I think I have mentioned how Hubs sleeps. Like a rock
This is because he is Deaf. Stone Deaf. Meaning, he hears nothing.
Can you imagine what that is like? Closing your eyes and hearing nothing. Heavenly. No annoying crickets. No heater/AC. No coughing, crying, screaming children. No snoring spouse. (That is because I do not snore. Ever! Tree falling in the forest, my friends. If there is no-one there to hear it, it doesn't happen.) Just silence. Complete and utter silence.
That is why when Hubs closes his eyes at night or in the middle of the day for that matter, he is O-U-T. There really is no waking him. At. All.
When we were newly married, we lived in a small, one bedroom apartment. It was perfect for the two of us.
One weekend, my sister and her family, consisting of 6 children, were driving through our town and needed a place to stay. We love having family and so of course we offered to have them stay with us. However, they didn't get in until really late.
We left the door unlocked (this was before the incident) for them and sometime during the night I heard them try and sneak in. As you can imagine, with six young children there is no sneaking anywhere. Kids will wake up in the transition. And then you are left with grouchy, groggy children who now have to sleep in the same room with 7 other people on the blue turf we called carpet. Needless to say, no-one was sleeping.
Except Hubs.
The funny thing is, I could hear my sister whispering loudly to her children, "Shhhhh. You have to be quiet or you are going to wake Uncle Hubs." "You are being too loud. Uncle Hubs has class tomorrow. You need to whisper."
Ummm, yeah. He's deaf. Not gonna hear you. No matter how loud.
He sleeps like a Chevy...
...like a rock!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Coming clean
Are there places you don't want people to see?
Not those places. We all have those places. Okay, so maybe not those Victoria Secret models. But let me remind you, we hate them. They don't count. I'm not talking about those places!
You know the places I am talking about. The places where every time you go to that place you say to yourself, "Ugh! Why me?!?"
Surely you have some of those? If not, then I hate you too!! Okay, not really. Yeah, maybe just a little. But not Victoria Secret model hate. No. Just envious dislike.
I thought that I would put mine out for the world to see. I thought about having before and after pictures. Except then you all would stop reading my blog. But really I decided not to take pictures because then I would actually have to clean these places. Enough to brag. That's a lot of cleaning.
What I am really looking for is validation. Maybe some consolation.
So without further ado...
My front coat closet:
It is supposed to hold coats and maybe gloves. What it really homes is coats, shoes, our flag, my husband's linguistic books and papers that may or may not be important now but were at one time, racket ball equipment, an extra backpack or two, some weekly readers and dirt...quite a bit of it.
If you come to my house on a cold night, I probably won't offer to take your coat because if I do, I will have to open the closet at which point everything will come spilling out. Awkward. Yeah, just leave your coat in the car.
My spice cabinet.
This one is really a nightmare. I made an attempt to organize it with a lazy Susan thingy. Only I went with the cheap one and the top tier is now laying on the bottom. This means if I take the nutmeg on the bottom the whole thing will be off kilter. This means either the cookie sprinkles will fall backwards and spill all over the cupboard OR the cream of tartar and Italian spices will come crashing down onto my counter.
Not only that. For your extra enjoyment you can look up and find randomness here too: Economy size stapler, vases, checkbooks, thumb tacks. I think there is even a few of those Target $1 popcorn holders.
This may be why I rarely bake. I'm just saying.
Our little car.
Ugh! That thing has so much crap in it. It is the car that Hubs and I use for work and school. It is also the car we take when we go places without the whole fam damily. So it has a little bit of everything.
Lunch bags, shin guards, mountain biking trail maps, severalhundred empty water bottles, a few light jackets, a few heavy jackets, a borrowed water jug, Cd's. I can honestly tell you right now that I have about 60 cans of cream of mushroom and cream of chicken in the back....for the past 3 weeks. They were on sale...really good sale...but haven't organized the Harry Potter room where they belong. Shocker, huh.
Harry Potter Room
It's the catch all with a door. Blankets, frames, pull-up bar, toilet paper, diapers, wipes, treasure box. It all in there.
Do you think if I cleaned it out, put a bed and one of my naughty kids in there and locked it, someone could report me?Not if I didn't blog about it. Of course I would never do that. Like I was saying, definitely don't look in there. Just ignore the loud kicking and screaming. Old pipes.
Oh, dear blogging friends. Please tell me I am not alone in my clutter. Please don't hate me because I am messy. It is my messy-ness that makes me so much fun. Who wants to organize and un-clutter when there are games to be played, people to visit, posts to be blogged?
Not it!!
What's in your closet??
BTW, I'm cleaning out the candy on my other blog. Gulp. It's gonna be a tough week.
Not those places. We all have those places. Okay, so maybe not those Victoria Secret models. But let me remind you, we hate them. They don't count. I'm not talking about those places!
You know the places I am talking about. The places where every time you go to that place you say to yourself, "Ugh! Why me?!?"
Surely you have some of those? If not, then I hate you too!! Okay, not really. Yeah, maybe just a little. But not Victoria Secret model hate. No. Just envious dislike.
I thought that I would put mine out for the world to see. I thought about having before and after pictures. Except then you all would stop reading my blog. But really I decided not to take pictures because then I would actually have to clean these places. Enough to brag. That's a lot of cleaning.
What I am really looking for is validation. Maybe some consolation.
So without further ado...
My front coat closet:
It is supposed to hold coats and maybe gloves. What it really homes is coats, shoes, our flag, my husband's linguistic books and papers that may or may not be important now but were at one time, racket ball equipment, an extra backpack or two, some weekly readers and dirt...quite a bit of it.
If you come to my house on a cold night, I probably won't offer to take your coat because if I do, I will have to open the closet at which point everything will come spilling out. Awkward. Yeah, just leave your coat in the car.
My spice cabinet.
This one is really a nightmare. I made an attempt to organize it with a lazy Susan thingy. Only I went with the cheap one and the top tier is now laying on the bottom. This means if I take the nutmeg on the bottom the whole thing will be off kilter. This means either the cookie sprinkles will fall backwards and spill all over the cupboard OR the cream of tartar and Italian spices will come crashing down onto my counter.
Not only that. For your extra enjoyment you can look up and find randomness here too: Economy size stapler, vases, checkbooks, thumb tacks. I think there is even a few of those Target $1 popcorn holders.
This may be why I rarely bake. I'm just saying.
Our little car.
Ugh! That thing has so much crap in it. It is the car that Hubs and I use for work and school. It is also the car we take when we go places without the whole fam damily. So it has a little bit of everything.
