Ax to grind

Tell me if I am crazy.

Before you answer that, let me explain.

Today is the Friday before Halloween. What normally happens on the Friday before Halloween? Costumes. Parades. Parties. Right? Tell me I am right.

We woke up this morning and everyone, and I do mean every one of my children, put on their costumes, painted their faces, and made their way to school. All of us went so that we could watch the costume parade. I love those parades. Nothing like seeing 20 Darth Vaders and 45 Cinderella's and 75 Buzz Lightyears in a matter of 30 minutes. I really do enjoy it, by the way. Really.

It's fun. I remember doing it. Don't you?

Of course, I had forgotten to buy the party treats and so I had to quickly run to the store. It was about 10:30 by the time I made my way back. First was to the Kindergarten class, where they were having so much fun. Making lollipop ghosts, playing something with celery and cauliflower and making other Halloween related crafts.

Next stop, my 5th grader's class. They were doing Halloween games, puzzles and riddles. You know, the perfect mix of cool-ness and kid-ness for the older crowd. Because you know they are just so mature at that age. But fun, nonetheless.

Finally, I go to my daughter's 3rd grade class. I knock on the door and they are all sitting in their desks and looking depressed and bored. No biggie, right. It is school. I walk in and tell her that I am Kyla's mom. Her response: deer-in-the-head-lights look.

"You know Kyla, right?" Was I in the wrong room? "This is Ms Sansony's class, right? Kyla. She is in your class, right?" I asked.

"Oh yes. She is right here. I know Kyla," she replied. Then she stared at me.

"Oh. Okay. Great! I brought some cookies for her to share." I look around and there are no treats. None. Not one anywhere in her class. What the heck!?!??

"Oh. Well, we are taking assessment tests right now," was her reply.

"Really? Alright, then I will just leave them with Kyla. Have fun!" and then I left.

Seriously? Seriously???

Did I not get the memo? Because I am sure that it must have said something like, "Due to my the fact that I hate Halloween, and happy children for that matter, we will not be having any type of fun this Friday. In fact, I think I will give tests all morning, just to make sure there is absolutely no fun being had by your children. Oh, and please don't bring cookies because if you do, I will make you feel stupid. Thank you!"

So when Kyla came home, I asked her, "Did you get to do anything fun today in class."

"We took tests. That's it. Oh, and we had the cookies you brought us." My heart broke there.

What kind of 3rd grade, elementary school teacher doesn't have a party on Halloween? For real. And what teacher of young children decides to give her students tests on a day when every other class in the whole entire school is having a party?? And your students know it.

I'm annoyed, can you tell. Sigh. It's one day. One day and only one year of her life.  It probably bothers me more than it bothers her. Her, meaning my daughter, not her teacher. Well, probably her too.

Would you be a little bothered?

Am I crazy?

Or does this woman need a new job?

Give me five!

Sometimes all you can do is answer the question. Here are five.

1. If you could be a fly on any wall, which would you choose?

Okay, first off, I would never want to be a fly on a wall. I would rather be a fly on a ceiling because they chance of getting whacked are much less.

My second choice would be on something glass or breakable. People are a little more careful when it comes to their china or their light fixtures.

Now, if I was a fly and could land anywhere, it would be on President Obama's nose. Why? Two reasons. First, it doesn't seem to bother him. He wouldn't try to wave me off or anything. Safety is always my first concern. And that would be a safe place. Ask the bees.

Secondly, I may get to see some great (and not so great) deals being struck behind closed doors, under tables, while sharing a beer. But if I was a fly, what difference would it make? I'm gonna die any minute now anyway. Jack frost hates me. Humph!

2. Do you budget your Christmas shopping or just get it done without budgeting?

Oh, this is a trick question. I always start with a budget. But by Dec 24, it has been tweaked, crossed through, marked up, spat upon and shredded. Do I make a budget? Darn shootin' I do. Do I follow it? That's a negative, Charlie! But I do get it done.

Hopefully by Thanksgiving this year. Don't bet the bank! (I think I just made that idiom up. Sheesh, I am really smart!)

3. What is the craziest fad diet you have ever done?

Done, to me, indicates accomplishment, closure, success. If you are asking me which fad diet I have ever done in that sense, I would have to answer none. Diets don't really work for me.

As for fads, I used to tight roll my jeans in Jr High. And I was certain that I was the one who invented it. I wore suspenders and permed my hair.

As far as crazy fad diets, I would again have to say none. But Hubs did join Quixtar at one point in our marriage. No, we didn't divorce. No, we didn't go Diamond. Yes, it is a scam. Enough said.

4. Is there a TV show that you have seen every episode/season of?

Yes. LOST. And I just have to say that the series finale was a huge disappointment. I was left scratching my head saying, "Are you serious?  Really?? Really?!!" It was kinda like Stephanie Meyers book, The Host. Could have been really good, but didn't quite make it in the end.

But I would totally watch it again. Maybe choose-your-own-ending would be a good bonus feature.

