So I Married a Deaf Man: Enough with the bananas!!

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Boo
Boo Who....
You don't have to cry, it's just me!

Everyone loves a good knock knock joke, right? Okay, so there are a few party poopers who don't like them. But we teach them to our kids, actually tell them some of the worst knock knock jokes ever.

Knock knock,
Who's there?
Cargo
Cargo who?
Cargo vroom vroom.

You must admit that there are some really good ones. My personal favorite:

Knock knock
Who's there?
Smell mop
Smell mop who?

Bwahahahahahaaha. I love that one. So many possibilities...touch mop, clean mop, wipe mop...Endless, I am telling you!!

Well, I hate to break it to you. But those types of jokes...totally not translate-able. It just ain't happening.

The whole "Banana. Banana who? Banana, banana, banana. Orange ya glad I didn't say banana," doesn't make sense to someone who can't hear that orange and aren't sound alike.

Most of the time, Hubs is left scratching his head thinking, "Why in the world would 'smell mop who' make you laugh so hard?"

He is a great sport about it when my kids come and tell him those knockity-knocker jokes. He simply gives a courtesy laugh and looks to me for explanation. 

When Hubs and I were first married, I interpreted in an elementary school for some 1st graders. One day, the teacher decided that it would be a good idea for everyone to bring in their favorite knock knock jokes and recite them, one by one, to the class.  Seriously! It was excruciating and near impossible. I kept trying to explain to the deaf student that hearing people thought it was funny because the words sound like other words. "Huh? Whatever."

So, if ever you have to give a speech to a group of deaf people and you want to start with a joke, avoid the whole knock-knock impulse altogether.

Because they really aren't glad that you didn't say banana!

Deserted Island

I have this island in my kitchen.

I love it. I hate it!

I love it because it serves many purposes.

It is the "desk" on which my children do their homework, on which my husband plays Mafia Wars does his article reading.

It is the place where all of  my children can help make a mess snacks.

It is the "tell-all" center, where we can just chitter-chatter away.

I hate it because it serves many purposes.

It seems to be a shelter for all "homeless" items...or so my children think.

It is a junk mail magnet.

It is never 100% clean.

If the island is a mess, the whole kitchen looks a mess.

I love it.

I hate it!!

That, that and the other

I am participating in Five Question Friday. It's fast, it's easy and it allows me to get back to my book. So without further ado....

 How many pets do you have?

Apparently there is a whole colony of ants that want to eat some of my Amish friendship bread. Only I don't want to be friends with them. Do they count?

What about all the roly polies that my kids bring in as pets but never live past supper?

Okay, we really only have one dog who likes to dig in flower and vegetable gardens. He also thinks about chasing sticks or toys all day. All day long. We love him!

 If you could switch places with anyone in the world for one day, who would it be?

First choice would be a toddler who is potty trained. You get to play all day, take a nap...the longer the better...eat food someone else has prepared for you, play some more. Then you get go to bed early.

What is your favorite money saving tip?

Avoid places like Target, Hobby Lobby, Barnes and Nobles, the grocery store. That seems to work for me. Only my kids do get hungry....

The other option is to hide the money in a safe place where you  are sure you will remember. You will then forget where you put it until about a year later. Voila! Saved money.

What do you want your kids to be when they grow up?

What! They are going to grow up??!! Next thing I know you are going to tell me that Santa isn't real!

What is your favorite quote?

We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.

If you know me, you know this fits be to a T.

Have a great weekend All!!

Simple

It all started when I washed my van's remote in the washing machine.

You would think that I would have learned my lesson about checking pockets after washing crayons, gum, lipstick, love notes and seeing the disastrous results. Nope. Not me. I just turn a blind eye, throw it in and turn it on.

And that is how it started. The remote, of course, doesn't work anymore. That means that if I want to open the sliding doors to my van I have to actually pull the handle...can you believe it. It is exhausting. Plus, if I want to lock and unlock the door, I have to do it manually...meaning I have to push the lock button. Oh the horror!!

Oh, yeah, and to get a new electronic remote costs $150.00. Yes, you read that right! No thanks!! My fingers are just fine with the exercise, thankyouverymuch!

Fast forward two months to yesterday. My son has soccer practice and so we all head to the field and watch him practice. After our practice, all the other teams in our part of town start showing up for their practice. Among them is one of my dear friends.