Lunch bags, shin guards, mountain biking trail maps, several
Harry Potter Room
It's the catch all with a door. Blankets, frames, pull-up bar, toilet paper, diapers, wipes, treasure box. It all in there.
Do you think if I cleaned it out, put a bed and one of my naughty kids in there and locked it, someone could report me?
Oh, dear blogging friends. Please tell me I am not alone in my clutter. Please don't hate me because I am messy. It is my messy-ness that makes me so much fun. Who wants to organize and un-clutter when there are games to be played, people to visit, posts to be blogged?
Not it!!
What's in your closet??
BTW, I'm cleaning out the candy on my other blog. Gulp. It's gonna be a tough week.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Black(eye) Friday
Black Friday.
Up til 3 years ago I swore I would never participate in such a ghastly, mob-like activity. No deal was worth it.
That was until I actually went. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so much fun that I have done it for the past 3 years. I think if you are going to do it, though, you have to have a few rules:
1. Nothing is worth killing over....so just let me have it already. Let go!!
2. Step away from the electronics. Unless you have a death wish. If so, you have come to the right place.
3. The "Sale" PJ's they have really aren't all that great. Definitely not worth the scratching you will get on your hands, arms and quite possibly your eyes. Seriously! Don't!!
4. All aisle traffic rules are out the window. "Stay to the right" becomes "Get out of the way Grandma!! There is no right-of-way. Sorry!" But you know I would never say or do anything like that. Never ever.
5. You have to laugh. I mean, look around you. All these overly tired, overly stuffed people walking around grabbing stuff like there is no tomorrow. They are frantically calling their relative that is either on the other end of the store or in a totally different place altogether. It's humorous to say the least.
6. Don't curse at people who are laughing at you.
7. Be prepared to stand in long checkout lines. Unless you are smart enough to weasel your way through the lingerie department and get to the other end of the store where the lines are super short. Shorter than on any other day of the year. Scoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooore!
Last year when we went, I commented to my husband that stores should have sales throughout the day, rather than one start time. It would cut down on the craziness, plus you would get more people to your stores. At least that is what I thought. But who would listen to little old me?
Wal-Mart, that's who.
So last night, about 9pm, my friend calls me and asks if I wanted to go with her at midnight because that's when their sales started.
"Uhhh, yeah!" was my response.
So I quickly mapped out what I wanted to get and we headed there early. We were one of the first people waiting at the Wii game cases. My friend stayed to guard our place while I ran and got a few of the other items that weren't locked up with the bullet proof clear wrap. There were, however, some people who couldn't wait and had ripped open the wrapping and began grabbing. Can you believe it??
I told them "Thank you" and took a few of my own.
When I got back to my friend, she told me that the game she wanted was across the store. So I stayed, hoping to get that dang Wii game while she knocked people over hustled to get to her gift. I also noticed that there were more and more people crowding in front of me. "Breath in...breath out. It's all good," I told myself.
A few minutes later, the voice from above said, "Customers. Please step away from the merchandise." Then almost immediately I heard a roar and that's when the real crazy started. Lucky for me I was far away from those red boxes. But it caused me some anxiety.
"What if that lady really does like the XBox customers better and never comes down here to us Wii folk?
"What if she helps these cutters before me?"
"What if all those roaring people take all the other things I want while I stand here and wait?"
It was too much for me. I gave up. It wasn't worth the angst I was starting to feel. No game is worth it. Even if it was $20 off and my son would have really loved to have it and Hubs told me I should have gotten it when I got home. Oh well. It was the same with all those really cheap movies. But it was so not worth elbowing my way through the crowds. At least not this year.
Another Black Friday gone. Another day of great deals.
Another busy day for ERs everywhere!
What deals did you get?
Up til 3 years ago I swore I would never participate in such a ghastly, mob-like activity. No deal was worth it.
That was until I actually went. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so much fun that I have done it for the past 3 years. I think if you are going to do it, though, you have to have a few rules:
1. Nothing is worth killing over....so just let me have it already. Let go!!
2. Step away from the electronics. Unless you have a death wish. If so, you have come to the right place.
3. The "Sale" PJ's they have really aren't all that great. Definitely not worth the scratching you will get on your hands, arms and quite possibly your eyes. Seriously! Don't!!
4. All aisle traffic rules are out the window. "Stay to the right" becomes "Get out of the way Grandma!! There is no right-of-way. Sorry!" But you know I would never say or do anything like that. Never ever.
5. You have to laugh. I mean, look around you. All these overly tired, overly stuffed people walking around grabbing stuff like there is no tomorrow. They are frantically calling their relative that is either on the other end of the store or in a totally different place altogether. It's humorous to say the least.
6. Don't curse at people who are laughing at you.
7. Be prepared to stand in long checkout lines. Unless you are smart enough to weasel your way through the lingerie department and get to the other end of the store where the lines are super short. Shorter than on any other day of the year. Scoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooore!
Last year when we went, I commented to my husband that stores should have sales throughout the day, rather than one start time. It would cut down on the craziness, plus you would get more people to your stores. At least that is what I thought. But who would listen to little old me?
Wal-Mart, that's who.
So last night, about 9pm, my friend calls me and asks if I wanted to go with her at midnight because that's when their sales started.
"Uhhh, yeah!" was my response.
So I quickly mapped out what I wanted to get and we headed there early. We were one of the first people waiting at the Wii game cases. My friend stayed to guard our place while I ran and got a few of the other items that weren't locked up with the bullet proof clear wrap. There were, however, some people who couldn't wait and had ripped open the wrapping and began grabbing. Can you believe it??
I told them "Thank you" and took a few of my own.
When I got back to my friend, she told me that the game she wanted was across the store. So I stayed, hoping to get that dang Wii game while she
A few minutes later, the voice from above said, "Customers. Please step away from the merchandise." Then almost immediately I heard a roar and that's when the real crazy started. Lucky for me I was far away from those red boxes. But it caused me some anxiety.
"What if that lady really does like the XBox customers better and never comes down here to us Wii folk?
"What if she helps these cutters before me?"
"What if all those roaring people take all the other things I want while I stand here and wait?"
It was too much for me. I gave up. It wasn't worth the angst I was starting to feel. No game is worth it. Even if it was $20 off and my son would have really loved to have it and Hubs told me I should have gotten it when I got home. Oh well. It was the same with all those really cheap movies. But it was so not worth elbowing my way through the crowds. At least not this year.
Another Black Friday gone. Another day of great deals.
Another busy day for ERs everywhere!
What deals did you get?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Gobble Gobble: Memories and THE list
Ahh, Thanksgiving. I love it!
My first memories of Thanksgiving are waking up to the smell of turkey cooking. I also remember always watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. For some reason I remember one year there were these really big pig balloons and we were teasing this guy who really liked my oldest sister about them. Odd memory, don't you think?
