Because I Needed This Reminder...

... I'm sharing it with you.

There was a time in my life where I had a fascination with Precious Moments. So much so, that when I was looking for a baby book (scrapbook) I found a Precious Moments one and HAD to have it. Well, I didn't want to ruin the original so I decided to copy the pages so that I could use it again if we had more boys. (So maybe, techically it's a bit illegal...)

Anyway, so because this books pages were super shiny, the pictures didn't scan in well so I was on the look out for the same pictures, but of a better quality. Which then led to a number of books bought just for the purpose of having the pictures.

So, why am I sharing this: one such book is a big book of stories and poems and I decided to read some to Lex last night for his reading. And in last night's reading I came across the following poem and it was so very needed yesterday. I am now sharing it with any of you who may need the kick in the head as well.

I'M THANKFUL FOR BRUSHES AND BROOMS

I heard Mom say as she scrubbed today,
"I'm thankful for brushes and brooms.
I'm glad to clean my cozy house
That's filled with cheerful rooms."

I heard Mom say at the washing machine,
"I'm thankful for dirty clothes.
I'm glad that I have a healthy child
Who can play each day she grows."

I heard Mom say at the sink tonight,
"I'm thankful for dirty dishes.
I'm glad we filled our plates with food
Instead of empty wishes."

I heard Mom say in her prayers tonight,
"I'm thankful for problems today.
If life never got a little bit rough,
I might forget to pray."