We get to talking while my kids have all loaded in the car. No worries, the windows are down so anyone who wanted to take them could so they were safe. Well, she decides that she wants to say hello to them and walks to one of the open windows. Of course they have locked the doors, for safety of course.

She reaches in and unlocks the door and opens it. This sets off the car alarm...the really loud, obnoxious, blaring alarm. And I don't know how to turn it off. Remember...broken remote.

In my mind, I know there is a simple solution to this dilemma, but for the life of me I can't remember what it is. So I hop in and turn on the engine, thinking that would do it. Nope. On it goes.

By this time, everyone is staring and my friend has walked away from the car. I am not sure if it is because it is hurting her ears or if it is because she doesn't want to be associated with me...even though it was she who set off the alarm. I don't blame her. I wanted to run away too.

So I open up the hood trying to look like I know what I am doing...but, no. I close the hood and it stops. Whew!

Yeah, whew until I open the door again to drive away. HONK HONK HONK HONK  Surely once the car is in drive it will stop screaming. Nope. It continues all through the parking lot, up to the exit and into the residential streets before it stops.

We pull into the driveway, open the door....yup, you guessed it. Oh, please. My husband is there...oblivious to the racket the car is making outside. The kids run in and tell him to come out and he is looking at us, covering our ears, with curiosity. He doesn't know what to do so he just laughs.

I walk inside, close the door, and pray that it will stop soon. And it does.

The next morning, when it goes off again, I call Honda, where they inform me if I simply unlock the door with my key it will stop.

Seriously? Seriously??

Can you relate??

Got some?

Unconditional love is...

...letting your brother give you a wedgy because it will make him happy.

...forgiving your mom for ripping your hair out from the root brushing your hair every morning.

...not being offended when your 10 year old ducks behind a bush when the school bus passes you while you are walking your kids to school.

...eating the burnt monkey bread that Daddy made because Mommy couldn't roll out of bed.

...cleaning off the crayon scribbles...again.

...cleaning up blowouts, spit-up, projectile vomit , bed wetting soaking flooding at all hours of the night.

...is loving Mommy, even when she is grouchy.

...looking past what they say and hearing what they mean.

...seeing who they are as opposed to how they act.


Unconditional love...

We all need some.

(Show Mama Kat some love too.)

To the torture chamber for you!

We say we would never hurt our children...and yet....

Lie down here, Little One. There is nothing to be scared of.

Just breath in...breath out...relax...

and enjoy the ride.

If you only knew, son. All too soon...

First they hypnotize you with that blinding, bright spotlight.

A dirty mirror...always a good sign.

(It was his dirt, rest assured.)

The suction tube of death; sure to suck the lungs right out of you chest. 

Pokers, and scrapers, and pickers, oh, my. Which one to use first....

The shot that will alter your mouth forever. Those pieces of gauze...

for your bleeding mouth.

No words needed....

You scream, "You're hurting me!! That hurts me! You're HURTING me!!!!!"

Why am I holding your legs and arms?

If I don't, you won't get one of these really cool hats for your tooth.

Yeah, I didn't buy that line either when I was a kid.

After 4 long days with pain in the mouth, one mortifying day in the chamber,

finally a little of this...

And that, my child, is why some torture is worth it.

Do I like hurting my children?

Only a little.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Who you gonna call??

At my work, there is usually a designated POC or Point of Contact. This is the person who is expected to be resposible for everything if something goes wrong. They are responsible to answer the phone if it rings, turn off the computers, and account for everyone in case of an emergency.

You are also paid an extra $1.50/hour if you are this person.

At home, I am the POC.

Meaning, I am the one who answers the phone...all the time.

"Yes, may I speak with Hubs?"
"This is his wife, can I help you?" (Great POC line.)
"Well, is there a better time that I can call when he would be available to speak with me?"
"Ummm...in the next life?"
....silence....
"He is Deaf. So unless you want to call through the relay, I am the best you got."
Click....

In case of an emergency with my kids...POC.

 I  always put Hub's email address down on a million different forms so that they could send him a message to his phone if there truly was an emergency. But I know that isn't going to happen.

"What? Kobe is bleeding from the head? We better call his mom."
**No answer**
"What about Dad? Let's call him...What does that say?  Email? What? Who's next on the list."

I know this, because it has happend before. Not the bleeding from the head part, but the skipping of the father.

I'm sure that this experience isn't uniquely mine. But sometimes, I don't want to be the responsible one. Let Hubs in on some of the action. Is that enough whining for you? No? Good.