5. What one song always pulls at your heart?

Just one? Really? How can I choose? I guess I would have to say "Watch the Lamb" by Ray Boltz. It gets me every time.

Oh and if you were asking which two songs always pulls at my heart I would say "If the Savior Stood Beside Me" by our church's primary children. Oh so powerful!!

And if you said three..... I will stop!

Now I have a question for you:

What is something you would never be caught doing?

Thanks Mama M

Stop with the cutting!!!

Boys are just gross.

I don't think it is something that they learn. Though I do believe it is magnified when they are surrounded by other boys.

If you don't have boys, have never lived with boys or have a husband who tends to have more feminine traits you may want to stop reading this post.

Why? Because we are going to talk about the "F" word. That's right. Fart. Farting. Fart-a-rama.

There are just some sounds that boys make that they were never taught. They come out saying "Vrooom! Pow! Phbrrrrrp." (How would you even write that sound.)

You say FART in a group of boys and you have just become the coolest mom ever. They will laugh for hours. Nothing breaks the ice like that.

I can guarantee it wasn't a girl who invented the phrase, "Hey, pull my finger." Nope.

And they are stinky. The boys, not the farts. Well, they both are.

I remember my aunt had 4 boys and they all slept in the basement. She refused to go down there. I never understood that. Not until now.

A couple weeks ago my sister came and visited with her children. Well, her 12 year old and my 10 year old slept in the same room. I got home from work and opened their door and I about fell over from the stench!

And they don't care where they do it. In the car, walking up the stairs, in your face. We have to set up fart-free zones in our house. That just seems wrong. "If you let one loose one more time at the table, you are going to be grounded from the Wii for a month! Suck it in!!"

Don't misunderstand me. I love them. All of them. Heck, I'm married to one.

They are gross. Cute, but gross.

Thanks Jen.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Flashlights

Everyone loves a good ghost story. Okay, so I don't. I don't like that feeling...of butterflies in my stomach...of getting weak in the knees... I really don't like it.

And why is it, that putting a flashlight under one's chin seems to make the story that much more scary? Something about flashlights, darkness and talking quietly.

Wait a second! This sounds oddly familiar. Oh, that's right. I do that every night. Or at least I used to.

I am assuming that the average couple folds back the covers, turns off the lights, climbs into bed and has a little chatter before they actually sleep. I could be wrong.

I wouldn't know. We aren't average, because Hubs is deaf. Lights out and talking becomes a little more complicated.

When Hubs and I were first married, we would pull down the covers, turn off the lights, climb into bed and then we would attempt to have a conversation, Helen Keller style. You know, hands on hands, trying to understand what the other is saying.

Just so you know, I am no Helen Keller.

So we tried having lamps near our beds. This worked okay, but it kinda defeats the purpose of turning out the lights in the first place. Not only that, once the lights were out, I would think of something else that I wanted to say and on came the lights.  I am sure that our neighbors were wondering what use we had for a strobe light at 10 or 11 o'clock at night.

The next solution was a flashlight. That's right, we kept a flashlight by the side of our bed so that we could turn on the a smaller, dimmer light to see what needed to be said. It took me us a while to figure just where to position the flashlight so that it wouldn't fall or be pointed in the signers face.
The problem was keeping the flashlight from falling. But we managed alright...until we got the iPhone.

Now days, we straighten up the covers (because who am I kidding, the bed was never made), turn off the lights and hop into bed. If we haven't crashed in the first 5 minutes and need to talk, we simply push the flashlight application on the iPhone which is conveniently charging in my iHome alarm clock and voila perfect lighting for bedtime conversation.

Isn't technology wonderful!

No more scary  bedtime stories for me.

Out of the bag...

Don't hate me. I don't like cats. No, I really really don't like cats.

I don't hate them. I do try and avoid them with my car when they are crossing the street. I have nothing against people who own and love them. It's just a personal thing.

I think it comes from my childhood. Growing up, we always had either a dog or a cat and most the time we had both.

My first memory of a cat was Midnight. That was his name. He was a black cat with mean eyes. I was really little when we had him. I remember waking up in the middle of the night because I had fallen asleep with orange Trident gum and it was all over.

As I walked down the hall to my parents room I was cornered by Midnight. He was in the middle of the hall, and his eyes seemed to say to me, "Where do you think you're going? Not down my hall. Not now. Not EVER!!!" What he really said was, "Hssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!"

I sat down and  began to bawl. Then Mom came and saved me. I think my dislike for cats started there.

Our next cats were Phoebe and Gray

We originally thought that Phoebe was a girl. We were wrong. Though, in the end, he did prefer the..uh...company of male cats. I guess we got the name right. It drove me crazy how this cat would rub up against my leg and try and sit on my head when I was trying to sleep. He just gave me the creeps. Plus he threw up a lot.

Gray was a good cat. Though he did like to fight other cats. This is probably why he was a little jittery. One day, my sister was walking to a friends house. For some reason, she was carrying him in her arms and their dog barked at him. He jumped onto my sister's head a proceeded to sink his claws into her brain.

