Asking & Answering

Prom was last weekend.

ElemenoB called Allen and I one evening with this announcement: I got asked to the prom! With a bunny! Can I keep it?

She told us that she found a note on our porch that said, "Some BUNNY wants to go to prom with you" along with the aforementioned bunny.

I told her we'd have to wait and see it for ourselves, but I was picturing a sweet little baby bunny and thinking I may not be able to resist. When we arrived at home, here is what we saw:


That's no bunny. It's a full-grown adult RABBIT. With no cage, mind you. Mr. Rabbit lived in our bathtub for two days as we tried to give it away via Facebook - with no takers. Allen and I told Elle that the only solution was for her to give the rabbit back to him as part of her reply. She debated different ways to respond using the rabbit and ultimately came up with this:

She left the jar and the note on his porch, along with the rabbit.

And they both lived happily ever after.

The end.

Stocking Is Underrated

Last month my eldest daughter, ElemenoB, turned the magical age of 16. The magic has nothing to do with becoming the age for acquiring a driver's license (no, we had to force her into finally getting her driving permit last week). The magic has everything to do with reaching the age that we allow our children to date.

Well, ElemenoB jumped right on that. She hasn't been asked out yet (unless you count already being asked to next year's homecoming dance) but she has taken matters into her own hands.

The school hosts a 'girl's choice' Christmas dance in December. She and some friends brainstormed unique ways to ask someone to this dance using a Christmasy-type theme. She decided to load up a Christmas stocking full of treats and attach the following note:

I promise I'm not
STOCKING you,
I just wanted to ask you
to the Christmas dance.
From ElemenoB

ElemenoB then sent the stocking with a friend who is on a school trip to California (along with the guy she is asking) so that he could find it outside of his hotel room door one morning.

As one who basically stalked my husband across state lines to get him to notice me (and, eventually, marry me), this form of asking is close to my heart as well as - in my humble opinion - pure genius.

The answer is pending... but really, how could he say no?

Redemption

ElemenoB wasn't all too fond of the picture in my First Day of School post and asked to pose for another.

Being the awesome mom that I am, I let her.

I present, for your viewing pleasure, a much more cooperative ElemenoB on the second day of school:

Redemption.

School Days For Seven of Nine

No, I'm not talking about that Seven of Nine...


I'm talking about these 7 of 9:

Coolister, my senior, who would only give me a quick fake smile and thumbs-up before running to catch the bus in his freshly-ironed shirt.

ElemenoB, the sophomore, who would not pose for a picture at all and just kept saying, "Go away!" So of course I had to keep taking pictures as she made her way down the block. And look what happened!

I captured a photo of Sasquatch!! (Thanks for putting up with me, ElemenoB. I am such a weird mom - wanting to take first day of school pictures and all of that.)

Thumbelina, our freshman! I can't believe I have 3 kids in high school. She almost missed the bus but still posed for a quick snapshot with a cheesy smile.

All-a-Boy, the confident 6th grader.

Cowgirl, our 4th grade sweetie.

Princess, the cute 2nd grader.

And Hubba... well, he doesn't start kindergarten until next week. But don't be fooled by the innocent sleeping face. This precocious little guy is just charging his batteries!

Where does the time go?! I can't believe the summer is gone - or that my kids are so grown up.

These are the things I am musing about today at Four Perspectives.

No Picnic For You

I have come to the decision that I will not be attending my 20 year class reunion this summer. There were many factors involved, including the distance and cost, but the deciding factor for me was in reading the Facebook page that was created for the planning of the reunion.

It was decided that a family picnic before the reunion would be a good way to socialize and meet each others' families. The location was debatable, but one great suggestion was to actually have it on the grounds of our high school. I loved this idea. I was excited to be able to walk my kids around campus and share some of my great - and even some not-so-great - high school memories with them. However, when it was asked if we could use the school's fields, the inquiry was met with this reply:

The above letter was posted on the Facebook page and everyone who read and commented on it found it to be funny. They were all quite proud of the reputation which the class of 1990 had apparently created for itself back in the day. They also mentioned that they were definitely planning on having alcohol at the picnic, so they were happy to find another location.