Car breaks down, and a description of the problem is needed...POC.
Census woman comes to the door...again, POC.
Get in a car accident and an accident report is needed...POC. Wait, I am usually the one in the accident...which is even worse because who would they call if I was dead. Me???
Have a baby...POC. Who needs to sleep anyway.

Even Hubs puts me down as his POC. You know, when he places an order online and they need to call and verify information. They call me.

"Yes. Is this Stef? I am calling to verify some information. Can you tell me your address?"
"Excuse me? Who are you?"
"I'm Ted from Suck Your Bank Account Dry. You're husband told me to call this number and said you could answer some questions for me."
"Ummm, Ted. I'm gonna have Hubs get back with you."

I am it. It really isn't that bad...really. Just annoyng sometimes.

Now, if I could just get Hubs to pay me $1.50/hour things might just start looking up.

Who? Me??

I was told the other day that I was prolific. Seriously? Me? I know that it was a compliment...but being the simple-minded being that I am, I wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

So I did what I tell my kids to do when they don't know what something means, I googled it. (We live in the year 2010, people. Who needs a dictionary?!) This is what it said:

1. producing offspring, young, fruit, etc., abundantly; highly fruitful.

2. producing in large quantities or with great frequency; highly productive..

With a definition like that, I would say there are many parts of my life that are prolific.

* By society's standards, I produce offspring abundantly. We aren't the Duggars, but our house is full. Full and fulfilling.

* I am able to produce laundry in large quantities. That being said, I wouldn't say that I am highly productive by any stretch of the word. On the contrary. I have an extra large capacity washer and dryer that feels like zero capacity. What ever happened to clothes lines?

* Laughter is abundant in my house. And it happens quite frequently.

* Pancakes. I am really good at making large quantities of pancakes at a freakishly fast rate.

* Apparently I have been very productive at producing broken arms this summer, making our pediatrician quite fruitful.

* I am able to produce unmatched socks....in abundance...too much abundance.

* Cups...cups...and more cups. Did I mention cups?

* Not much success with the garden unless you count weeds....I can grow those with my eyes closed. I am that good!

So you see, though my dear friend was commenting on my ability to come up with things to blubber about on my blog, he helped me to see that I am living the abundant life!

Now, for those cups....

P.S. I love you

It all started at his birth. You see, for some reason, my baby and I have bonded in a totally different way than my other children. I believe it all started at his birth.

"I'm sorry," the nurse said to me when I walked in. "You are at an 8. You will not be having an epidural."

"I'm sorry," I frantically responded. "I don't have babies without epidurals.'

After about 15 minutes of convincing, they finally gave me an epidural...or so they said. Turns out whatever they put into my back was not an epidural. I felt everything. Luckily it was fast. But it hurt. A lot!!

So when they gave him to me a few seconds after he was born, I wasn't ready to hold him. Not because I didn't love him, because I did. I just had never experienced that extreme pain and I was trying to wrap my mind around what had just transpired and couldn't emotionally wrap my arms around my child. It was odd.

That is where it started.

Or maybe it was because I wasn't able to nurse him because he was tongue tied and by the time we figured that one out, I was a mess. He still got the good stuff via pump and bottle, but it wasn't the same...to me at least.

Plus he is a pretty even-natured kid. He doesn't show much emotion either way. He is loving, cuddly and he is wonderful. But when the occasion arises when he is engaging, I try and grab it.

So the other day when he came up to me and was poking me with his finger, I was ready to play. He would go away and then sneak back and rub his finger on my leg. I thought it was so cute.

Cute until I peeked to see what he was really doing.

He would walk away, put his finger up his nose and retreave a little treat. Then he would return to share his treasure with my pants.

Oh, yes. Our bonding rituals are unique...to say the least.

Rubber Ducky...outta my face!

Dear Mommy and Daddy,

I am not sure how to tell you this...because I have tried crying, screaming, and even throwing things, but you obviously aren't catching on.

Let me put it to you plainly...

I HATE BATHS!

For starters, I need some privacy. Hello!! Everytime you bath me, there is at least one if not two other people in with me. Can't a guy get some privacy around here? Guess not. What's worse is that they are looking at me. Sometimes even goosing my hiney, commenting on how cute it is. Awkward!