The last cat we had was called Kitty. (We weren't so great at naming our pets, as you can tell.) This cat was spastic. I am not kidding. One minute you would be petting him and he was fully enjoying himself. The next minute he would start attacking you: scratching, pouncing, hissing. It was scary...really.

And so, my blogging friends, this is why I have an aversion to cats.

So when my daughter came up to me the other day and asked me, "Mom! When am I ever going to get a cat?", my answer was, "Never. Not ever. Not in this house."

And when she asked, "Why not?"

Of course my response was, "Daddy's allergic."
**He really is...I promise. 

Bedtime Stories

"Tell us a story,"
I hear from their rooms.
"Something of ghosts
and witches on brooms."

"There once was a girl.
who had to walk home.
Through the graveyard she went,
scared and alone."

I told them of owls
that 'hoo' in the night.
Of headstones and cob webs
and only moonlight.

Then comes the voice
and approaching footsteps.
She struggles to run
But, on a tree root, she trips.

"He grabs her!" I yell,
"She screams and then faints"
In the end it was only
a mean, awful prank.

The rooms all fell silent,
not a peep, not a word
Except, "This is the scariest
story I've ever heard."

This was so fun Jen! Thanks for the prompt!!

No handouts here

In my house, my kids have chores. Jobs. The ultimate child torture. It's just part of being a member of the family. All who contribute to the mess, get to help clean up the mess.

They don't get money for it either. Shelter, food and clothing. That's pay enough, right? I know, I know. I am so mean.

My kids are super excited about it, too. The cleaning.  It just makes their day. Every day. And those who have entered my house can attest to it's spic and spany-ness. Snark. Snort.

We have a chart. Oh, yes, we do. It is a spinning wheel. I am totally high tech. You just need two pieces of card stock, a sharpie and a brad. Cut out circles, divide it into chores and children, put a brad in the middle and voila: spinny chart.

I keep asking myself at what point will a clean house be reward enough for my kids to keep their jobs clean? It's a constant battle. Constant frustration. Constant source of contention. It just plain wears me out.

I try and do my Minimum Maintenance (MM) every day. What is MM you may ask? It's a 5 minute clean-up in each room. If you are fast enough, you can get a pretty good cardio workout at the same time you are picking up. Unfortunately, there are times that even MM times 2 wouldn't even make a dent isn't enough.

On the rare occasion when all the kids are cleaning, they are sure to give progress reports on their siblings.

"Brody's not cleaning!!"
"Camden always gets the easy job."
"She is putting the stuff from her job into my job!"

To which I reply, "You worry about yourself. That is the only person that you can control. You aren't the Mom. You worry about you."

And you know they totally listen to my advice.

So the other day while I was getting ready, I overhear Camden (4yrs old) talking to Briggy (20 mo's).

"Briggy, I have a job for you, okay?"

"Stop being mean!!"

Maybe I should add that to the spinny wheel.

Every night...

Every night, without fail, I pull into my drive and think to myself, "Tonight is going to be the night. Tonight is going to be the night I walk into my house and my whole family is going to be murdered."

Lovely thought, isn't it.

I am not quite sure where it comes from but it is there.

Well, that's not entirely true. I think I have told you that Hubs isn't a door locker. He never has been and I have accepted that he never will be. This could be where the fear comes from.

But more than likely it comes from an experience I had about 5 years ago in Arizona.

As always, I worked nights at ASU interpreting, getting home about 10pm. I walked into the house one night and my husband is lying face down on the ground. No, he wasn't dead. He was sleeping...like a rock. And I really mean that. When he is out, He. Is. Out. My point? Nothing can wake him up.

But one thing did bug me. The door was open, wide open. It was a cool night, which doesn't always happen in Arizona. I figured he must have been enjoying the coolness.

I woke him and sent him off to bed while I stuck around for a little while devouring a good book. All of a sudden I hear the awful, crazy, scary noise outside. It sounded like a cat crying, loudly, over and over again. It scared me enough that I went to the door and made sure that it was locked.

Off to bed I went. But for some reason I kept getting the feeling that I needed to check my kids. So I did. I got this feeling about every half hour, all night long. It was the weirdest thing. I would wake up with the thought, "Go check your kids."  So, of course I would. Nothing seemed wrong.

Finally, about 4am I was able to sleep. Hubs woke up at about 6am to go to the gym. When I finally woke up, at about 7am, I walk into the livingroom to see my door wide open again. This is weird because the car was always parked in the garage so there would be no reason for Hubs to go out the front. Odd.

Kobe, who was 4, woke up and walked up to me and matter-of-factly said, "Mommy, there was a woman in my room last night."

What? Maybe he had dreamt it. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. She picked me up off my bed and grabbed my arms and put me on the floor hard. Then she told me that she was going to be my new mommy now."

