often enough anymore.

Last night as I went downstairs to silence the bedtime rabble-rousing, Hubba made the request. "Mom? Can you sing me a song?"

"Which one?" I asked.

"Angel song," he answered without hesitation. This song, actually called Angel Lullaby, is one I have sung to every child in their infancy. It is one I learned as a child and have loved ever since.

I began to sing and Hubba stopped me. "Can you please look at my eyeballs like you're singing it just for me?" he asked. I smiled, looked into those wide-open, inquiring eyes and was immediately struck with the idea that this would not last. That these kids of mine are growing up much too fast and that I needed to make more time for things like this - simple things like singing a song to them at bedtime.

I felt an urgency to create as many memories as possible in the short amount of time I have with these kids while they are still in our home - to create a bond that would bring them back home to visit once they no longer lived here.

For a moment, I could not sing. I could only enjoy the warm feeling that seemed to permeate my heart - a simple yet profound gift to me wrapped in melancholy - a reminder to enjoy every minute with my kids while they're here with us in our home.

So, I looked into those beautiful blue eyes of his and began to sing the Angel Song, just for Hubba. When I finished, he gave me a little smile and quietly muttered, "Fanks, mom." Be still my heart.

I started to leave when Cowgirl made her request. "Can you sing Be Like A Child?" Another favorite.

I sang. And then All-a-Boy asked for a song as well. I even heard Coolister crack his bedroom door open. Was it so that he could once again listen to the songs he heard so often when he was younger? I like to believe so.

Upon finishing my last melody I stood to leave the room. All was silent. I took a moment to look at each sleeping (or almost sleeping) child and offered silent thanks that I am blessed with so many amazing little (and some not so little) people to share my home and life with.

Today, I am thankful for the chance I was given to remember that each moment (and each child) is a precious gift. I am thankful that they teach me so much. And although my dreams of performing on Broadway stages were never realized, I am thankful for the captivated audience I have at bedtime.

I am thankful for the song of my heart.