Secondly, I don't like water. Well, I do like to drink it...water and nothing else; milk - totally overrated. But I don't like sitting in it. And so I don't. I will stand in the water, squat in the water, pour the water, but I will not sit down. I think that my fear of water started when Camden poured a cup of it on my head, causing me to inhale about 1/2 the cup and scaring me to death.

I do like the bubbles that you put on my hair. But I have figured out that once that stuff goes on, eventually it has to come off. Knowing this will include pouring water on my head, I start wailing the minute I see you with the shampoo.  I do this in hopes that you will change your mind...but you never do.

My favorite part of bathtime is when I turn around, put my arms in the air and you lift me out. Hooray.

So, just so we are clear. I Hate. Baths!!!

Love,
Baby Briggy

PS Thanks Mama Kat for giving me the opportunity to vent.

Be kind...Rewind. Please!

Wait a second. Where has all my time gone?

Wasn't it just yesterday when my 5th grader was my baby?

And my 3rd grader ...just look at her!!

And when did this guy get to be a kindergartner???

Preschool already? Seriously?

Lucky for me I still have one little rascal around.

Where does the time go?

So I Married a Deaf Man: Delayed

My name is Stef and I am an attention addict. It is true. I love to be in a group of people and be the one that is making them all laugh. It's what I do...or did.

You see, since marrying my husband, things are a little more complicated. If we are in a group with deaf people or hearing interpreters, all is well. In fact, my sense of humor is a lot funnier in the Deaf community. Can you imagine...a funnier me? Hard to believe that I could get funnier that I am now. (harhar..snarf)

It's when we are in the company of all hearing people that things get tough. You see, at that point I become an interpreter, not me. I am the ears and voice for all around me. Church gatherings, family reunions, couples night out....work work work.

It's not so bad when it is one other couple. We are able to converse back and forth, no big whoop. However, when there is more than that, we are out of the conversation...out for the count. By the time I interpret a comment and Hubs is ready to jump in, the conversation has moved on...onto greener pastures...

Don't misunderstand, it isn't intentional. I think we, as hearing people, are uncomfortable with silence. And so, with the slight delay (and it is slight because I am pretty fast at the whole interpreting thing), or the moment of silence, we have to fill it. And fill it we do.

This can be frustrating for my husband, though he is probably the most patient, kind, even-keeled man I know. But for me, it makes me crazy. Not only am I trying to mediate between the two worlds...deaf and hearing...but I am also dying to participate.

I can still hear the conversation as it chugs along ahead of us. To jump in would only leave my husband out...but to keep my mouth shut is almost more than I can take. So many opportunities to throw in a clever line...or say something sarcastic. Instead...I interpret.

So many missed opportunities.

But on the flip side, my husband and I have had some great conversations with each other when this happens. We have each other, always each other...with no delays.

We are real time.

Recipe Swap

Every Sunday, without fail, we wake up in the morning and tell the kids to get their church clothes on.  And without fail, this is the response I get:

"I hate church!"
"Church is stupid."
"Church is so boring."

I wish that I could say that I was joking. I wish that I could say that I saw this on a movie. Unfortunately this scene takes place in my house.

Does anyone have the recipe for children who love to go to church? If you do, please pass it on.

Here is the recipe for rainbow Jell-O. It will be a hit! I can promise you that.

You need:
7 boxes of Jell-O. (Red and green are great for Christmas, but for other times I use the whole spectrum.)
8oz Sour Cream
12oz Cool Whip


Mix 1package of Jello with 1 cup of boiling water. Dissolve. Take 1/4 cup of the Jell-O and put it into a small bowl.  Add 1 Tablespoon of sour cream and 2 Tablespoons of Cool Whip. Stir until smooth. Pour into a 9X13 pan and refrigerate for 20 minutes. Pour the remaining Jell-O over the first layer. Set. Repeat these steps with each color of Jello you are using. The setting time will decrease as you go. I always top with the left over Cool Whip. 


**Tip: Pour the Jell-O in the same corner and then tilt the pan to spread. This way the warmer Jell-O doesn't melt the cooler layers.

We're Jigglers

Some people are really good at making bread. Others really know how to BBQ. Me? I am really good at making Jell-O. Not the normal kind of Jell-0.

Rainbow Jell-O.

I got this picture from here.  But it looks exactly like mine.

Have you ever had it?? It is so fun to eat. It takes about 4 hours to make. "For Jell-O?" you may ask.  Yes, people. That's how fun it is.