Seriously? With everyone's kids there and an open bar at the formal reunion later that night, is alcohol at a FAMILY picnic really necessary? Apparently I am in the minority with this opinion.

I was never really a big part of the whole high school hype, anyhow. Unless my classmates were in choir or drama or (ahem) lower level classes (I'm not proud of my lack of enthusiasm for learning at the time, but it was what it was) then I probably didn't even really know them, anyhow.

I think I'll be planning my own kind of reunion at some point because there are some people that I would really enjoy catching up with. I'll plan a day when my family is going to be in California anyway and call up a few friends that I'd enjoy seeing again. People who know how to have fun and be crazy without a drink in hand. Maybe we'll meet up for lunch or dinner and just catch up on old times.

Now, THAT will be a reunion I can look forward to.

Learning For Life

I got a postcard in the mail today from one of Coolister's teachers. In fact, it was the one teacher that he has mentioned before in the context of I don't think Mrs. So-and-so likes me much so I was surprised by what it said:

(click on the picture to make it larger)

When I asked him about it, he told me that she had inadvertently given him close to full credit on a 150 point assignment which he had failed to turn in. His grade in this class was a C and the points she had given him brought it up to an A. However, as soon as he noticed the discrepancy, he told her. He didn't even entertain the idea of letting the extra points slide. She thanked him for his honesty and changed the grade on the assignment back to a zero. He did not regret his decision.

Coolister is already a smart kid. I know he knows his stuff for his classes, even when his grades don't show it (he tends to procrastinate much too often). The actions which prompted this postcard are the type of thing I want him to be learning. This is the stuff that will truly make a difference in his life.

Good grades are awesome, but good character is even better.

This is the education that I desire most for my family.

These are the moments that make me proud.

That's The Spirit!

My oldest boy, Coolister. Don't mess with him.

Sometime between the beginning of the school year and the beginning of this week my oldest boy decided to run for an office in student government next year.

He is running for Spirit Chairman and, to be honest, I think he is perfect for it. No one has more school spirit than Coolister. In fact, because his high school did not have enough Spirit Days to appease him, he has created his own and convinced his friends to do them as well. They have:

Mohawk Monday. (Get out the hair gel!)

Todd Smith Tuesday. (This is one of their favorite teachers so they dress like Mr. Smith. Apparently this was started last year by a group of graduating seniors.)

Weird Shoe Wednesday. (They wear mismatched shoes.)

Trek Thursday. (Use your backpacking pack instead of your regular school bag.)

Tie Day Friday, or TieFri. (They wear neckties over their regular school attire.)

See what I'm saying? Who creates their own Spirit Days at school? Coolister does, that's who.

He came home on Monday, told Allen and I what his ideas were for creating campaign posters and the three of us got to work armed with a camera, photoshop, posterboard and markers.

We had more fun than should probably be allowed.



I love the way his mind works. Do you see why I love this kid?!

Girl's Basketball

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.)

It's Hard To Say No

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?

School Stuff

This is the pile of disclosure documents I was expected to read, sign and provide my phone numbers and email address on after school yesterday. Between my 3 oldest kids I counted a total of 23 separate documents.

Do you know how much time it would take for me to read through each of these? I did what any responsible parent would do. I made my kids read them. And then I signed them, tore off the signature page, and stashed them away to be read later.

The sad thing is this: I will read them later. Every one. Every. Single. Word. And do you know why? Because I love to get out a brand new red pen and find typos and grammatical errors. It makes me feel smarter than the teachers. This way, if I go to student/educator/parent conferences (formerly known as parent/teacher conferences) and the teacher acts snooty I can secretly say to myself, Yeah, whatever, Mr.-14-Errors-On-The-Disclosure-Document. Don't get all hoity-toity with me! You don't even know proper sentence structure! Yes, I am Gerb, and I'm a nerd. (Nerds everywhere respond: Hi, Gerb!)

In other school-front news, my neighbor called me this week and told me she had signed up to be Room Mother with me in All-a-Boy's 5th grade class. I was a little surprised by this since I had not actually signed up to be Room Mother. "It was your name on there," she told me. "I know I saw it."