My mom is a pie maker. She make tons of pies. All on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. She is amazing with the designs she makes on her crusts. And the smells, Oh, the smells. I loved and still do, when I come home walking into the warm house and smelling apple pies, cherry pies, pumkin pies all baking in her oven. It is welcoming and amazing! See why we typically go there for Thanksgiving.
We would always eat on my mom's best china. Many a goblets were broken at Thanksgiving. My sister actually bit one just to see what would happen. It did. We usually had other friends or family at our house, so I was always at the little kid table. Even when I was big. Even now. Okay, not now. But that's only because it isn't called the little kid table. That or there are little-er kids than me. Hmmph. Someday!
The rest of the afternoon was usually spent eating pie, playing games, eating left overs, cleaning up, more pie, watching and playing football, visits from friends, still more pie, sometimes a movie, and finishing up the pie. Good times!
Just so you don't think I'm un-grateful because I haven't mentioned being thankful all month...here is my thankful list:
I am thankful....
...for allrecipes.com and other websites/blogs with recipes on them. They make me look good.
...for a full night sleep without interruptions. That happened last night.
...for laundry. Just kidding!
...for a good book, a warm blanket and the dream of having time to use them both at the same time.
...that Hubs decided, on his own, to put up Christmas lights, for the first time evah!!!
...for my iphone. I really can do everything on there.
...for my blog. I had no idea how much fulfillment I would get from blogging. It really is fun for me. Both in my writing and in reading others' too. Thank you!!
...for my dog. He greets me every night when I come home to a dark, quiet house. A lot of comfort comes knowing that murderers, theives and other varments are detered from getting us because there is a mean sounding bark on the other side of the door.
...for friends. I am thankful for the friends who will call me in a weak moment and share their yummy chinese craving with me, because I am supportive that way. Or the friend who has a coupon for the new peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks and drops one off for me.
...for my children. They are the joys of my life. I thank God every day for the opportunity to be their mother. And am so glad how forgiving they are of my many, many flaws! Plus, they provide great blogging material!!
...for Hubs. This handsome guy lets me write about him. Every week. On a public forum. And he still loves me. Who wouldn't be thankful for that? He is the best!! Then, as if that isn't enough, he is the "champ" dad ever. (Excuse the ASL speak.) Plus he's handsome. I tell ya ladies, I scored...big time!!
But mostly, I am grateful for a loving Father in Heaven who blesses me with everything that I have. He loves me, even when I am unloveable and mean, undeserving and always falling short. So much so that He sent His Son to make it possible for me return to Him. For that I am eternally grateful!
Happy Thanksgiving!!
What are you thankful for?
My first memories of Thanksgiving are waking up to the smell of turkey cooking. I also remember always watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. For some reason I remember one year there were these really big pig balloons and we were teasing this guy who really liked my oldest sister about them. Odd memory, don't you think?
My mom is a pie maker. She make tons of pies. All on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. She is amazing with the designs she makes on her crusts. And the smells, Oh, the smells. I loved and still do, when I come home walking into the warm house and smelling apple pies, cherry pies, pumkin pies all baking in her oven. It is welcoming and amazing! See why we typically go there for Thanksgiving.
We would always eat on my mom's best china. Many a goblets were broken at Thanksgiving. My sister actually bit one just to see what would happen. It did. We usually had other friends or family at our house, so I was always at the little kid table. Even when I was big. Even now. Okay, not now. But that's only because it isn't called the little kid table. That or there are little-er kids than me. Hmmph. Someday!
The rest of the afternoon was usually spent eating pie, playing games, eating left overs, cleaning up, more pie, watching and playing football, visits from friends, still more pie, sometimes a movie, and finishing up the pie. Good times!
Just so you don't think I'm un-grateful because I haven't mentioned being thankful all month...here is my thankful list:
I am thankful....
...for allrecipes.com and other websites/blogs with recipes on them. They make me look good.
...for a full night sleep without interruptions. That happened last night.
...for laundry. Just kidding!
...for a good book, a warm blanket and the dream of having time to use them both at the same time.
...that Hubs decided, on his own, to put up Christmas lights, for the first time evah!!!
...for my iphone. I really can do everything on there.
...for my blog. I had no idea how much fulfillment I would get from blogging. It really is fun for me. Both in my writing and in reading others' too. Thank you!!
...for my dog. He greets me every night when I come home to a dark, quiet house. A lot of comfort comes knowing that murderers, theives and other varments are detered from getting us because there is a mean sounding bark on the other side of the door.
...for friends. I am thankful for the friends who will call me in a weak moment and share their yummy chinese craving with me, because I am supportive that way. Or the friend who has a coupon for the new peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks and drops one off for me.
...for my children. They are the joys of my life. I thank God every day for the opportunity to be their mother. And am so glad how forgiving they are of my many, many flaws! Plus, they provide great blogging material!!
...for Hubs. This handsome guy lets me write about him. Every week. On a public forum. And he still loves me. Who wouldn't be thankful for that? He is the best!! Then, as if that isn't enough, he is the "champ" dad ever. (Excuse the ASL speak.) Plus he's handsome. I tell ya ladies, I scored...big time!!
But mostly, I am grateful for a loving Father in Heaven who blesses me with everything that I have. He loves me, even when I am unloveable and mean, undeserving and always falling short. So much so that He sent His Son to make it possible for me return to Him. For that I am eternally grateful!
Happy Thanksgiving!!
What are you thankful for?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
So I Married A Deaf Man: Pick Me! Pick Me!!
Hubs can play football. I mean, really play football. He is an all-around athlete. There really isn't a game that he can't play.
Okay, so maybe not musical chairs, but who is good at that game anyway.
You know what happens every year on Thanksgiving morning, right? The Turkey Bowl. If you aren't up to speed, let me explain. The Turkey Bowl is when all men, old and young, fat and slim, athletic or awkward... all come together and relive the glory days. Football, folks. That's what it is.
I am not sure how this tradition started. Perhaps it was the woman who had had it up to her eyebrows with her Hubs coming in asking, "Is it ready yet?" She finally looked at him and said, "Can't you call a few friends and go throw the football around for a few hours????"
Perhaps some husband needed an excuse to not help with the clean-up? "Oh, honey. I totally twisted my ankle this morning at the Turkey Bowl. I think I need to sit right here in front of the TV with my pie and ice my foot. I wouldn't want to strain it or anything. By the way, can you bring me a soda?"
Whatever it's origins, it is an annual event for Hubs.