The first time I had it was when I was on a mission for my church and I was being transferred to another state. The people from my church threw a going away party and this was one of the dishes. I loved it! So much that I think I had like 4 helpings.

I make it every year for our Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house. While others are making rolls and yams, turkey and stuffing, corn and potatoes, I am plunked on the couch waiting for my Jell-O to set up. (Not really. I am helping out, but I always wish that I was.) In the end, mine is always gone...no leftovers, I tell you.

I may be stretching here...but rainbow Jell-O is a lot like my family. Think about it. Everyone is their own person with their own attributes that make up their flavor. Some are strawberry: who doesn't love strawberry? Others are lime...a little harder to get used to. And still some of us are orange; likeable, but not super popular. And when you put them all together, the blending of all the colors and flavors is spectacular!

Just like my family!

Why? Do tell....

Why is it that wings are almost always served with celery and ranch dressing?

Seriously!

Maybe this is a no-brainer for all of you, but I really am curious. Is there a secret special something that is released from celery that increases the enjoyment of eating a buffalo wing?

I never eat them. I just simply look at it and think, "Am I missing something? Really? Why?"

If you know the answer to this question, please do share.

Do you have an ever burning question that you still don't know the answer to?

And that, my friends, is all.

Exceptional!

I was a sweet child. No, really. I was. My parents told me that I was very quiet in my early years. Never much of a problem.

Except there was that one time when the neighbor boy came to play at our house and he and I locked ourselves in the bathroom and decided that throwing wads of toilet water soaked toilet paper onto the wall and ceiling was wicked fun. And it was. Until Mom barged in.

I always tried to make good choices and live the commandments.

Except that one time when we went to the grocery store and Mom said I couldn't have the Lifesavers. Boy did I show her. I secretly stuck them in my pocket and not-so quietly snuck them out before we had left the parking lot. Mom caught me and made me go in right then and confess to the store manager.

I was respectful of other people...never hurting them or intruding on their personal style.

Except that one time when I got out moms electric sewing scissors and decided it was time to play barber. I was good. A natural. So good that not only did the 'fore mentioned neighbor boy want me to cut his hair, my younger sister couldn't wait for her turn. As usual, Mom came in and ruined all the fun.

I always told the truth. Never made up stories to avoid punishment.

Except that one time when Mom was asking who had opened the cake mix and eaten half of it. I denied it, despite having the incriminating evidence behind my back in a big blue cup the whole time. Dang it!!

I always spoke respectfully to my elders.

Except that one time in Jr High School when my science teacher told me I was getting an "F" in her class and "You're so stupid," just flew out of my mouth. I knew I was in for it then.  In my defense, she didn't like me because I was always passing notes in her class....wait, what kind of defense it that?

I was the nicest of all my parent's children. In fact, I was a favorite amongst my siblings. They loved me.

Except that one time when I sarcastically asked my younger, adoring sister, "Who told you that blue and pink looked good together? They were so wrong."

I always went where I said I was going, never missed my curfew and always played it straight.

Except for that one time when my boyfriend and I left a party early to makeout discuss the purpose of life in a dark secluded area more quiet environment.

I just hope that my daughter turns out as good as I did.

Except not really. I hope she is better!

(As always, Mama Kat is my inspiration for this post. Check her out. Join the fun!)

Lions and Tigers and Bears....

You know how it is, sleeping in a tent, in the middle of the woods, on the rock hard ground. Very enjoyable. It takes turning over about 100 times before you finally find the right spot. Ahhhh, sweet sleep, come to me.

Alright. So that was me the other night. I finally fall asleep...you know, after I have convinced my two boys that they need to turn off the flashlights..or at least put them in their sleeping bags so that everyone else in the tent can sleep. Finally...I doze...off...to......sleep.

Until about 3am when my daughter decides to wake up and declare that she wants to change her clothes because the PJs she has on, "...just aren't right." Huh? We are camping. It is 3am. You have got to be kidding me. Not tonight!

"I am not going to sleep. I am going to sit here and not lay down," she says, after about 10 minutes of reasoning with her.

"Fine. I am going to sleep. Have fun being awake alone." I sleepily reply.

"No-one in this family loves me. You all hate me. You don't like me." First it starts as a whisper, then slowly increases in volume as she realizes I am not responding.

Finally she says, "Mom, I am hungry. I need something to eat."

"No. It is the middle of the night and you are not going to eat. All the food is put away so that the bears don't get into it."