That was too many details, in my mind, for a child of his age to come up with. Things were getting a little weird to me. The door wide open last night, the promptings throughout the night, the door wide open again in the morning. So when Hubs got home I asked him if he had opened the front door. When he responded no, I freaked out.

Someone had to have come in our house while Hubs was sleeping, and hid somewhere. I don't know if she was trying to take Kobe and would have if I hadn't been prompted to check on him all night. She had to have left when Hubs left for the gym.

We called the police, but there wasn't much they could do. No forced entry. Hello, the door was open...beckoning  for anyone to come in. It scared me. Pretty bad.

And so, my friends, this is why, when I pull in from work, I think to myself, "Tonight is the night."

Thankfully, I am wrong.

So far....

Thanks for the prompts, Mama Kat and Jenny Matlock.

So I Married A Deaf Man: Those darn Idioms

Oh, idioms. Sweet, cruel idioms. You say one thing, but mean something else. Do you know how hard you are to translate? Near impossible.

I understand you, most of the time. But only because I was raised hearing you often. So often that I forget you are there sometimes. You are so familiar that you roll off my tongue without even a second thought.

Hubs, however, doesn't know you so well. In fact, you are almost a stranger to him. And you confuse him. A lot.

I know that when you say, "I plead the fifth" you mean you don't want to incriminate yourself. But Hubs is left scratching his head..

When I hear "Get a grip!" I think of a person who needs to chill out or calm down. Hubs thinks that the person needs to hold on tighter with his hands.

"My hands are tied" comes out of my mouth when I tell my kids that they can't go to the movies because I have to work. Hubs reads this and pictures someone with their hands literally tied behind their back.

You are my nemesis when I am at work. You sneak in, all unexpected, and throw me for a loop. (See, like that.) You know you don't translate well. Why must you insist on rearing your ugly head at such inopportune times?

But don't worry, little English idiom. I have a friend for you.

English idiom, meet ASL idiom.

Oh, yes. You will be great friends. You see, ASL idioms are no easier to translate than you are. Harder, actually.

I see "Train Gone" and know that you are referring to a lost opportunity. But an innocent English speaker would have thought it just meant that the train had left the station.

I see a slight repeated movement of the lip and I know this translates into, "That's is really interesting." But a hearing person may think you have a twitch.

I see the left part of your nose scrunch up and down a few times and I know that the Deaf person is saying that they've been there, done that. For most non-signers,  this may bring back memories of "I Dream of Jeannie."

So, Idiom, you have a way with words. A way to pass so much information with only a few words. Sometimes you are the only way to say what needs to be said. And yet, you cause so much confusion when crossing language barriers.

Here is a little advice that I have learned about communication.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Try it, Idioms, and you might just disappear.

Are you there?

Garth Brooks has that super famous, catchy song, "Unanswered Prayers." I like that song only every time, and I mean every time I hear it I think to myself, "That's not true. He does answer all prayers. It's just that some answers are no."

But aren't there times when you ask something and you wish that He would just tell you that the answer was no? Like this last weekend....

I get home from work, walk into my house and I smell gas. Not the human kind. We are talking the kind that kills people. It wasn't super strong, but my nose is really sensitive and I definitely could smell something.

I check the pilot lights on my oven and hot water heater. Both were fine. I open a few windows just to give the smell somewhere to go. Remember, I get home from work after everyone is asleep and so I go around checking for signs of life. Luckily, no-one seems dead.

Maybe it is just my visiting sister's family that smells. They do have a little boy who doesn't always wear socks and has been known to go commando from time to time. Perhaps it was him? But I know stinky feet (4 boys) and that was not what I was smelling.

I couldn't figure it out. I went into all the bedrooms to check for life and to crack the windows. Then I prayed.

"Heavenly Father, if there is a gas leak, I need to know. You are going have to make it clear to me. Otherwise I am going to go to sleep and pray that I wake up."

I proceeded to get ready for bed.

"What if my worrying is the sign and I am ignoring it or brushing it off as my inner voice." Wouldn't it just be easier if he said, "No, silly girl. There is no gas leak. Rest, Stef, all will be okay." or if the letters N-O appeared on the foggy bathroom mirror?

So I said another quick prayer, "I am gonna assume that no answer is a no answer. Amen...oh and by the way, please don't let us all die. Appreciate it."

Obviously I didn't die. No one did. But I almost died when I opened up the garage door and was overwhelmed by gas fumes. The gas container for the lawn mower was having issues and that is what I was smelling. It was awful. But we got it fixed.

So the answer was, "No, you aren't going to die. Yes, you smell gas."

"And there's nothing wrong with commando."

(I added that last line, in case you were wondering.)

Bring out the bags!!

My house is being over run with toys.

I'm not talking about the cool toys: Galactic Heroes, Little Pet Shops, trains. Oh, there are those for sure. But they have a place, a home, a box. These aren't the toys I am talking about.