(My problems yesterday included being spit up on multiple times, as you can read in my previous post.)

~~~ V. Gilbert Beers

What Happens Next...

The Leader of the Band

For a very long while I've known that I've gotten whatever creativity I had from my mommy.
I think the first time I realized it was when I was in 5th grade or 6th grade and had to write a poem for some reason. Well, I struggled a bit with it to make sense as it was the first one I'd ever written - but my mommy helped me out with it. I was actually able to attend a writing festival after writing this as well. Apparently my teachers thought it was good...

This is the poem:

THE DEATH OF A BEST FRIEND

You always siad, "Don't worry"
When I was in a jam.
You always said, "Don't friek out,
It's just my brother, Sam."

You always told me, "Look out!"
When a car came whizzing by.
You always said, "Shoo"
To each bothersome ol' fly.

We had fun while dancing,
And doing the 'monster mash'.
Together we got our homework done
In what seemed like just a flash.

And when you had to go away
I did not understand.
Heaven seemed so far away,
A long and distant land.

One day I saw a rainbow,
As beautiful as you.
Reminding me of friendship,
The kind we always knew.

Now the creativity doesn't end at writing. I remember my mom doing all sorts of creative things for her Primary classes and such when I was growing up. She claims she isn't so creative anymore, but every once in awhile it still shines through.

Anyway, I'm getting off the subject of what I really wanted to make this post about.

For those of you who haven't heard/didn't know, my maternal grandpa died when I was just 13. His death was sudden and so unexpected that a lot of the family had difficulties with it. We accepted that he moved on and he was in a better place away from the crappy world we were living in, but we all missed him HORRIBLY.

...Grandpa as a young man...

That first year I think was extremely difficult for my mom and for me. I remember that my thoughts were focused on my grandfather for a large part of that year and that I would break down in tears at random times. I also wrote a lot of things that year in English in regards to him.

This is one such thing:

DEATH OF GRANDPA

As I sit alone and frustrated,
Wondering why he left me deserted,
I think of his garden and lovely vegetables no more.
And I ask why, why, why?

I think of all his wisdom,
And how I never heard him complain.
His wonderful rootbeer floats,
Which leads me to ask why, why, why?

I'm missing the smell of nature,
and talk about my future.
His loving arms around me no more, all gone.
Why, why, why?

He worked as if a robot,
His arms were iron bands.
There'll be no more asthma, aching pain.

I'm missing the sound of his hum, hum, hum.
The sweet taste of his sugar-free gum.
Nothing is going right in my life,
And all I ask is why, why, why?

My mom was the baby of the family, born when my grandpa was 45. But, this allowed them to have a very special relationship. My mom always admired her dad and in her eyes, NO ONE could be as great/special a person as her daddy was. No one could live up to the type of spiritual giant he ended up being.

...Grandpa with my mom as a newborn...

...Grandpa with kids #3, 4 & 5 (My mom is the little girl)...

...Grandma, Grandpa and Mom (About age 16)...

My grandpa wasn't the type of ornery old cuss that a lot of old men end up being. No, he enjoyed being with his grandkids and even watched my little sister (who was a baby around this time) quite a bit for my mom. He was also willing to drop whatever he was doing if we needed help. I feel sad that Eric and the kids never got to meet my grandpa (although I guess technically, my kids probably have met him...), but I am thankful that Eric's grandpa is so similar to the spiritual giant that my Grandpa was and that he is still around and the kids have got to meet him.

Anyway, so my Grandpa died in March of 1993 and for Father's Day in June of that year my mother adapted this song into a "poem" that fit her dad. I had all but forgotten about it until the other day when I went searching for a completely different song. Well, the album that I found that had the song I was looking for also had "Leader of the Band" on it and I made sure I got my mom's poem from her after hearing it again.

Here's my mom's take on the song:

LEADER OF OUR BAND
(adapted from Dan Folgelberg's "Leader Of The Band")

Though he was not an only child
And not a rich man's son.
His hands were meant for constant work
And his heart he kept from none.

He left us here and he's gone on
To find a better way.
But he gave me a gift I know
I never can repay.

A quiet man of wisdom,
Denied a sinner's fate.
He tried a life much different once
Vowed to change - he couldn't wait.

He earned his love through discipline,
A thundering velvet hand.
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand.

The leader of the band grew tired,
And his eyes did soon grow old.
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul.

My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate this man.
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band.

As siblings we are different,
Still we hear our leader call
"Stay close to the gospel,
Then children you won't fall."

I'm doing all that I can do,
As I remember time will tell.
I'm living out the life I've chose
The one he lived so well.

I thank you for the music
And the stories that you told.
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go.

I thank you for the kindness,
And the times when you got tough.
And papa I don't think I said,
"I love you" near enough.

The leader of the band grew tired,
And his eyes did soon grow old.
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul.

My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate this man.
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band.

I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band.

Dedicated to Alma E. Kehl - Fathers Day - June 20, 1993
WITH ALL MY LOVE!
- Alaine K. Merchant

So, yes. I think most of my creativity was born of my mom. She may not admit it, but I will forever be thankful to her for it.

What Happens Next...

The Real Me

As per previous post, the poem...

In High School, I really took up writing.

During Literary Magazine (I think), I somehow came up with the prompt of the Real You...

So, this was what came out...

ME

If I envy anyone it must be,
The Real Me.

The Real Me feels the true feelings.

The Real Me says what she is thinking.

The Real Me hates herself.

The Real Me is ashamed.

The Fake Me hides the true feelings.

The Fake Me says what people want to hear.

The Fake Me loves who she is.

The Fake Me hides the guilt.

The Real Me hates the world.

The Real Me is strong.

The Real Me is lazy,

But the Real Me is hidden.

Hidden behind the Me I show to the world.

What Happens Next...

New Favorites!

I've gotta admit, I love when I get pictures from my Mother-in-Law. She ALWAYS has tons of pictures that I didn't even know she took! Lots of them are very special ones too. Anyway, she thought she had given me the pictures she took at Shaylyn's birthday party in January, but she never had.
So a couple weeks ago, we were trying to figure out which pictures I had and which ones I didn't. There were other pictures taken in January as well and some from April, but my favorite one from all that she just gave me is the one above. It is a picture of my dad and Eric's dad. I think it is just an awesome picture to have! Now, I've gotta get a picture of my mom and Eric's mom together! It is on my to-do list.
For school, Tanis & Shaylyn each have to read or be read to for a certain amount of time each night. For awhile we were reading Harry Potter - and we will go back to it, but Tanis ran across a book of poems by Shel Silverstein called "A Light in the Attic." Tanis wanted me to read this book of poems to him, so for the past few nights we've been reading them.
Two nights ago I ran across 2 poems I just absolutely loved! The first one I thought would be perfect to use on a scrapbook page of a kid just hanging out in the summer sun. The second one just really made me think of how the world treats people. Here you go...

TIRED

I've been working so hard you just wouldn't believe,

And I'm tired!

There's so little time and so much to achieve,

And I'm tired!

I've been lying here holding the gras in its place,

Pressing a leaf with the side of my face,

Tasting the apples to see if they're sweet,

Counting the toes on a centipede's feet.

I've been memorizing the shape of that cloud,

Warning the robins to not chirp so loud,

Shooing the butterflies off the tomatoes,

Keeping an eye out for floods and tornadoes.

I've been supervising the work of the ants

And thinking of pruning the cantaloupe plants,

Timing the sun to see what time it sets,

Callint the fish to swim into my nets,

And I've taken twelve thousand and forty-one breaths,

And I'm TIRED!

- Shel Silverstein

THE LITTLE BOY AND THE OLD MAN

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."

Said the little old man, "I do that too."

The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."

"I do that too," laughed the little old man.

Said the little boy, "I often cry."

The old man nodded, "So do I."

"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems

Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."

And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.

"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

- Shel Silverstein

I have always loved this book and every couple of years when I read it again, I find new poems that I fall in love with.

We also got the kids' fall pictures back, but I have to wait until tomorrow to post them because our scanner/printer is broken and Eric left our camera at his parents house. So tonight when I head to the doctor, we will stop by and get the camera and I will then take a picture of each of the kids' pictures and post them.

Hope everyone is doing well.

What Happens Next...