Dead silence follows.

Sheepishly she says, "You didn't tell me there were bears."

Now I was on to something. "There are bears. But they will only come here if there is food left out. That is why we don't have food in the tent."

Then, for good measure, I add, "We also need to be quiet at night so they won't hear us and come looking in our camp for food."

"Okay, Mama. I'm going to go to sleep now," she whispers.

The fear factor...who knew?

Toilet Talk

We went camping this weekend with my family. It was a lot of fun. S'mores, bike rides, campfire stories, hot chocolate, and smelly hair. I love camping.. most of the time...

We got there and found just the right spot for our tent...or so we thought. One problem: it was right behind the bathroom. No biggie, right? Wrong. These were basically fancy outhouses.They had a toilet, but no flusher.

There was a sign on the door that said, "Close the lid when you are done. It will cut down on the smell." Believe me, my little boys don't put anything down at my house. And I can guarantee you that wasn't going to change in the mountains.

We still figured it would be okay because we couldn't smell anything when we were setting up our tent. But then some time after the sun went down, the wind changed directions and we were put to sleep with that funky outhouse smell. It was glorious!

My 5 year old son really needed to use the restroom but once he got a whiff he announced, "I can hold it until we go home." I told him that he could just go to the bathroom in the trees. I mean, it's what the animals do and it's not like he  doesn't do it all the time in our backyard is shy at all.

He responds, "Can I just stand here in the tent and pee out the door?" Because you know that those five steps into the woods is just so far.

But can you blame him? Those things are not only stinky, they are scary. I mean, it looks like a stinky bottomless pit. Only if you fell down into it, you would reach the bottom at some point and that is even scarier than a bottomless pit.

Which reminds me of a story about my crazy Great Aunt Norma. When she was younger, she and her siblings were playing hide and seek. For some reason, unknown to everyone else in this universe, she decided it would be a great idea to hide inside the outhouse...inside the toilet. She was holding herself up by putting her hands and feet on either side of the toilet walls.

As you can expect, they were a little moist and she slid down. Down in to the depths of ....despair. It makes me throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it.

She was down there for a very long time because, hey, it was a great place to hide. No-one would even think of looking for her there. So she had to wait until someone needed to go. Can you imagine, walking in to use the restroom and hearing someone screaming, "Help. I'm down here. Don't go! Please don't go!!" It's a good thing it wasn't my husband. She would have been out of luck. 

The moral of this story?

Next time you go camping, make sure that you don't put your tent close to the outhouse. And don't hide in the toilet. You never know what who will come in after you.

You may not be so lucky.

I see London, I see France

There are people who have no problem sleeping without any PJ's. They prefer to sleep in their undies. I am not one of those people. I like to have my clothes on.

Why? I can just imagine there being a fire in my house or some other emergency and me having to choose between putting on my pants or saving my children. It is an easy choice. And that is why I like having my clothes on when I sleep.

However, I broke that rule last week when Hubs and I went to Telluride. Our room was so incredibly hot. You see, there was no air conditioning (we didn't know this) and so our room was like 82 degrees all night. We tried to keep things open, but we had our bikes in our room and weren't sure how safe things were in this little town.

Since there were no children around to save and I was about to melt, the only solution was to remove one layer. Off went PJ bottoms...and this is what happened:

I dreamt that I was in San Francisco with some friends. I was putting on my makeup in the restroom, wouldn't you know it, without my PJ bottoms on. Suddenly there was an earthquake. A big one.  Our hotel fell to the ground and I, of course, couldn't find my pants. I looked everywhere for them and my cell phone with no luck.

I needed to let my family know that I was okay, so I went into several businesses, in my undies, trying to get hold of them. I saw a guy who I knew from high school who was kind enough to not say a word about me being in my underpants to let me use his phone. But the buttons on his phone were all wonky and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't push the number 5. Then he had to leave...with his phone.

So I walked the streets, bottomless, looking for someone who would help me.

Then I woke up.

You see, this is why I sleep with my clothes on. I have issues. No pants, totally out of my comfort zone.

Plus, I like a good night sleep, thankyouverymuch.


(Thanks, MamaKat for this uncomfortable moment.)

Good boys gone bad

This is what happens when little boys get bored.

(Wordless Wednesday: There are no words.)

So I Married a Deaf Man: Rearview Communication

I am the GPS in our car.