I am talking about those flimsy army guys whose only goal in life is to poke my bare feet as I stumble in the dark to comfort my screaming child. And then there are those annoying kid's meals toys. Oh, they are great in the beginning, until you jump into your shower and Manny Mammoth and Buzz Light year are staring up at you. Frightening.

Then there are the random bouncy balls, cheap Yo-yos, magnetic sketch pads, fuzzy little puppies, etc.

Oh, and silly bands. Don't even get me started on those things. Really. Don't.

So last night I dumped out the ottoman in the family room that was full of toys and told the kids that unless the toys fit into one of the five categories (Galactic Heroes, Pet Shops, Lego's, Cars, or baby toys) they were going in the trash. Trash meaning out of my house...some actual trash, most to Goodwill.

Oh, there was weeping, wailing...and yes, even gnashing of teeth. But more importantly, there was a bag full of toys that would no longer litter my stairs and stalk me in my shower.  

I coulda stopped there. But where is the fun in that? Nope. I waited until they all went to school this morning and went through most the toys in the playroom. Saweeet! Another bag full.

I shoulda told them what I got rid of, but I figured it would be more fun to see if they noticed. Guess what. They didn't. Not only did they not notice the toys were gone, but they didn't even notice that they could see the floor. The actual floor.

If I woulda known it was going to be so easy, I woulda done it a lot earlier.

They may never notice, but my feet sure will! Mwah!

Inspired by Big Mama's Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda Weekends.

It was awesome!

Today was so awesome, let me just tell you.

It was supposed to be The Day of Cleaning. You know, the day that I have been putting off for three weeks but because family is coming into town (again) I can't put it off anymore. Today was supposed to be that day. You know, the day when you look around and realize, "Huh. The only clean towel that I can find is the Spiderman towel that if you fold just right can also be used as a backpack. Marvelous!"

I was supposed to stay home all day...except for a quick trip to the Library. My house was going to shine by the end of the day. That was the plan.

Until, Brody,  my 5 year old woke up happy...happy because Field Trip Day had arrived....until he ate breakfast. Apparently, yesterday, Hubs took the kids to the park and decided that putting them on the tire swing and spinning it at 100 mph was a good idea. From the looks of it, Brody was still recovering. He turned white and looked like he was going to lose it.

We kept him home.

For a few hours. Then he decided he was fine and wanted to go to school. I called around and if we drove him to the field trip location, a pumpkin patch, then he could still go. So I tried to hustle everyone else to get ready. Brody kept going back and forth as to whether he wanted to go or not.

"There is no Wii when you are sick, just so you know."

So to the field trip we went. Only to get there too late for all the fun stuff: pick a pumpkin, hayride, corn maze. Nope, we got there in time for the petting zoo. Why is it fun to pet a goat, can someone please tell me? They aren't cute. They aren't cuddly and they sure as shootin' don't smell pleasant. So we decided it wasn't worth it.

To the Library. With three kids in tow. It was actually quite nice. As long as you forget that Brody decided it was time to practice his wrestling moves on his baby brother in the fiction section. Or that baby saw this as an opportunity to throw all picture books at his brother's head. But other than that it was quite pleasant.

Then Hubs texts me to go eat with him at Chili's. Sure. Why not? I'm only still in my exercise clothes from this morning, hair in a ponytail and smelling like a rose. If I used the words white trash, which I don't, but if I did, that would describe how I felt. A great time ya'll.

By the time I got home it was about 2pm. Nap time for all. (I work until midnight every night, in bed by 1am, out of bed by 6:30 most mornings. You were thinking I was lazy, weren't you.) Then school pick-up, piano lessons, etc.

Did my house get clean? Why, yes. Yes it did. The cleaning ghost had made it's way to my house and blessed me mucho! Thanks, cleaning ghost! See what I mean...Awesome!

To top it off, about two weeks ago, Julianna at Surviving Boys gave me an award. Her blog is always a fun one to read. She is surviving boys just like I am...with a smile.

Here are some blogs that I have recently found and love to read. Some are hilarious, some are enjoyable and some simply amaze me. Check out and decide for yourself!

blueandshoe

Big Mama's The Bristol Project

Bakow Babble

Jenny Matlock

The Rowdy Stroudy's

Me & Mine

Have a super weekend.

Maybe it will turn out awesome!

Do Not Enter

Doesn't it seem like your kids really only pay attention to you when you are breaking the rules.

You know, like when you are the one who says, "Shut up!" or when you sneak a piece of candy before dinner and they catch you.

But if it's "Please come do your homework" or "Can you bring me your dirty clothes basket," they tilt their head slightly and ask one another, "Did you hear something? Me either. Keep playing!"

Well, the other morning we were running late. Okay, that could have been any day of the week. But I am speaking of Wednesday in particular. We were running out the door, backpacks bouncing, shoe sparks a-flying, blame echoing through the air. We were L-A-T-E late.

Most schools have a  drop-off area with an entrance and an exit. Ours has one entrance but two exits: one for droppers and another for park and walkers. Ideally, if you are dropping off, you should go in the entrance and if you are leaving, you should go through one of the exits.

