We Had It Covered

When we were kids, Sundays were sacred. That is to say, they were the day for our Mom to have some much needed "me" time. This was accomplished by sending the 4 of us off to the local Lutheran church for a sermon and some Sunday school.

I will never forget the week that all 4 of us kids were infected with chickenpox. It was in the middle of a solid Iowa winter when snow sat in a thick blanket on the ground. As Sunday rolled around we assumed we would be staying home, but mom had a plan which enabled us to attend our Sunday services as usual... we would wear our snowsuits.

She bundled us up in our warm winter wear, the type that covers your face completely except for a small, open window where the eyes can peek through. We were then instructed to leave our snowsuits on during church, thus enabling us to participate without anyone knowing of our (contagious) calamity.

All was going well until we started to squirm. And sweat. But the snowsuits remained on, fully zipped and hiding the red, itchy blisters that covered our bodies.

"Do you want to take those off?" we were asked.

"Nope. We like 'em." was our united response. We had orders.

When we got home we peeled off our winter wardrobes and stood there in the living room dripping with sweat like 4 kids who had been caught in a rainstorm, hands immediately reaching to the places that screamed for a good scratching.

We were later rewarded at the kitchen table with pecan-caramel rolls as mom downed a Pepsi (with peanuts).

The next week at church there was a strange shortage of attendees in the children's Sunday school, but you better believe we were there, singing "I'm In The Lord's Army". With gusto.

(And without snowsuits.)

Not For The Squeamish

Disclaimer: There's nothing particularly clever or funny about this post. Just so you know.

When you hear cataracts you probably think of your grandma, right? Not around here.

Allen is a young cataract patient. The best the doctors can guess is that the cataracts were caused by exposure to sunlight over time (so wear your sunglasses!). The good news is that cataract surgery is the most successful surgery in the United States today.

The thing about Allen is this: when he wants to find out about something he will research it until there is nothing left to discover and then decide how to move forward from there. After reading about all of the various lens replacements and surgical methods available he was ready to make plans for surgery.

His first surgery is scheduled for next week.

In all of his research he found some videos of the actual surgery taking place. He wanted to show them to me because he found them fascinating and educational. Despite my apprehension and squeamish stomach I watched this video of a cataract surgery with him and thought I was handling it well until I saw this photo that ElemenoB snapped...

At least I'm not vomiting. (Yet.)

I will say that I am extremely happy that we live in a time and place where this kind of surgery is almost guaranteed to be successful. Add that to Allen's confidence that all will go well and most of my fears are eased.

p.s. This is my 300th post! Holy smokes.

Master Mechanic

The other day I went to take Princess to school and the suburban wouldn't start. This had happened once in the last week already, so I knew just what to do. I got out the jumper cables,
phoned a friend who brought her car over, then tried to jump start the dead 'burb.
Nothing. My friend volunteered to take Princess to school (thanks, Jenny!) and let me use her car to run errands afterward. I graciously accepted. But then I started to think... I remembered how Allen let me in on a little secret about his vehicle repair know-how: he just figured things out as he needed to.

I could do that.

I remembered how I replaced the headlight by myself just a couple of weeks ago
and what a feeling of sweet satisfaction I had afterward.

I can at least attempt to fix the problem, I thought.

I did a search on the internet listing the basic problem and found this practical solution: "Try whacking the fuel tank with a 2 x 4 or rubber mallet to move the pump commutator and start it again."

Now this was a tool I knew I could find. I got a nice 2x4 from the garage...
and set out to find the fuel tank.

I knew the fuel went in here...
so I climbed under the vehicle and followed this
to here. Fuel tank! Larger than life...So I gave it a good whack...
then tried to restart the 'burb. And guess what? It worked!

I now keep an extra tool in the back in case of emergencies:
And you know what? I think I can do anything.

Just call me an Automotive Goddess.

Not Feeling The Love

Have you ever wondered what love looks like?

I filled an empty box with the love I have for my class of 4 and 5-year-olds and wrapped it all up to use as an object lesson in class last Sunday.

I started out by asking what they thought was in the box and I have never seen them so excited.

"A big puh-cuter!" yelled Super C.