Granted, you cannot plug me into your lighter, I don't sit on the dash, and you can't program me. But I can get you from on place to the next without too much trouble.

The difficulty arises when your GPS-Wife moves to the backseat and you are her deaf husband...Problem.

Whether it is a screaming baby, a bored toddler, or a tween who enjoys teasing his younger sister, I have climbed to the back and planted myself many times. Because of this, Hubs and I have gotten really good at communicating via the rearview mirror.

We have had plenty of years to get used to this type of conversing. If you tilt the mirror to just the right angle, it's actually quite easy. We've done this when we have doubled with other deaf couples and want to chat on the drive. But mostly we use it when I am taking care of the hoodlums on long trips.

You are probably thinking, "You are insane!! That is too dangerous!" Not really...or so I thought.

On our recent California adventure we spent one night in Bakersfield. I was GPS-ing in the front until my baby decided that 12 hours was simply too much to ask of him and he wasn't having one more minute of it. Back I went.

Only I hadn't communicated which exit Hubs needed to take to get to the hotel. He asked me and I was telling him via rearview communication when he looks up and all traffic has stopped in front of him.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!!!

My stomach hit what was left of my brain. My kids all got quiet and my baby started to laugh. Luckily, my husband's reflexes were quick enough to avoid any type of collision.

"At least we know the seatbelts work, huh Mom," said my four year old. You can say that again. That was close. Too close.

And so, GPS-Wife will be keeping her little self in the front seat from now on.

At least in rush hour traffic.

No Brainer FAIL...or not.

"Are you ready for this?" Hubs asked.

We had stayed up late the night before planning which biking trails we were going to try out. They had to be easy enough for someone who hasn't been on a bike for a very long time, and still be fun for someone like Hubs who goes about 3-4 times a month.

Here we are at the beginning of our adventure.  

Sexy, aren't we! The straps for our water backpack that I am wearing are in a super attractive place, wouldn't you agree?

We try the trail by the river. Super easy. My kids would have loved it. That one tested, we decided to take this other trail that goes to the waterfall. Umm...it was all up hill. Bry would lead and the poor guy would get about 50 yards and then would have to stop and wait for me. We got like maybe 1/4 the way up and I was sweaty, out of breath and I am seeing floating white dots. We decided that passing out in the first 30 minutes of our adventure wouldn't be very adventurous.

Our next trail took us up the mountain in the Gondola (aka Box of Death.)  It lead us to our next trail.

I thought this one, the "No Brainer",  would be awesome, seeing as I had left most of my mind at my sister's house. With a name like that, it can't be that bad, right?

Umm...check it out. The blue is the "No Brainer." I am not quite sure if I was delusional the night before or if I just didn't realize that the trail isn't flat. It is downhill

Hubs had warned me that when I was going down hill that I needed to make sure that my rear-end stayed at the back of the seat. The top few 100 yards were fine. Then I came upon those turns...switchbacks...suicide curves from you know where.

I would watch Hubs ride them like they were nothing. But everytime I would get to them, I flew off had to get off and walk the turns. It was frustrating. They were sharp, steep, and my bike, which I had borrowed from my sister, was a little heavy...and let's face it, I am also a little heavy. No, I didn't ever biff it, thank heavens, but I came close more than I want to admit.  

But it was scary. 

My sweet husband, though, was so patient and very kind. He could have taken that trail in 10 minutes. I kept telling him to go ahead and he could wait for me at the bottom. "No. I want to spend time with you." Isn't that so sweet. He really does love me.

Finally we made it to Mountain Villiage which is about half way down the mountain. My hands were shaking, my bottom was sore and I think I had a twitch on the left side of my face.

We decided it was time to take a much easier trail. And so we did. We found a really fun trail that took us the rest of the way down the mountain. We had to ride about 4 miles back into town, which was pretty rough after riding for 5 hours already. But we survived.

Hubs was such a boy at the end. There were puddles and puddles of mud all over the trail. Yup, he went through the middle of all of them. Lucky for me I am out of shape. Why is that? Because if I was right behind him I would have looked like a mud monster.

(These pictures don't show the mud...But his behind looked like he had had a bit of an accident.)

Gosh, I love this man. It was so much fun, despite the pain that ensued into the wee hours of the night. He is so much fun and so patient. Can't wait to spend everyday for the rest of my life with him... and then some more.

Loving him is a No Brainer! And that is one trail I can handle!!