As we pull up to the school, it is apparent that we weren't the only ones running late. Lucky for us, no-one was no line to the park and walk exit gate. Lucky for us, there was no on-coming traffic.

Lucky for me, the minute I turned into the exit gate, all three of my kids let out a gasp.

"GASP!!!" Like that.

"Mom!! You aren't supposed to go in this way!!!" she said.

"Yeah! Didn't you see that sign??" he agreed.

"Yeah. Do Not Enter means do not go in!" the second he chided.

Yes, I know. What kind of mother blatantly breaks the law, and in front of her children no less? I'll tell you what kind: this kind.

Confession time. "I know. I totally broke the law. I shouldn't have gone in that way and yet I did. The sign said not to. You are right. You are on time, but you are right. Sorry, folks." 

So what did I learn? I learned that my kids may not listen me, but a sign........

I am seriously considering installing many DO NOT ENTER signs throughout my house.

You know, like on my bathroom door. Oh, and the snack pantry. Umm, their sister's secret candy stash drawer. (Okay, that one is for me.) Definitely the pocket of my purse that houses my gum. My sock drawer. Yes, Son, that is right. Stay out!!!

I'll let you know how that works out.

Next sign: DO NOT LITTER.

Brought to you by the letter D and Jen Matlock.

So I Married A Deaf Man: I only talk when I'm angry

I can talk in two different languages at the same time. Some people think that is cool. I guess it is...but not so much.

I can speak perfect English. Okay, who am I kidding? You have all read my blog. So, it's not perfect, but you get what I am saying. I am fluent...it is my native language. AND I can sign pretty good. It is the mode of communication that happens in our house, at least half of the time. Plus it is what I do for a living. So, I think it is safe to say that I am fluent in ASL as well.

Separately, I do great.

It's when I try and do them simultaneously that things get a little hairy. Because ASL has it's own structure, speaking and signing at the same time will either mess me up on the hands or in my speech.

It is ugly. Undesirable. Unintelligible. Don't try it....it's dangerous. I avoid it when I can.

Only, there are times when I just can't help it.

You see, I only talk to my husband when I am emotional. And when I say talk, I mean sign and speak at the same time.

When I get worked up or upset, speaking English is what my body naturally wants to do. It is how I express myself best...in my native language. This makes sense, right? Except that the person I need to talk to about the issue can't hear. So I am forced to blubber incoherently in both languages.

Hubs can tell when I start. If the tears or steam coming out my ears weren't enough to give it away, it's the visual and verbal vomiting that gives it away; the spewing of nouns, verbs, adjectives all in inappropriate places and in impossible to understand order. It's no wonder he doesn't understand what I am trying to tell him.

I can just imagine him shaking in his britches after one of my emotional dumps, just praying that I don't ask him to restate what I just said to him.

He has learned to just nod and say, "Sorry, honey." Yeah, right. Don't I wish. No, usually he smiles, then laughs and asks, "Are you talking?"

And that usually goes over real well, as you can imagine. I become more upset, less coherent, and the spinning begins.  

Nice how when I need him to hear me the most is when I make it impossible for him to understand me.

Good thing I only talk when I'm angry.

Hickety-do-dah!

I was cornered. At the sink. Doing dishes when he approached me with the seemingly harmless question.

"What happens when you suck your arm really hard?"

"Well, besides hurting yourself it will bruise. Did you try it?"

"No. What is that called?"

"It's called a hickey." I should have seen what was coming at this point. But like I said, I was scrubbing plates and rinsing forks.

"A hickey? Do people give each other hickies?"

"Ummm, well, yes, some people give other hickies." I could now see where this was going. But at that point it was too late to turn back.

"Why? Why would  someone give another person a hicky?"

"Well, Kobe, they are either teasing the other person or they got really excited and accidentally kissed too hard and voila: hicky."

"That's weird. Really? Have you ever had a hicky."

At this point I really didn't know if I should continue the conversation. I mean, really, I am married and I have 5 children. Of course I have had one. But does my 10 year old really need to know?

But then I remembered the time when I was about his age...my son's, not my dad's... and I asked my dad if he has ever french kissed my mom. His response, "Stefanie! That is none of your business." I felt a little embarrassed.

"Well, son. Yes, I have had a hicky. But I am married. And sometimes it happens. When you are married, you will understand." And I hope he waits until he is married.

"So you have had a hicky? Where?"

"None-ya!"

"Huh?"

"None-ya business."

How did I do?

Tagged

Paige over at Life is a Phoenix tagged me with these questions. (You should read her blog. She is an amazing photographer and always a fun read!) Thought I would pass them on. So, if you are reading this, consider yourselves tagged. Then let me know if you did so I can read your answers too!

1. Do you like Starbucks? And are you a fan of their seasonal coffees?
The smell of coffee kinda makes me sick. But, I do like their hot chocolate...oh and they have a yummy cider. Mostly though, I like the name. Who came up with it? Genius.