The first time he goes to a new Turkey Bowl it is a guarantee that he will be the last one to be picked. Guaranteed. I don't know if people think you have to hear to play or if they just aren't sure how they will communicate. Maybe they can't judge his ability because he isn't out there talking shmack. Whatever the case...always last picks.
Element of surprise.
He is short. He is fast. He is Mr. Athlete.
And he is Deaf.
Take that!
Okay, so maybe not musical chairs, but who is good at that game anyway.
You know what happens every year on Thanksgiving morning, right? The Turkey Bowl. If you aren't up to speed, let me explain. The Turkey Bowl is when all men, old and young, fat and slim, athletic or awkward... all come together and relive the glory days. Football, folks. That's what it is.
I am not sure how this tradition started. Perhaps it was the woman who had had it up to her eyebrows with her Hubs coming in asking, "Is it ready yet?" She finally looked at him and said, "Can't you call a few friends and go throw the football around for a few hours????"
Perhaps some husband needed an excuse to not help with the clean-up? "Oh, honey. I totally twisted my ankle this morning at the Turkey Bowl. I think I need to sit right here in front of the TV with my pie and ice my foot. I wouldn't want to strain it or anything. By the way, can you bring me a soda?"
Whatever it's origins, it is an annual event for Hubs.
The first time he goes to a new Turkey Bowl it is a guarantee that he will be the last one to be picked. Guaranteed. I don't know if people think you have to hear to play or if they just aren't sure how they will communicate. Maybe they can't judge his ability because he isn't out there talking shmack. Whatever the case...always last picks.
Element of surprise.
He is short. He is fast. He is Mr. Athlete.
And he is Deaf.
Take that!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Sock it to 'em.
Dad had a sock drawer.
I don't think that there were many socks kept in that drawer. At least not that I remember. I only remember one sock residing in that drawer. It was dark brown and it was full of change.
"Why did your dad keep his change in a sock?"
This was back before piggy banks were invented. Huh? What? No, that's not right. Come to think of it, I am not sure why he did that. I just know that he did. Maybe he was trying to hide his change from the likes of me.
Obviously, if I am telling you about the sock, then you know that I found the sock. And the goods therein.
Once I found it, I came up with the most brilliant plan. Take some of the change, go to the Circle K and buy a ton of candy. Bring it home and sell the candy for half the price that I bought it for.
Genius!! (Remember, I was maybe 8 years old.)
Apparently making money wasn't as important as making friends. I was a hit. I mean, why go to the store and buy a candy bar for $.45 when you can buy it from me for $.25? They loved me. Sometimes they could haggle me down to $.15. This may be where my displeasure for haggling began.
I would buy the candy, set up shop, sell it all then take my un-profit and buy more, each time sneaking more and more from my dad's sock. My booming business lasted about 4 hours.
Well, eventually my theifery was discovered and my store went bust. I remember feeling horrible for stealing my dad's money...from the dark brown sock...hiddenbadly in his sock drawer.
It was then, at that young age, that I learned three great lessons:
Hiding your money in a brown sock in a sock drawer is just asking for trouble.
I should never go into business...having friends is still more important to me than making a buck!
Never take something that isn't yours because in the end you will get caught, feel guilty...
...and blog about it later.
I don't think that there were many socks kept in that drawer. At least not that I remember. I only remember one sock residing in that drawer. It was dark brown and it was full of change.
"Why did your dad keep his change in a sock?"
This was back before piggy banks were invented. Huh? What? No, that's not right. Come to think of it, I am not sure why he did that. I just know that he did. Maybe he was trying to hide his change from the likes of me.
Obviously, if I am telling you about the sock, then you know that I found the sock. And the goods therein.
Once I found it, I came up with the most brilliant plan. Take some of the change, go to the Circle K and buy a ton of candy. Bring it home and sell the candy for half the price that I bought it for.
Genius!! (Remember, I was maybe 8 years old.)
Apparently making money wasn't as important as making friends. I was a hit. I mean, why go to the store and buy a candy bar for $.45 when you can buy it from me for $.25? They loved me. Sometimes they could haggle me down to $.15. This may be where my displeasure for haggling began.
I would buy the candy, set up shop, sell it all then take my un-profit and buy more, each time sneaking more and more from my dad's sock. My booming business lasted about 4 hours.
Well, eventually my theifery was discovered and my store went bust. I remember feeling horrible for stealing my dad's money...from the dark brown sock...hidden
It was then, at that young age, that I learned three great lessons:
Hiding your money in a brown sock in a sock drawer is just asking for trouble.
I should never go into business...having friends is still more important to me than making a buck!
Never take something that isn't yours because in the end you will get caught, feel guilty...
...and blog about it later.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Going down with style....
I've been called a lot of things...I won't name them for you...but stylish has never been one of them.
Until now...
Mary, over at Life in a Small Town thinks I am. Or at least she thinks I deserve this award. Sa-weet! Thanks, Mary. Man, have I got you fooled. I am honored!!
Now you get to learn 7 things about me. Random things. That's just how my mind works.
I mix regular Cheerios with the Honey Nut kind so I can save on sugar. Plus I leave the Honey Nut box out so my kids think they are getting sugared cereal. Nothing wrong with a little deception.
I'm a jerk. It's true. A stylish jerk. Ask the girl who was texting last night in the middle of the Harry Potter movie. You know, the one that I paid $20 to see. After her phone's light flashing in my eyes about 20 times in the first 30 minutes, I leaned over and asked her, nicely to please turn it off. See, Jerk!
I've never made a pumpkin pie. Shocked? You shouldn't be. I've also never made lemon meringue, cherry, or pecan pies either. My mom is so good at making pies. She usually makes them all. I do, however, make a really good Dutch Apple pie. Oh, and rainbow Jell-O. It's a trade off.
I really think that Graham crackers make my children fill their diapers.
I can't walk into Hobby Lobby alone anymore. It is a requirement that Hubs comes with me. That or I can only have cash. It is a dangerous place. Especially at this time of year.
I love "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" with Jim Carey. He did an amazing job. Also "Elf." Holiday must haves. Oh, and "Christmas With the Kranks."
I make a mean English Toffee. Not mean like, "Can you please stop texting during the movie?" mean. I'm talking "Holy Cow! I am going to die right now if I don't have another piece," mean.
Now for some of the new blogs that I have found.
Our Whitehouse Cori is actually my cousin and I just found her blog. I'm a dork. She isn't. Check her out!
The Creative Homemaker This blog has so many cool ideas. I found out that she actually served with Hubs for a few months on her mission. What a small world. Check her out. She is so creative I am green with envy!
Deck the Halls of Home with Joy This blog just makes my mind explode. I wish I could do all of these things.