I had to bring Princess to the school for some 1st grade reading testing so I decided to investigate. Sure enough, my name was there on the clipboard:
In All-a-Boy's very careful handwriting.

(Yes, I am going to do it.)

This school year is going to be awesome.

Genius Genes

Last year Coolister wanted to take an AP class at school. His counselor advised him against it. The counselor thought that it was a very difficult class for a sophomore and he should wait.

Did I know anything about AP classes? No. I didn't even know what AP stood for when I was in high school. Most of my classes began with the words "Introduction To". But, no matter. I told the counselor that I know my kid and my kid can take on a challenge like nobody's business. He let him register.

And you know what? Coolister proved me right (and made me proud). At the end of the school year, AP students take a test which covers the subject area of their class. A month or so later they get their test results in the mail. If they pass, they are able to receive college credit.

May I present further proof that Coolister has his dad's penchant for smartness:


If you were like me in high school, you may think AP stands for "Academically Privileged" and have no idea what a score of 5 means. Let me enlighten you (from The College Board website):

AP Exam grades are reported on a 5-point scale as follows:

5 Extremely well qualified
4 Well qualified
3 Qualified
2 Possibly qualified
1 No recommendation

That's right. Coolister is not only qualified for college credit in biology, he is extremely well qualified.

Pardon my mommy-blogger moment as I shout: THAT'S MY BOY!!

Embarrassment + Time = Comedy

It all started in my friend Holly's living room.

I had gone to her apartment to hang out, and there he was... her brother, Ted. He was laying on the couch, watching TV, as Holly and I went about our business. The fact is (and I am not proud of this), at the time I was pretty much infatuated with anyone who was male and paid any attention to me at all. I noticed Ted was watching us... and that was all the encouragement I needed.

In those awkward teenage years there was one thing I knew for certain: guys liked funny girls. And so I tried to think of something witty to say. Nothing was coming to me. Ted was still watching.

As Holly was talking to me I looked around and found a small, plastic object sitting on the counter. Its shape was such that it made me think of a walkie-talkie. I grabbed it and pulled it to my mouth, responding to Holly's dialogue with, "That's a big 10-4, good buddy." Holly laughed. I was clever! Hilarious! Witty!

I stole a sideways glance at Ted. He was still watching me, his eyes open wide. Yes, I thought. I have his attention. Before we know it, he'll be asking me to prom.

"Over and out!" I spoke into the plastic, holey walkie-talkie. Ted sat up. He was going to talk to me! Holly just kept laughing.

"Um, Gerb..." he started, obviously uncomfortable. "That's my cup."

"What? This thing?" I asked, inspecting it from all angles. "With all these holes, it must not hold much water!" I retorted, tipping the 'cup' to my mouth as I pretended to drink from it.

"No... I mean, it's my cup," he answered, looking slightly disgusted. "Not like a drinking kind of cup."

"There is no way this thing is a cup," I answered, smiling at him demurely as I batted my eyelashes in his direction.

Ted looked to Holly for assistance. She was trying hard not to wet herself. He continued, painfully. "You know how I play football? Well... that's my athletic cup," he explained, motioning toward his nether-region with a cupped hand.

Oh. His cup. That cup. I am sure I turned 37 shades of red. I quickly set it back down and tried to play it cool. But honestly, how do you recover from that?


Oh, in case you were wondering- he never asked me to prom. I think he was the kind of guy who liked cheerleaders, not funny girls.

Make New Friends And Keep The Old

(Photo stolen from Pam's Facebook page)

Last night my brother and I were able to meet up with an old friend who was in Salt Lake City on business.

When I told Allen that I was going to have dinner with her, he asked, "Who?"

I told him her name may sound familiar because when I am reminiscing over my high school days I will often mention how Pam always got the parts I auditioned for. The parts I wanted. We were in drama and choir together. We never really hung out but we shared a lot of the same interests.

He remembered. And I went.

I went mostly because I am a grown-up now (okay, I pretend) and I enjoy catching up with people from my past. Also, I am now much more mature (pretending again) and do not harbor any ill feelings towards the teenage girl who could out-perform me.