2. How do you decorate and prepare for Fall?
Mostly the rooms are decorated by my children taking out the old Halloween costumes and changing their minds 50 million times as to what they want to be for Halloween. We have some fun decorations. Mostly a fun tablecloths, and spookey things randomly placed around the house.

This year we have a special treat. I bought words like, "Beware." and "Turn Back" that can stick on your windows. Great idea. Except my 6 year old got to them first. Now we have "Wkune Btacr" for all the world to see. "Hooked on Phonics worked for me!"

3. Will you participate in your college's homecoming activities?
Homecoming...sigh. I went to the football game. But not so much anything else. Maybe if I had been  asked to go I would have. But I think that all the guys were intimidated by my beauty. Yeah, that's why.

4. What is your favorite Fall clothing item or accessory?
Sweatshirts...all the way. You can wear shorts, pants, sandles, tennies, socks, no socks. But always there is a sweatshirt. Love it!

5. What was your favorite Halloween costume as a kid?
I remember being Little Bo Peep in second grade. We didn't buy costumes. In Jr High I took one of my dads old suit jackets and turned it inside out and was a nerd. I think I wore that one clear through high school. What? We weren't supposed to wear costumes in high school. Oh.
 
6. Do you like Halloween/Horror movies? Do you have a favorite?
I remember watching one of those movies at a friends house and thinking it was too funny. So unrealistic. It's the ones that could happen that scare me the most. That is why I avoid them when I can. Now "Watcher in the Woods" ...that's scary.

7. What is your favorite Fall activity?
I love going to the local pumpkin patch. Hay rides, picking a pumpkin from the patch (like Linus in Charlie Brown), corn mazes, candy apples, hot chocolate.

Also, where we live, we have a hot air balloon festival. It is awesome. We are talking 500 to 600 hot air balloons in one place. We go out in the mornings and there are balloons scattered through the sky. It's great! If you ever want to come see it, I'll hook you up!

8. What is your favorite Fall recipe?
Oh, boy. I love Dutch Apple pie that is made by someone else that is not me. Yummy!

A few more for fun...

1. What movie coming out soon are you looking forward to seeing?
I still haven't seen Eat Pray Love. I wanna see it because I read the book. I don't know what else is out because I DVR all my shows and skip commercials. Any suggestions?? I know Harry Potter is coming out soon.

2. What will you miss most about summer?
Mostly lots of time with my kids. Oh, and being able to have a lazy day now and then. So not happening with my "in school" schedule. Ugh.

3. When do you start your holiday shopping?
Now. I mean right now. I like to be done by Thanksgiving...so that I can see all the great sales on Black Friday and kick myself for not waiting. Yep...that's me.

4. Favorite exercise/activity?
I like to run or do Insanity for exercise. I love to play volleyball, though I haven't played for a few years.

5. Best book you've read lately?
"A Woman of Independent Means" was the most recent book that I read. My all time favorite is "These Is My Words".

6. Do you make your bed every day?
Yes, I make it into a mess. Well, I try to make it most mornings. There are times, though, when I am out and one of the rascals is still asleep in it. So then I wait. I wait until the next day to make it. But I do try.

7. If you could choose a personal chef over a personal shopper, which would you choose?
Personal shopper, no brainer. I. Hate. Shopping. I hate grocery shopping. I hate clothes shopping. I hate car shopping. I hate it.

8. Which TV show are you most excited for this Fall?
I am weaning myself off of t.v. these days. I like Brothers and Sisters, though it is going down a road that I really am not sure I want to go down. So mostly I watch Glenn Beck and iCarly.

What's in Your Vent: Reposted

Today was a super long day. I left the house at 9am and didn't really get home until midnight. So, for today,  re-posting this is gonna save me some time and crack you up. I promise... Enjoy!

My son, Brody, never ceases to amaze me. Today was "REALLY clean your bedroom" day. I was in his and Camden's room cleaning it all by myself helping them get things organized. He had just discovered that he and Kobe could communicate through their heater vents.

So there I am, trying to figure out which clothes are clean, and which ones are dirty while the boys are yelling through the vent to each other. Lovely!

Kobe yelled from the other room, "Can you see the light?" Brody couldn't so he called me over to the vent.

I crawl up to the vent and notice that there is something in the vent.

 "Do you know what is in the vent?" I ask Brody.

"Yes. That is my food trash."

"Food trash?!" I ask, puzzled. I wasn't sure that I wanted to know what that meant. 

I lift off the cover. Lucky for me the heater was on and so once the metal cover was lifted, about 50 trident gum wrappers, along with random crumbs start blowing in my face.

After the cloud of ...whatever it was...settled, I saw this...

 

 Oh my!!

Note to self: Buy Brody a trash...a real food trash. 

Second note to self: Check the vents regularly!

What's in your vent??

Counting the ways...

Why am I mad at you?
Let me count the ways.

Maybe it's the socks piling up
going on seven days.

Why am I mad at you?
Maybe this is why

The toothpaste spit in the bathroom sink
is now crusty and dry.