"A pink stuffed pony (breath) that you can put in the bathtub with you (breath) and it doesn't get wet!" guessed Miss S.

"I dunno," Miss E. answered, quietly.

"A treat for all of us!" Hubba yelled.

"And what do you think?" I asked Miss L.

"I fink I know what it is but I'm gonna wait and see it foy-st." she responded.

"Fair enough," I told her.

I gave them a few hints:

It is not something you can buy with money.

You will not find it in a store.

It is not something you can hold in your hands.

You can not see it, touch it, taste it or smell it, but you can feel it.

"Anyone want to change their guesses?" I asked.

"Afto all yo cwues, I'm pwitty sho it is what I fink it is," Miss L told me.

"Let's just ho-wee and open it!" Super C. said, hardly able to contain his excitement.

So we did, and the room was silent at the sight of the empty box.
"What in the woyld?" whispered Super C. And then he looked up, his eyes wide as saucers, and yelled, "Someone stole ow tweets!"

"No, no, remember what I said, guys? You can't buy it. You can't touch it. You can't find it in a store... There is something in that box. It's love. I thought about how much I love you guys and I put all that love in this box and then wrapped it up so I could share it with you. Can you guys feel the love?" I asked.

"Not willy," answered Miss S.

"That was just wee-owed. They-o's nuffing in they-o!" Super C. lamented.

I turned to Miss L., my last hope. "Did you guess what it was before we opened it?"

She sighed. "I fought it was choco-wit chip cookies."



(Note to self: object lessons are often lost on 4 and 5-year olds.)

You May Play Rock Band Too Often If...

Our children's Primary at church is having a talent show this Friday. They will be sharing any and every talent under the sun with the residents of a care center in our neighborhood.

On Sunday I asked Princess (age 6) if she was going to do anything at the talent show. She said that she asked one of the teachers if she could sing "Dirty Little Secret". The teacher responded that "Pretty Little Secrets" sounded like a nice song and Princess said,

"Not Pretty Little Secrets, DIRTY Little Secret!"

The teacher asked if maybe she could think of another song.

I am just glad she didn't ask to sing her other favorite Rock Band song... the one she calls "Rock Sand".

I am a bad mommy.

And The Lucky Winners Are...

51 comments! Holy smokes, people - I didn't think I would get that many. Thanks for making me feel so popular! As promised, I have used the Random Number Generator at random.org to choose who will be lucky enough to claim my prizes. If I was really computer savvy I would have proved it by posting the actual pictures of the numbers that were generated but I have no idea how in the heck people do such things. So you'll have to take my word for it.

The first number generated was: 9!

Yay, Cari!! You get the gift card to See's Candy! Can you email me your address because I know the general area where you live but I'd probably take your prize to the wrong house. (gerbdonna at gmail)

The 2nd number generated was: 36. That was... me. So I decided that anyone in my immediate family (meaning myself and the 10 people I share a home with) were not qualified to win.

Then, wouldn't you know it... the next number was 26. That's Allen. He's married to me. I love him, but I already set the rules after 36 was chosen. Sorry Allen. I'll buy you a whole tank of gas whenever you like. Deal?

The next number generated was 49. One for the later commenters! And the winner is Martha! Martha, you said "No need to include me in your drawing...Not sure the prizes would apply in Ohio, or that the peeps would survive the trip...." Is there a Chevron in Ohio? Because you're the winner of the $5 Chevron gift card! (And of course the prizes apply in Ohio!) Email me (gerbdonna at gmail dot com) with your address and I'll send you an alternate prize if there are no Chevrons out your way.

And now for the prizes everyone REALLY wants... the Peeps! The purple Easter Peeps go to comment #42... Ryan and Crystal. So, Crystal. The choice is yours. Would you like to keep the Peeps or defer them to another commenter? Leave me a comment on this post if you want to defer them to another person (who I will coerce into eating these disgsting morsels of marshmellow and sugar while photographing themselves for use in a future post on this blog) or email me (gerbdonna at gmail) if you want me to get them to you (in which case I would still love pictures which could be titled "How We Eat Our Peeps").