In the Gutter I usually end up laughing on this one.
Ooops...There Goes My Butt Is it wrong to plug my other blog here? It's my "Getting Healthy" journey. You can join me if you like!
The rest of my must-reads are on my Fav's list.
Thanks, again Mary.
Until now...
Mary, over at Life in a Small Town thinks I am. Or at least she thinks I deserve this award. Sa-weet! Thanks, Mary.
I mix regular Cheerios with the Honey Nut kind so I can save on sugar. Plus I leave the Honey Nut box out so my kids think they are getting sugared cereal. Nothing wrong with a little deception.
I'm a jerk. It's true. A stylish jerk. Ask the girl who was texting last night in the middle of the Harry Potter movie. You know, the one that I paid $20 to see. After her phone's light flashing in my eyes about 20 times in the first 30 minutes, I leaned over and asked her, nicely to please turn it off. See, Jerk!
I've never made a pumpkin pie. Shocked? You shouldn't be. I've also never made lemon meringue, cherry, or pecan pies either. My mom is so good at making pies. She usually makes them all. I do, however, make a really good Dutch Apple pie. Oh, and rainbow Jell-O. It's a trade off.
I really think that Graham crackers make my children fill their diapers.
I can't walk into Hobby Lobby alone anymore. It is a requirement that Hubs comes with me. That or I can only have cash. It is a dangerous place. Especially at this time of year.
I love "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" with Jim Carey. He did an amazing job. Also "Elf." Holiday must haves. Oh, and "Christmas With the Kranks."
I make a mean English Toffee. Not mean like, "Can you please stop texting during the movie?" mean. I'm talking "Holy Cow! I am going to die right now if I don't have another piece," mean.
Now for some of the new blogs that I have found.
Our Whitehouse Cori is actually my cousin and I just found her blog. I'm a dork. She isn't. Check her out!
The Creative Homemaker This blog has so many cool ideas. I found out that she actually served with Hubs for a few months on her mission. What a small world. Check her out. She is so creative I am green with envy!
Deck the Halls of Home with Joy This blog just makes my mind explode. I wish I could do all of these things.
In the Gutter I usually end up laughing on this one.
Ooops...There Goes My Butt Is it wrong to plug my other blog here? It's my "Getting Healthy" journey. You can join me if you like!
The rest of my must-reads are on my Fav's list.
Thanks, again Mary.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Turkey Run
Once upon a November, there lived a Wifey and her Hubs who couldn't have children.
"Ah!" said Hubs. "Kids are overrated. Let's get a turkey instead."
So they bought a turkey, cleaned it up, and popped it into the oven.
When Wifey opened the oven door, out jumped the turkey.
"Pardon me," said Tom T. Urkee. "I've got somewhere to go. And how!"
And off he ran.
He ran past Wifey. He ran past Hubs. He ran right out the front door.
Wifey looked over and Hubs, both totally flabbergasted.
"Well," she said, straightening her apron, "..at least he was dressed!"
Playing Centus Saturday with Jen Matlock. You should too!!
"Ah!" said Hubs. "Kids are overrated. Let's get a turkey instead."
So they bought a turkey, cleaned it up, and popped it into the oven.
When Wifey opened the oven door, out jumped the turkey.
"Pardon me," said Tom T. Urkee. "I've got somewhere to go. And how!"
And off he ran.
He ran past Wifey. He ran past Hubs. He ran right out the front door.
Wifey looked over and Hubs, both totally flabbergasted.
"Well," she said, straightening her apron, "..at least he was dressed!"
Playing Centus Saturday with Jen Matlock. You should too!!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Whatcha readin?
I love to read.
I am not a fast reader. In fact it takes me about 3 to 4 weeks to read a book. But I love to read, nonetheless.
Best book I have read in a long time:
I could read it over and over and over again. And have. It's a must read.
Right now I am reading this:
Should be a good one to read during the Christmas season!! Short and sweet.
What are you reading? I would love to have some suggestions from some of your favorite books.
I'm serious.
Have a great weekend!!
I am not a fast reader. In fact it takes me about 3 to 4 weeks to read a book. But I love to read, nonetheless.
Best book I have read in a long time:
Right now I am reading this:
What are you reading? I would love to have some suggestions from some of your favorite books.
I'm serious.
Have a great weekend!!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I heart children
I love children
Yes, it's true
That's why I had
a hundred and two
Okay five
The things they do
when they are small
I know I cannot
list them all.
But I'll try.
The chocolate ring
on nose and chin
Doesn't even
bother them.
"Ehhhh," they shrug.
"Knock. Knock." "Who's there?"
I'm telling you, folks
To children, there are
zero bad jokes.
Though I've told a few.
My children have been
blessed with lungs.
No inhibition
with my young.
They can sing! Loud!!
Out of bed
They roll each day
One track minds
"It's time to play?"
.....all day.
Wearing shoes
without their socks,
Walking barefoot
across the rocks.
Why? How? Ouch!!
Fashion faux pas?
Not a problem.
At my house
we always got 'em.
Orange and purple...interesting choice.
The greatest thing
my kids possess,
The quality
I love the best,
Should be most, I know.
Love! That's right,
The unconditional kind,
More forgiving hearts
You'll never find.
Except maybe in a dog.
I can yell, spank,
Even forget,
You know, the usual
list of regrets.
I won't list them.
And yet, despite
all my wrongs
In my lap's
where they belong.
...and want to be.
So come on people,
have offspring,
Greater joy can
nothing else bring.
Plus, they'll take care of you later!
Thanks to Jenny and Mama Kat for the prompt.
Yes, it's true
That's why I had
a hundred and two
Okay five
The things they do
when they are small
I know I cannot
list them all.
But I'll try.
The chocolate ring
on nose and chin
Doesn't even
bother them.
"Ehhhh," they shrug.
"Knock. Knock." "Who's there?"
I'm telling you, folks
To children, there are
zero bad jokes.
Though I've told a few.
My children have been
blessed with lungs.
No inhibition
with my young.
They can sing! Loud!!
Out of bed
They roll each day
One track minds
"It's time to play?"
.....all day.
Wearing shoes
without their socks,
Walking barefoot
across the rocks.
Why? How? Ouch!!
Fashion faux pas?
Not a problem.
At my house
we always got 'em.
Orange and purple...interesting choice.
The greatest thing
my kids possess,
The quality
I love the best,
Should be most, I know.
Love! That's right,
The unconditional kind,
More forgiving hearts
You'll never find.
Except maybe in a dog.
I can yell, spank,
Even forget,
You know, the usual
list of regrets.
I won't list them.
And yet, despite
all my wrongs
In my lap's
where they belong.