Our visit was delightful. I learned all about what Pam is doing these days along with what she has been up to since our graduation back in 1990.

We talked about schools, jobs, life events, other friends, how stalking is totally underrated...

And here is what I realized.

There are so many great things we can miss out on in life when we keep our vision of others so narrow. When we base our perceptions of people on a limited amount of information we are depriving ourselves of the chance to broaden our circles of friendship.

Last night I realized that I missed out on something great in high school. I can't go back and change that. I can't undo the feelings I harbored towards someone I never really gave myself the chance to become acquainted with.

I also realized that it is never too late to start over.

Pam, it was so wonderful to "meet" you again.

What's In A Name?

I have answered to many names in my life.

I was born Gerberta Donna but was referred to as 'Donna' most of my young life because one of my grandmas told my parents that I would hate my given name.

(She was wrong. I love having a unique name.)

As I got older my parents called me Gerby (there are only 3 people on this planet allowed to call me that so don't even try) and my friends called me Gerb.

After my family moved to California from Iowa some kids (jerks) at my elementary school called me HamburGERBerta. My sidekick was another new kid whom they dubbed HotDoug. I find this hilarious and clever now... but didn't so much at the time.

When I entered junior high I earned myself the nickname of Helicopter Head by twisting my head quickly from side to side just to feel the cool WHAP-WHAP-WHAP of my braided side ponytails as they smacked each side of my head. That name stuck like a permanent label on my forehead for years and is BY FAR my least favorite.

As I reached high school my teachers gave me all kinds of interesting pronounciations of my name, including my favorite: Jer-bear-ta. My drama teacher, Mr. Scarlata, came up with this unusual pronounciation and I just answered to it without any second thought. He was a bit mortified my senior year when someone pointed out the mispronunciation over the course of my high school years but it remains a fond memory for me.

When it became difficult for people to reach anyone in our home because I was always tying up the phone line I earned the nickname Gerb-a-phone.

As I went to college and worked as a sign language interpreter many of my clients called me "Little GerMaid" when they discovered my fascination with The Little Mermaid movie.

After moving to Utah my college roommates called me Bert and Gerbina.

I met Allen, stalked him and convinced him to marry me. We had a couple of kids. They call me things like Freak and Weirdo. But, as much as I love those nicknames, my favorite of all is the one I am referred to as most often:

Mom.

20 Years Was A Long Time Ago

Photo of Wayfarer's Chapel from panoramio.com

I have always loved to write. From the time I was 8 years old until I got married in 1992 I was a dedicated journal writer, recording all sorts of mundane life events. This post is taken from the journal I kept for the year 1989, when I was 17 years old.

Today I bought my prom ticket for $85.00. I asked Mike to go with me but he hasn't given me an answer yet. I feel kind of stupid being the one doing the asking but it's better than waiting around for someone to ask me and feeling sorry for myself. The funny thing is, I guess I'm waiting around waiting for his answer and feeling sorry for myself that he might say no anyway. If he can't go I'll just take Chip and probably have a better time anyway.
(Oh, how I wish I had followed my gut feelings on this one! That was about the worst date of my life and I had no one to blame but myself.)

I drove to Wayfarer's Chapel today. It was so peaceful there, tucked back in the hills. I thought about how stoked I would be if I was ever inside this building during a rain storm. I sat on the stone steps and started to write a song and then I walked over to the cliffs and just looked at the waves crashing on the rocks below for awhile. The sky was a burst of oranges and reds with a tinge of pink on the underbelly of the clouds and the tide was high. So I'm moving on. Thank you, Blondie.
(I hope that at least some of you can appreciate the awesome wit of 17-year-old me.)

School today. I hated every minute of it. Trish and I were laying out on her roof in our bikinis yesterday and we got burnt. I would never wear my bikini in public, in case any of my kids in the future read this. Even though my dad says I should wear one now while I can still get away with it. He cracks me up.
(I'm not sure which is funnier - the disclaimer to my future kids or my dad's approval of my bikini.)