One package of Peeps left! These are extra special because they are from Christmastime and are pepperminty! (and may or may not have been a part of a birthday gift.) And the winner is... (drumroll, please)...

#3... Sue-donym

Sue, you know the drill. Let me know who gets the Peeps - you? Or some other lucky commenter?

Thanks for playing, everyone!

Thinking Too Much

(photo from softpedia.com)

I am sitting here on my bed watching the fat, lazy flakes of snow swirling around as the frigid wind catches them and takes them on a roller-coaster ride. It makes me think.

A thought can get trapped in my brain and swirl around in there, growing larger as more ideas attach to it. I can almost feel some thoughts as they accumulate and grow heavier, taking up more space than I want them to.

Here is a recent example which grew increasingly larger over a few days' time...

I started with this thought: If I could have or do or be anything for an entire day, anything I wanted, what would I choose? Would I want time to myself or would I choose to have/do/be with others? Should I choose something selfish or something that would benefit those around me?

And then it grew: What if it was for a week? A month? A year? Would my choices be any different?

And turned into this: How about if it was for the rest of my life?

Which brought on this conclusion: Shouldn't that be what I'm choosing right now? Am I?

Sometimes I just think that I think too much.

Thanks A Bunch

Thanks to everyone for making my birthday so amazing this year. Thanks for the gifts, songs, cards, treats and comments!! (Did you see I used TWO exclamation marks? Yes, I did!)

It was slightly overwhelming to be so spoiled...

But I loved every minute.

Tune in on Monday when I announce the winners of my birthday prizes! (It's not too late to leave a comment on my birthday post!)

(I know you all want the Peeps. I may give away an extra package just because I happen to have another one now. They're peppermint Peep stars. They may or may not be from Christmas. They may or may not be something I was given for my birthday and now plan to re-gift. You may or may not be the lucky winner.)

Until then, we're back to our regularly scheduled program.

Thanks for reading.

MY Birthday Is A Happy Day For YOU!

It's that time of year again. The anniversary of the day I was born.

I know what you're all thinking... "What can I give you, Gerb?"

How nice of you to ask.

You can give me a comment.

(Especially you. Yours is the one I am most looking forward to.)

Some of you already did this yesterday, likely thinking it was my birthday, and I think you're all awesome already.

However, I'm going to be selfish here and request another comment.

Why? I have presents for you! Well, three of you anyway.

I have a $25 gift card to See's Candy, a $5 gift card to Chevron and a package of purple Peeps. (Gifts are listed in descending order of personal preference).

On Monday morning I am going to give these gifts to three people who leave me a comment on this post. I'll probably use some random number generator (which could mean, "Hey Hubba! Pick a number between 1 and 8...") but regardless, three lucky someones will get a gift from me.

Please? Just one little comment?

It's my birthday. AND I'm giving away presents.

Whether you've commented before or not... it would really mean a lot to me.

Thanks.



P.S. If you win the Peeps you may defer your gift to any other commenter of your choosing and I will make them eat them. And take pictures.

This Month Is Such A Special One

I was the star of the Primary on Sunday (likely because I was the only person with a birthday this week).

The kids (and teachers) all sang me the customary birthday song as I sported the 'birthday hat' and stood before them, encouraging them to sing louder.

I was presented with a small package containing one pink frosted Granny B's cookie before returning to my seat.

Super C immediately got my attention.

"Hey, you aw the best teach-o ev-o! And now it's yo birfday! That's gweat! And yo hat wooks amAYzing!"

"Thanks, Super C.," I said, smiling.

"So, anyway," he continued, "...aw you gonna shay-o that cookie?"

I Need To Remember

(I love this picture of Coolister. It really captures his personality well.)

I needed to hurry and write this before the warm fuzzies went away. It's something I need to remember ...but I tend to forget.

As the oldest child (and a boy, to boot) Coolister's job is to torture his younger siblings. To push their buttons. To drive me absolutely out-of-my-mind crazy by doing these things. I remember well how my oldest brother had this same role in our family. No one liked it, but such was life.

However.

Today was the perfect example of how Coolister is NOT the typical oldest man-child.