...and want to be.
So come on people,
have offspring,
Greater joy can
nothing else bring.
Plus, they'll take care of you later!
Thanks to Jenny and Mama Kat for the prompt.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
So I Married a Deaf Man: The hills are still alive
I grew up in a home filled with music. Probably because my dad loves music. There was a piano and most of us could play. Dad had a guitar and would sing us to bed at night. As we grew we were either in band or choir from Jr High through High School. I was in both.
I went to Allstate choir all four years of high school. I got a music scholarship for the first two years of college where I was in the band, in choir, and accompanied some of the quartets on the piano. For those two years, music was my major. Music was my life.
Sadly, when I transferred to BYU, I wasn't accepted into their program...because every Mormon and their dog is musically talented and their talent was more than mine. But I did stay in choir and had a great time.
Needless to say, music has been a huge part of my life. When I am sad, I turn to music. When I am scared, I use music to calm me. When I want to have fun...Music. Music Music. It is just a huge part of me.
A huge part of my life that I can't share with Hubs.
Yeah, it's great that he doesn't care if I listen to Christmas music on Nov 1st; convenient that I always get to choose the genre that we listen to in the car. Never have to explain why country music isn't stupid and why rap is.
And yet....I wish he could share it with me. I wish that he could feel what music makes you feel. Instead, all he feels is the vibrations. I wish he could hear my children as they learn to play "Oh When the Saints Go Marching In" on the piano instead of just putting his hand on the frame and nodding.
How do you describe harmony? You can't really. At least not adequately. Or the sweetness of a child's voice. You can't interpret music...lyrics, yes...but the sound of music. Nope.
It's just one of those things that I gave up marrying a deaf man: sharing my love of music. Sharing that part of me.
But some day, I will be able to introduce him to music. Someday, he will be able to feel what I feel when I hear strings playing, and children singing, and harmonies that touch you to the core.
It's not because I want him to not be deaf. I just want to share that part of me...of who I am...with him.
Maybe not this life....
...but someday.
I went to Allstate choir all four years of high school. I got a music scholarship for the first two years of college where I was in the band, in choir, and accompanied some of the quartets on the piano. For those two years, music was my major. Music was my life.
Sadly, when I transferred to BYU, I wasn't accepted into their program...because every Mormon and their dog is musically talented and their talent was more than mine. But I did stay in choir and had a great time.
Needless to say, music has been a huge part of my life. When I am sad, I turn to music. When I am scared, I use music to calm me. When I want to have fun...Music. Music Music. It is just a huge part of me.
A huge part of my life that I can't share with Hubs.
Yeah, it's great that he doesn't care if I listen to Christmas music on Nov 1st; convenient that I always get to choose the genre that we listen to in the car. Never have to explain why country music isn't stupid and why rap is.
And yet....I wish he could share it with me. I wish that he could feel what music makes you feel. Instead, all he feels is the vibrations. I wish he could hear my children as they learn to play "Oh When the Saints Go Marching In" on the piano instead of just putting his hand on the frame and nodding.
How do you describe harmony? You can't really. At least not adequately. Or the sweetness of a child's voice. You can't interpret music...lyrics, yes...but the sound of music. Nope.
It's just one of those things that I gave up marrying a deaf man: sharing my love of music. Sharing that part of me.
But some day, I will be able to introduce him to music. Someday, he will be able to feel what I feel when I hear strings playing, and children singing, and harmonies that touch you to the core.
It's not because I want him to not be deaf. I just want to share that part of me...of who I am...with him.
Maybe not this life....
...but someday.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Swiss Miss, take me away!
Last night, my daughter laid her head on my lap and asked me to tell her a story. A real story. In our house Real means made-up by me. You see, I am the real deal. Whoot!!
So I told her a tale about a mean woman (Mean Molly Mommy) who stole all the candy canes from Santa's candy cane garden. (You know that he has one of those, right?) And Santa's four elves and his neon toothed reindeer, Briggy (we are original), went on a journey to get them back... from the South Pole...because that is where MMM lived.
They discovered that she loved hot chocolate and so they made the most delicious hot chocolate that she had ever tasted. (Cream, chocolate...lots of chocolate, whipped cream and a little bit of Christmas cheer). She wanted the recipe so bad, but the only way they would give it to her is if she gave back all the candy canes so that all the girls and boys around the world could have a candy cane in their stocking.
She promised that she would give them back. At least she had planned to until she remembered that she had melted all of the candy canes in a big pot. But luckily they were able take the melted candy canes and put them in circle molds. That was the year that children all over the got mints in their stockings, not candy canes.
Not sure why I told you the whole story. But there it is. However, that is not the point of this post.
While telling the story, Kyla was lying on my lap and I was running my fingers through her hair. When the story was done, she sat up and said it was her turn to tell a story.
"Okay. But that means I get to lay my head on your lap now," I told her. She obliged.
"Are you feeling squished, Kyla?" I asked, concerned that she might feel claustrophobic.
"No. I feel more like....like there is a huge hippo on my lap."
Mint, anyone?
(Talking about water on Ooops...there goes my butt Blog.)
So I told her a tale about a mean woman (Mean Molly Mommy) who stole all the candy canes from Santa's candy cane garden. (You know that he has one of those, right?) And Santa's four elves and his neon toothed reindeer, Briggy (we are original), went on a journey to get them back... from the South Pole...because that is where MMM lived.
They discovered that she loved hot chocolate and so they made the most delicious hot chocolate that she had ever tasted. (Cream, chocolate...lots of chocolate, whipped cream and a little bit of Christmas cheer). She wanted the recipe so bad, but the only way they would give it to her is if she gave back all the candy canes so that all the girls and boys around the world could have a candy cane in their stocking.
She promised that she would give them back. At least she had planned to until she remembered that she had melted all of the candy canes in a big pot. But luckily they were able take the melted candy canes and put them in circle molds. That was the year that children all over the got mints in their stockings, not candy canes.
Not sure why I told you the whole story. But there it is. However, that is not the point of this post.
While telling the story, Kyla was lying on my lap and I was running my fingers through her hair. When the story was done, she sat up and said it was her turn to tell a story.
"Okay. But that means I get to lay my head on your lap now," I told her. She obliged.
"Are you feeling squished, Kyla?" I asked, concerned that she might feel claustrophobic.
"No. I feel more like....like there is a huge hippo on my lap."
Mint, anyone?
(Talking about water on Ooops...there goes my butt Blog.)
Friday, November 12, 2010
Mormon Myth Buster
I am a Mormon. Could you tell? Not that it matters...except that it is pretty much my life. And since this blog is about my life, I thought it would be an important thing to put out there.