I can't imagine ever not having music in my life. Today I am listening to my favorite tape filled with songs that I got off the radio. I hate when the DJ has to talk right until the singing starts because then I don't get the whole intro. Why do they do that? Anyway, "Just Like Heaven" from The Cure just finished and now the Cowboy Junkies are singing "Sweet Jane". The next song is REM's "You Are The Everything" which is probably my favorite song in the world right now. It is one of those songs that puts me in a mood. I don't know how else to describe it. Music is such a powerful force.
(Some things never change - except maybe my favorite songs. Those change daily.)

Someone burned down the Ivy House. I wonder who it was? I also wonder if the lady who lived in there was really a witch with somewhere close to 50 cats. That's what everyone says. You know what I think? If I lived in a house with 50 cats I would burn it down, too, straight to the ground. I would never tell anyone this because they would think I was a mean witch for hating cats so much.
(The funniest thing about this snippet is that I am completely serious.)

Here I am again, sitting on the bus stop bench in front of our apartment building. Somehow the sound of the occasional passing car clears my head and helps me to think. And here's what I'm thinking tonight: I am an idiot.
(No use trying to lie to myself, I suppose.)

That's all you get. The remaining pages are a jumbled mess of my obsession with various persons of the male species which honestly serves no purpose and should be burned.

Kind of like the Ivy House.

One Girl's Trash...

"Is that your treasure chest, Mom?" Hubba asked me.

"Not really," I replied, "It's mostly some junk I need to get rid of."

I had decided that it was a good day to clear some stuff out of this 'hope chest' my parents gave to me years ago. I knew it contained items that were important to me at one time or another but my priorities have changed dramatically since I was a teenager. I opened it up and stared down at the top layer.

Old VHS tapes? Those could definitely go.


Wait... it's a tape of the first 2 musicals I performed in? And a complete video of the (one and only) pageant I competed in? And some footage with my Dad in it? Hmmm... maybe they're keepers.

Holy cow - check out these pictures of me at school dances. I don't need these!
Well... maybe the kids would think they are fun to look at. Besides, check out my hair in this one! Classic 80's!
I can totally remember that I had to buy Jason that sweater to get him to go to the dance with me. Ha!

Here are these old, stained dolls. What do I need them for?


They were my favorites. That Holly Hobby was my only gift one Christmas. And those stains were from my 'feeding' them at every meal. Maybe I could try washing them. Maybe they're antiques? I better hold on to them.

How about this folder? I don't need my old church folder. Let's take a look inside first...
Wow- it's my camp patch and neckerchief! I worked so hard to earn those. I can still remember how I almost didn't pass off the fire-building or first aid. These are still pretty cool.

Alright, let's see - 2 pictures of me that people drew. Kind of fun. Old posters from the plays I was in? They don't take up much room. Cassette tapes? What in the world... No way! Trish and I singing Surfin' USA... I totally forgot about FunTrax in Westwood! I guess all this stuff is going back in...

OK, on to the bottom layer.


Those blankets are all worth keeping. And I can't throw out my yearbooks or my letterman's jacket. That has my name on it. I wonder what's in that little box?


The first book I ever wrote! I loved this - my Fashion Plates made the perfect pictures to illustrate it. I love the clothes I picked for the people who "just relax at home".

What the heck is this?


Oh yeah! I totally forgot that I own the magic whistle that makes me ruler of the seas! My friend Joe found it for me and wrote a story to go with it. I can't just toss creativity like that in the garbage.

Why am I keeping some piece of paper...

Yes!! Holly still totally owes me from my 17th birthday! I'll have to give her a call...

And look! PROOF!
I totally got an A+ in speech! Ahem... good thing I didn't keep any other report cards...

What's in this envelope? Old negatives? I can toss 'em. Well, let's check what they are first...



Oh - pictures from my theatrical makeup class. Hmmm... maybe I'll develop them and see if they're worth keeping.

In the end, this was all that got thrown away:


Apparently, I am something of a junk collector - or maybe just a sentimental softie. But either way, Hubba was right.

It is my treasure chest.

Leiannaconnannaconnadonna

I will admit that I have been known to be a drama queen at times.

I know, most of you are completely surprised. It's true. I haven't always been the genteel lady you know me as today.