Why am I mad at you?
Listen and you'll see.

That smell inside the bathroom there
Is from your man-child's pee
(He's not a very good shot)

Why am I mad at you?
I can describe it well.

When I open up the refrigerator
The whole house begins to smell.

Why am I mad at you?
I haven't got the heart

To tell you that the chair you're on
is still falling apart.

Why am I mad at you?
How can it be?

The you that I am talking about
Well, yeah, of course, it's me.

Getting mad does nothing more
than pile on mommy guilt.

I cannot take it anymore
It's just not how I'm built.

I do the best I can each day
That's all anyone can ask.

For in the end, my family is
my numero uno task.

Besides, being mad is totally overrated!!

Inspired by Mama Kat and Jenny Matlock!

So I Married a Deaf Man: I gotta go....

I don't know anyone who likes public restrooms. They are just gross and a little bit scary. I avoid them as much as I can. I have a strange ability to hold things until I am in a safe place. We are talking hours.

Hubs, on the other hand, does not share my holding ability. Oh, no. Not in the least. And he knows this. But despite this lack of hold-ability, he insists on eating cherries on road trips. I know!

Needless to say, Hubs visits public restrooms often. However, he can't just walk in and go. Nope. He has a few things he must check before proceeding on to his purpose.

Now, let me remind you that Hubs is deaf. This means, in a public restroom, he can't hear the other people. Super, if you are the other people. But this also means he can't hear himself. Catch my drift?

(This post is walking the edge of a slippery slope, I tell ya.)

When he enters, he checks all the stalls. If someone is in one, he will choose a stall where he is able to see their feet exit the restroom. If he is alone, he will choose the same stall so that he can see when someone else enters the restroom.

This little monitoring system helps him to know...when to release...

(sliding...sliding).

If it is busy, he is just plain out of luck.

I feel bad for him. I think that we all get a little stage fright when it comes to public restrooms. We all go. That isn't a secret. And yet, when there are others around to hear us, we try to take it easy. Don't we?

Now imagine you don't quite know the exact volume or sound that your body makes. And you know you don't know. All you know is what you have heard hearing people say, and most of that is in gest, poking fun at the situation. A little intimidating, if you ask me.

I don't like stress when I am in the ladies room.

This is why I don't eat cherries on road trips.

Maybe he shouldn't either.

I'm just saying.

The answer is God.

What does a man in a monkey suit and a roast in the crock-pot have in common?

The answer is God.

You see, in my little world, today was a stressful day. Stress, as in worry. Stress, as in anxious. You know the kind: Mommy stress.

As many of you know, today we took our little little Camden to get his growth hormone stimulation test done. No, he wasn't having brain surgery. No it wasn't a kidney transplant. But in my little world or more importantly in his little world, it was just as huge.

I was nervous for him. We fasted this past weekend and prayed for him. I knew that he wasn't going to die or anything like that. But he was so scared and would tear up every time he would think about it. He is only four.

Mostly I prayed that he would have a good doctor who would help him feel comfortable and not scared. Or at least less scared. I knew that physically he would be okay, but his emotional well being was my biggest worry.

So today we left our house at 6:45am, not really knowing where to go. I called the hospital and they couldn't see his appointment anywhere. "You have got to be kidding me!" I thought. Finally, after about 20 minutes of fretting, thinking that we were going to have to go through this whole routine again and knowing that his little heart would break, finally, we found where we were supposed to be.

We walked in, signed in and and waited for our turn. He was fighting back the sobs. It was breaking my heart. I said a little prayer for his benefit that the person who greeted him would be kind. Sure enough, a man with monkey scrubs, called his name. He was kind. He was patient. He was my answer.

We were there from 7:30am-12pm. We grabbed something to eat and got home at 2:15pm. I had wonderful friends who had offered to take care of my little Briggedy-doo-dah. By the time we picked him up he was fed, napped and probably cleaner than he was left.

By then, I was done. Pooped, physically and emotionally. I knew what was ahead of me. Picking up the 3 older kids, getting homework done, making dinner, getting ready for work (5:30-12:30am)... It was all very overwhelming.

I really am not the type to ask for help for myself. "Watch my kids?" I can ask that any day. "Can you pick up some milk for me from Sam's?" Not a problem. But if you ask me how I am doing, I will mostly answer, "I'm okay. I've got it under control. I'm good."

But when I walked in my house and smelled a pot roast cooking in my kitchen I was touched. Then I went in and read the note that my sister had left me. This is the sister who was visiting from Idaho, who had stayed a day longer so that my husband could come with me to the appointment.

Her note read something like, "We love you very much. We are praying that all is well with Camden. Heavenly Father wanted me to make this for you. Your needs are known to Him. Love you!"

I cried. This is how He answers prayer. Through a man with a monkey shirt and a sister who knows my unspoken need for a roast in my crockpot for dinner. In my little world, He knew what I needed.

He is the Answer, always the Answer.