Being Mormon, I get some of the most interesting questions. So, let me save you all the trouble. Here are the FAQs and answers.
everyweek every once in a while, too. It's tough, trying to teach my kids to be reverent and listen. But there is something to be said about worshiping as a family. For three hours. Not quite sure at this point what is to be said about it, but "good long nap" is what comes to mind.
A few last words:
No, not all Mormons like carrots in their Jell-O.
Yes, I will share my 20 year supply of food with you if there is no food anywhere else.
I will be accepting applications for sister wife after the New Year. Please include a picture.
Being Mormon, I get some of the most interesting questions. So, let me save you all the trouble. Here are the FAQs and answers.
"Do Mormons have horns."
We do not have horns. Nope. We file those off of our young before we leave the hospital, before the hearing test and after the circumcision. It's just easier that way. (Actually never got this question, but I read it somewhere and it made me laugh.)"So, Mormons don't like to talk about their underwear, do they?"
I don't think I know anyone who likes to sit around with a bowl of chips and salsa discussing their drawers. I think it is odd that people want to. Don't you? "So, in your temples...do you... you know?"
No. No! Eeewe no!! Procreation, consummation, and intimate recreation are not things that take place there. Believe me. I would know."Polygamy?"
There are zero sister wives in my house. (Mormons don't do that.) But I might consider it IF she was really really ugly, and couldn't have kids, and loved to fold and put away laundry and mop the floor. Oh, and if she would sit and sing songs with me around the piano and she would blog too and follow me and tell me how funny I am. And she would watch the kids while Hubs and I went on a date. Almost like a live in maid-n-nanny. Is that wrong?"Are you required to have lots of kid?"
Didn't you know that the more kids you have the better chance you have of making it into heaven? No? If it was that easy, I would be on fertility pills and have kids coming out my eyeballs and the name of my blog would be changed to "Ooops...My Head Just Exploded". (Cue sister wife laughing.)"You don't drink? Ever?"
Well, we do have to drink water. Everyone does. I live on the wild side, though, and drink Diet Coke now and then...it isn't forbidden by-the-way. (I think I may have just lost a few Mormon followers.) No alcohol, coffee or tea. That's pretty much all that I don't drink. Oh, and Dr Pepper. I don't like the taste. "Three hour church? Are you serious?"
I say this one to myself A few last words:
No, not all Mormons like carrots in their Jell-O.
Yes, I will share my 20 year supply of food with you if there is no food anywhere else.
I will be accepting applications for sister wife after the New Year. Please include a picture.
Any questions?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Ultimate gift
I am a horrible gift giver.
Don't believe me? Ask my high school boyfriend. We had been together for two years. He gave me a very nice sports jacket. You know what I gave him? Cherry chocolates. You know, the kind that you can still buy 2/$1 at Walgreen's. What a horrible gift. I was so embarrassed.
Still don't believe me? Ask my daughter. Three years ago I chose a bike. She wanted a doll. Two years ago she got an awesome doll house...that she never plays with. Her brothers use it for their Star Wars Galactic Heroes more than she does. Last year I got her an iShuffle and she has only used it 3 times. In my defense, she is so hard to shop for. Seriously! Hard!
I am good at white elephant gifts...buying something that is a little bit silly and unwanted, but still intriguing at the same time. I am good with those. But that is about it.
Except that once. 7 years ago when I bought the best present for my husband. And he uses it all the time. Still.
Electric nose hair trimmer. Best gift ever!!!
It wasn't because he was having excessive nose hair. No. I had just noticed that he struggled from time to time to remove those stragglers. As entertaining as it was to watch, I could tell it was very frustrating. I had offered to let him borrow my eye brow tweezers. (Just thinking about doing that makes my eyes water and my nose itch.) He declined.
I just happened upon my pot of gold one day, walking through Wal-Mart.
"Huh," I thought to myself. "What a great stocking stuffer."
It wasn't the most exciting gift to receive. I can assure you there was no jumping up and down, taking pictures with his phone. Heck, I am not even sure it was mentioned in his "What I got for Christmas" report.
But he uses it. All the time. In secret. Behind closed doors. Because who wants their wife blogging about....oh, ahem. Nevermind.
I'm telling you, ladies.
It's the gift that keeps on giving.
Don't believe me? Ask my high school boyfriend. We had been together for two years. He gave me a very nice sports jacket. You know what I gave him? Cherry chocolates. You know, the kind that you can still buy 2/$1 at Walgreen's. What a horrible gift. I was so embarrassed.
Still don't believe me? Ask my daughter. Three years ago I chose a bike. She wanted a doll. Two years ago she got an awesome doll house...that she never plays with. Her brothers use it for their Star Wars Galactic Heroes more than she does. Last year I got her an iShuffle and she has only used it 3 times. In my defense, she is so hard to shop for. Seriously! Hard!
I am good at white elephant gifts...buying something that is a little bit silly and unwanted, but still intriguing at the same time. I am good with those. But that is about it.
Except that once. 7 years ago when I bought the best present for my husband. And he uses it all the time. Still.
Electric nose hair trimmer. Best gift ever!!!
It wasn't because he was having excessive nose hair. No. I had just noticed that he struggled from time to time to remove those stragglers. As entertaining as it was to watch, I could tell it was very frustrating. I had offered to let him borrow my eye brow tweezers. (Just thinking about doing that makes my eyes water and my nose itch.) He declined.
I just happened upon my pot of gold one day, walking through Wal-Mart.
"Huh," I thought to myself. "What a great stocking stuffer."
It wasn't the most exciting gift to receive. I can assure you there was no jumping up and down, taking pictures with his phone. Heck, I am not even sure it was mentioned in his "What I got for Christmas" report.
But he uses it. All the time. In secret. Behind closed doors. Because who wants their wife blogging about....oh, ahem. Nevermind.
I'm telling you, ladies.
It's the gift that keeps on giving.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Confession...a little late.
Why can't I EVER be on time? I ask myself this question over and over. It doesn't matter what time I start, I would say that 90% of the time I am late.
I have decided that it is out of my control. I was destined to be late.
Here is my reasoning:
* For starters, I am a woman. Now, hold on. Hold on. Don't get those undies in a ruffle. Admit it, ladies, we take a lot longer to get ready than most men. They may take longer in the shower, at least mine does, but beauty like ours takes time. Unless of course it doesn't. In which case we hate you!
* I was born into a family with 8 children, 7 of us were girls. Getting 10 people anywhere on time is quite the accomplishment. Needless to say, as hard as we tried, it didn't always happen. In fact, people would tell us that things started earlier than they did so that we would be there when it really started.
* I have short legs. Long legs = punctual. Short legs = tardy.