He came home after track practice, close to 6:00 pm, ready to either eat or sleep for an hour before attending his church activity night at 7:00. He walked into the kitchen, got a drink of water, and was immediately bombarded with questions from his little sisters and brothers. ElemenoB wanted help with her math, as did All-a-Boy. Princess wanted someone to help her read her sight words and cut out her 'word worm'. Hubba wanted a train story read to him.

Coolister helped Princess figure out some of her words first. Then he sat down with ElemenoB and went over her math problems for 15 minutes. She wasn't getting it. "I'll just ask my teacher for help tomorrow," she told him. But he was determined to help her understand. Another 5 minutes passed and it clicked. She got it.

He moved over to All-a-Boy who was frustrated with fractions. "I just don't get it!" All-a-Boy exclaimed. Coolister knew what to do. "Rulers always helped me understand these better. Let's make you one," he stated like a true teacher. I was in awe. Actually, I was in (happy) tears, but my back was to the kids so they couldn't see. Coolister worked with him for at least 20 minutes before moving on to spend some time with the littlest kids.

This boy is a rare jewel. I need to remind myself often of what a great kid he is. It is so easy to become frustrated with his lack of enthusiasm for practicing the piano and getting chores done. It is so easy to overlook the amazing thing that is happening right before my eyes: a 15-year-old boy cares so much for his younger siblings that he takes the time to sit with them and teach them what he knows. He makes the time to bond with the littlest members of the family and truly enjoys it.

It even goes beyond this.

It is heartwarming to watch him at cross-country or track meets. Not only does he cheer for all of his teammates, he cheers for the 'underdogs' on the other teams. At the last meet I attended we were on the sidelines, cheering for his school. Once they had all passed the finish line there was still one boy, far behind, who was putting in his best effort to finish. "Keep it up, man!" Coolister yelled to him despite the lack of cheering from the boy's own teammates. "You're almost there, kick it in to the finish! That's it! Yeah!!" he cheered, clapping and motioning him in to the finish line. Then he turned to me and said, "Man, kids like that - who you can tell aren't natural runners - when they race and really put in their best effort, those guys are my heroes. That's got to be tough." Again, tears. Thank heavens for sunglasses.

Not to discount my mothering skills, but I swear to you he came to me this way. He was born with a tender heart and genuine love for others.

Like I said, he is good at the typical teenage boy stuff. But it is when I make the time to remember all of these other rare qualities that I realize how very lucky I am to call him my son. Because beyond the fact that we are family, there is this:

He is my hero.

You Make Me Happy

Dear Mother Nature,

Yesterday I woke up to dark clouds carrying the promise of rain. I waited all day and not one drop fell. I'll admit, at first I was a little disappointed... until I realized what you were doing.

You knew the rain would turn into snow because of the chill in the air, and you remembered how much I would love for these same clouds to shower me with big, fat, exploding raindrops on Thursday, so you held them back.

Thank you for being so generous. I'm glad we're friends.

I'll meet you outside on Thursday. Please remember to bring some rain.

Sincerely,
Gerb

Making The Best Of It

(photo from flickr.com)

Today I was at WalMart getting an oil change. The wait? 1 hour, 15 minutes.

No problem, I thought, trying to make the best of it. I can go to the bank, purchase some groceries and eat a small container of Cherry Garcia all by myself.
I finished my business at the bank. Bought groceries, including Cherry Garcia. Sat on a bench and consumed my treat. Checked the time: only an hour had passed.

Close enough, I assumed, heading back to the automotive center.

"Your car has not even come into the garage yet. It will be at least another hour," the boy with 2 humongous holes in his earlobes told me.

"I was told an hour and 15 minutes," I replied (sweetly).

"You were told wrong. It's at least another hour," Earlobe Boy answered (teenagerishly).

I decided to peruse the electronics section.

Then the music aisles.

And then the toys.

I wandered aimlessly, scanning the Legos and action figures and trains and princess clothing before I came to them: the Littlest Pet Shop figures. And suddenly I came alive. Remember this post? Well, my birthday is THIS WEEK and I had forgotten all about the little doggy who came with his own potty training accessories!! I totally deserve it I convinced myself as I rummaged through the LPS animals.