I mean, I used to be a liar, too. There it all is! Out on the table. All of my secrets, revealed. And here is my story.

Back in high school, I had an eclectic group of friends. Seriously, check out the picture. Everyone had their 'thing' that really made them stand out - I mean, Melanie had that cool hat . Debi wore RayBans 24/7, plus check out her awesome jacket with like 5,000 pins on it. Trish always wore the raddest clothes. Holly had her awesome orange convertible bug. Me? I had bangs like a polygamist. Hmmm. Not so cool. I needed a trademark! Something to make me memorable. Then suddenly, I had it! I needed a new middle name.

It had to be really out there. I mean, come on, my first name was already Gerberta - it had to compete with that. So a couple of friends and I thought long and hard and came up with this: Leiannaconnannaconnadonna. And I stuck with it. "What's your name?" someone would ask, unassuming. And they'd get the whole shebang: Gerberta Leiannaconnannaconnadonna Royce.

Was I part Hawaiian? Were my parents hippies? No. Was that really my middle name? Yes. I kept my answers simple. (Much easier to keep up with a lie when it's not too complicated. I was a professional.)

Then came Terry. A boy-friend. (Hey - I didn't wear the braided, bangs-to-the-sky look daily. When my long, curly locks were swaying about my shoulders, I was downright irresistible! Keep saying it, it may become true... I was irresistible. I was irresistible.) One day Terry asked me, "What's your middle name?" So automatic was my response, I didn't even think twice. "That's really your middle name?" he asked, incredulous. I gave my standard reply. His response? "Cool."

And then the lie started to catch up with me. One day Terry told me he had been in an argument with him mom. I asked him what about? "Your middle name." I cringed inside. Stick with it. Don't mess it up... "What about it?" I asked cooly. Apparently, his mom didn't believe that was really my middle name. And he defended me. I couldn't tell him the truth now! Or ever.

Then comes the part where Terry and I did that thing they call "breaking up". And in a final effort to win my heart back, he wrote me a song. I swear, this part is true. He went to a real recording studio and played the keyboard and sang the lines he wrote from his heart, to me. It was one of the best gifts I have ever been given, and I still have the tape he recorded it on. Inside the tape cover, he wrote: For G.L. Royce, From T.

G.L.? I thought. Who is G.L.?

Oh, yes, that was me. He also uses the name "Leianna" in the song, titled "Leianna's Heart". And my 16-year-old self thought, Someday when he's a famous singer and songwriter I can show this tape to my kids and say, "See? He wrote a song for me once." And they'll say, "Who is G.L. Royce? Who is Leianna? Your middle name is Donna." And they'll all write it off to Mom The Drama Queen making up her crazy stories again.

Here are the morals to this story.

1. Don't be a drama queen. And

2. Lying is wrong.




And now for the Fine Print:
Exceptions can occasionally be made in certain circumstances where you may need to employ the skill of "stretching the truth a bit". Then it may be sort of okay. Or if you get a song written for you out of it, that may also be justified. Also, if you need a really good story to tell your kids someday, a very small lie may be acceptable. And when you make a story a little more interesting by adding a few facts? That is strictly for entertainment value and completely forgivable. There may also be times that your kids ask you questions about your past and a small fabrication is a good idea. Plus, I am not really a drama queen.

CTR = Choose To Run

I try not to live vicariously through my kids. Really, I try. But when Coolister got a call from a friend who invited him to a meeting about running cross country at his high school, I couldn't help feeling excited about the possibility. I mean, cross country! That's my sport!

OK, so it was my sport over 2 decades ago. But it's a sport I understand.

Imagine my elation when he wanted to sign up. Oh, the joy! My boy wanted to be a runner! (This partially made up for the fact that he is a traitor when it comes to taking a foreign language class - he signed up for Spanish instead of ASL. Who helps him with homework? Who gives him rides? Who carried him in her womb for 9 months? But he takes Spanish classes, the language his dad speaks. Not ASL. I'm still getting over it.) {end rant}

He ran his first time trial this week. He ran 1.5 miles in 8:53:10 after training for less than 2 weeks - he's a natural!