Another lady came along and joined me.

"Looking for a certain one?" she asked. "My daughter has almost all of them," she told me with a smile.

"Actually, yes, I am looking for a certain one..." I answered, continuing my search. Turtles, cats and fish (oh, my!)... but not the doggy I was looking for.

"I can help you find it," she continued. "Is it a bird? Some of those are tough to find."

Me: "It's a dog."

Lady: "What comes with it?"

Me: "Um, a newspaper... and a shovel... and a little plastic (trying to keep my composure and be mature...) poop."

Lady: "What?"

Me: "A plastic pile of poop."

Lady: "They don't make one like that."

Me: "Actually, I saw one at KMart a while back. I wanted my daughter to get it but she thought it was disgusting."

Lady: (knowingly) "Okay." (looking up and down the aisle) "Is there a camera somewhere?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

Lady: "You know, like, Surprise! We got you!"

Me: (seriously trying to suppress my laughter) "Nope, no camera. I'm really looking for a little dog that comes with its own pooper scooper and poop."

Lady: "Hmmm." (continues to look, quietly)

I investigated every single package (to no avail!) before hearing Earlobe Boy announce my name over the intercom. My vehicle was ready. No toys for me today.

"You have a good one," I told my fellow LPS toys-peruser as I turned to leave.

"Plastic turd toys. Leave it to KMart," she said under her breath.

I haven't stopped smiling yet.

Share Your Two Cents (Please)

I am going to diverge from my usual blog content today, I hope you don't mind.

I'm going to be a little... disconcerted.

You see, we got a letter saying we were being audited by the State Tax Commission. It said that they thought it would be fun, after 3 years, to compare our State Tax return with our Federal Tax return. Their comparison indicated a discrepancy and possible corrections.

We dusted off our copies of the 2006 returns and could not see the discrepancy. In fact, it appeared that all things were in order.

We had two options.

1. Agree with the discrepancy and pay additional taxes.

2. Disagree and send in complete copies of both tax returns from 2006 including all schedules and forms, copies of any letters from the IRS regarding our 2006 taxes, a copy of the letter I am summarizing here, our daytime phone number, one package of press-on nails, a gift card to WalMart, and our 3 favorite children. A pay-your-own-postage envelope was enclosed, for our convenience.

We decided to create another option.

3. Call the Auditing Division and figure out exactly what they were looking at since everything looked hunky-dory on our end.

The auditor was very nice. He pointed out that we had entered a big, fat ZERO on line 5 when we should have entered a big, fat $2009. I looked at the copy of our return. No ZERO. It said $2009. Every i... dotted. Every t... crossed. I told him as much.

I heard frantic typing through the silence from his end of the phone as he pulled up a copy of our actual return.

Okay, now they had it. It seemed that, back in 2006, someone on their end had entered our return in their system incorrectly. One of their State Tax Commission employees had looked at our nicely filed return, saw $2009, but entered a big, fat ZERO.

Their mistake. End of story, right?

Oh, no. It was just the beginning.

Because we were refunded $141 more than we should have been (due to their mistake) they would bill us for it. Plus interest, please. (I told you, Mr. Auditor was very nice.) I asked why we would have to pay interest on their mistake. Mr. Auditor informed me that the interest could likely be waived if we appealed it.

"Wait. Let me be sure I understand before I go crazy on you," I said to Mr. Auditor.

"Certainly!" he replied.

"We filed our taxes correctly. Everything was written in the exact amounts, on the right lines. And then someone in your office, whose job it is to enter information from our forms into your system, made a mistake. And now we have to pay for that mistake as well as going through the trouble of appealing the interest we are being charged on your mistake?"

"Exactly!" Mr. Auditor responded happily.

I passed the phone over to Allen as he is much better at confrontation and not crying when he is frustrated than myself.

They had a conversation where Mr. Auditor maintained his smiling voice and used lots of phrases like "not necessarily" (as in, it was not necessarily their mistake) and "I can understand your frustration".

End result? The State Tax Commission is not in the wrong. We are.

I would really, really love to hear your opinions on this.

Please. (See, I can be very nice, too.)

Are we crazy here? What would you do?