And here's the best part: I think he realizes that I actually know more about running than he does at this point. He listens when I give him advice on the matter and that just makes me giddy.

Hey, Coolister...

Eat carbs the night before a race!

Hydrate!

Stretch!

Pace yourself!

Sprint for the finish!




Make your mom proud. (Oh, wait - you already did that.)

Once Upon a Time...

I love to read, and today was no exception. I found a book I hadn't read in a long time and sat down to enjoy some quality reading time. Only, the story was different than I remembered.

The main character of the story was really starting to annoy me.

She was shallow, inconsiderate and dense. She made stupid decisions based on nothing. She hurt people without realizing it. She was a complete jerk. All unbeknownst to her.

I was screaming inside! "Are you really that stupid?! How can you NOT realize what you're doing!!" I wanted to pull her out of the pages of the book and give her a serious talking to about the reality of her situation, to turn back time and undo all the things she did that were driving me insane!

I had to put the book down. It was torture to read it.

I started thinking... how often do we do things and make decisions without realizing the impact it has on others? This girl, this silly teenager with a head full of dreams and plans, was so clueless (yet in tune) with what was going on around her! At least, she was aware enough to record these things in her journal - yet still remain removed from the truth of it all. How? How can that be?

As the girl grew older and more mature, the memory of these things was much more rose-colored. And then, as an adult, she wanted to read the pages of her journal once again - to read about what she remembered as fun times and funny stories... only to discover the truth of who she really was.

I prefer my story the way I remember it, not the way I recorded it.

We're supposed to write in our journals, right? And keep them for our kids to read someday?

It's a good thing we don't have a fire pit in our backyard or this notebook would be ashes by now.

You Got Me...

My 2 oldest kids wanted to purchase school yearbooks this year. ElemenoB is in middle school and Coolister is in his first year of high school. And yearbooks are so darn expensive! I told them that they were welcome to purchase yearbooks with their own money if they wanted, but we were not shelling out the cash for such a purchase. ElemenoB ended up getting one, but Coolister did not.

I spent time explaining to them what an unwise purchase yearbooks are. Sure, while you're attending the school they are kind of fun. And it's fun to have people sign them. But you could also bring a notebook to school and ask people to sign that and it would save you a whole lot of cash. I argued that there were plenty of other ways they could spend their money - like on clothes or shoes or music downloads. I told them how my yearbooks have been stashed at the bottom of my hope chest since graduating from high school. I did concede that it would maybe be nice to have a yearbook from their Senior year of high school, just as a memento, but that was even debatable.

Then it happened.

ElemenoB has talked about boys at her school, the ones that all the girls like. I'll call them Thomas and Jeff and whatshisname. At ElemenoB's honors night last week, I got to see these boys. They were decent looking and all, but they didn't compare to the boys of my time...I mean, they were no Aaron or Jeremy!

She disagreed.

But how can you judge, I reasoned, when you haven't seen them? I am talking about Jeremy-who-was-in-a-Poptart-commercial and Aaron-surfer-boy-extraordinaire!!

You guessed it - out came the yearbooks. They prompted all kinds of fun conversations with the kids:

Kids: What does "scamming" mean?
Adults: What? You don't use the word scamming? What do you call it when you're checking out the opposite sex?
Kids: "Hitting on someone"?
Adults: No! That requires actual face-to-face contact! Scamming was more like checking someone out, seeing what's available...

Kids: Who are Michael and Joe and Spencer?
Me: I have no idea.
Kids: Then why do they say you are good-looking?
Me: What?! Someone said I was good-looking in high school?! I don't remember that...

Kids: Who is KIT?
Me: Let me see... oh, that's just an abbreviation for Keep In Touch.
Kids: Oh, like HAGS.
Me: What is HAGS?
Kids: An abbreviation for Have A Good Summer...

And on and on. And you know what? My old yearbooks are still out, being read and looked at and "Check out the tall bangs!" and "Look at those nerdy shorts!" Even I have been reading messages from old friends and pictures I had long forgotten.

Sooooooo........

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe yearbooks can be a really worthwhile investment.

About 20 years after-the-fact.