* I married into the Deaf culture. Late is the name of their game. When we went to our Deaf church in AZ, we showed up 45 minutes late for churchevery week once and it had just started. Late is on time.
* I have 5 children ages 10 and under. Enough said.
It's what I was meant to be. Some people are meant to paint masterpieces. Others are destined to be Olympians. Me? Wouldn't you agree that by birth and marriage, I was destined to be late?
Don't get me wrong, being late isn't all bad, really. There are some benefits.
* It gives people a way to get to know you. You are late to church and the only seats left are the ones up front. Without even one word coming out of your mouth, everyone knows who you are. See what I mean. Instant popularity.
* People don't ask you to bring anything too important because by the time you get there, they won't need it anymore.
* You get there just in time for dessert.
I do try to be on time. Really, I do. I've just accepted that fact that my time to be early or at least on time will come.
It just isn't now.
The tortoise was slow but steady. He may not have gotten there on time, but he did get there. He was destined for lateness, and see, he was a winner in the end. There is hope.
Destined for greatness, maybe.
Destined for lateness...
...that's me!!
Thanks, Mama Kat, for getting me to confess the obvious. What's your confession?
I have decided that it is out of my control. I was destined to be late.
Here is my reasoning:
* For starters, I am a woman. Now, hold on. Hold on. Don't get those undies in a ruffle. Admit it, ladies, we take a lot longer to get ready than most men. They may take longer in the shower, at least mine does, but beauty like ours takes time. Unless of course it doesn't. In which case we hate you!
* I was born into a family with 8 children, 7 of us were girls. Getting 10 people anywhere on time is quite the accomplishment. Needless to say, as hard as we tried, it didn't always happen. In fact, people would tell us that things started earlier than they did so that we would be there when it really started.
* I have short legs. Long legs = punctual. Short legs = tardy.
* I married into the Deaf culture. Late is the name of their game. When we went to our Deaf church in AZ, we showed up 45 minutes late for church
* I have 5 children ages 10 and under. Enough said.
It's what I was meant to be. Some people are meant to paint masterpieces. Others are destined to be Olympians. Me? Wouldn't you agree that by birth and marriage, I was destined to be late?
Don't get me wrong, being late isn't all bad, really. There are some benefits.
* It gives people a way to get to know you. You are late to church and the only seats left are the ones up front. Without even one word coming out of your mouth, everyone knows who you are. See what I mean. Instant popularity.
* People don't ask you to bring anything too important because by the time you get there, they won't need it anymore.
* You get there just in time for dessert.
I do try to be on time. Really, I do. I've just accepted that fact that my time to be early or at least on time will come.
It just isn't now.
The tortoise was slow but steady. He may not have gotten there on time, but he did get there. He was destined for lateness, and see, he was a winner in the end. There is hope.
Destined for greatness, maybe.
Destined for lateness...
...that's me!!
Thanks, Mama Kat, for getting me to confess the obvious. What's your confession?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
So I Married A Deaf Man: I won't say it.
How many times have you been somewhere and you heard someone say something that was awkward, inappropriate or down right rude? You walk away thinking to yourself, "I can't believe they actually said that. Out loud."
Welcome to my life.
You see, we, the interpreters of the world, are the voice and ears for our clients. Most the time, I love what I do. I love connecting people.
The flip side is saying things I don't want to say. You see, we are working with not only two languages, but two cultures. Things that are funny or totally acceptable in one culture have the potential of being offensive and inappropriate in another.
When at work, where I am being paid to interpret, I am required to interpret everything: appropriate or not, embarrassing or offensive. It must be interpreted or I am not doing my job. Sometimes the translation can be softened. Many times, however, it just is what it is.
At home, it's a totally different story.
Let's be clear. My husband is not rude or offensive in the least. Not at all. He is super sweet and kind and all of that. But his humor...I love it, the Deaf community loves it, but it isn't always appreciated in the hearing culture. And other things...cultural things.... that just don't translate.
Plus there are just things that I don't want to say.
And so, guess what. I don't. I refuse. Not often.
I simply say, "Umm, nope. I'm not going to say that. You can write it down if you want, but I won't. You can't make me."
Call me mean. Call me cold hearted. Maybe even oppressive.
That's just the kind of wife I am.
But maybe...
...if he paid me.
I thought I would share this video that totally goes along with this post. Enjoy!!
Welcome to my life.
You see, we, the interpreters of the world, are the voice and ears for our clients. Most the time, I love what I do. I love connecting people.
The flip side is saying things I don't want to say. You see, we are working with not only two languages, but two cultures. Things that are funny or totally acceptable in one culture have the potential of being offensive and inappropriate in another.
When at work, where I am being paid to interpret, I am required to interpret everything: appropriate or not, embarrassing or offensive. It must be interpreted or I am not doing my job. Sometimes the translation can be softened. Many times, however, it just is what it is.
At home, it's a totally different story.
Let's be clear. My husband is not rude or offensive in the least. Not at all. He is super sweet and kind and all of that. But his humor...I love it, the Deaf community loves it, but it isn't always appreciated in the hearing culture. And other things...cultural things.... that just don't translate.
Plus there are just things that I don't want to say.
And so, guess what. I don't. I refuse. Not often.
I simply say, "Umm, nope. I'm not going to say that. You can write it down if you want, but I won't. You can't make me."
Call me mean. Call me cold hearted. Maybe even oppressive.
That's just the kind of wife I am.
But maybe...
...if he paid me.
I thought I would share this video that totally goes along with this post. Enjoy!!
Monday, November 8, 2010
That's gonna leave a mark
It burned. Really Really bad!
It was the summer of my Seniorr year. I was on the varsity volleyball team. School hadn't started yet, but practice had.
For some reason, I thought that it was important to have my hair curled to go to practice. Why? It's not like it was a coed team, so there was no-one to impress. I was just going to flatten it with my sweat. No, wait. Those were the days of perms. Flattening wasn't an option.
Whatever the reason, I curled it before I went.
This particular morning, I was curling my hair in my bedroom. However, the desk that held the mirror was not close enough to the outlet so I had put the curling iron, the hot, scalding curling iron, on my chair while I changed into my shorts.
I eyed it while putting on my knee pads and telling myself, "I better move that thing or I am going to sit on it."
Well, I became distracted by something, probably a song or my image reflecting back at me. I grabbed my shoes and sat down, you guessed it, on the fiery wand of fire. It took about one second for me to realize, "Oh my heck!!! I am sitting on that curling iron!" Zoiks!!!!
Up I shot, knocking the chair and the iron across the room. I ripped the plug from the outlet, set it down and ran to the bathroom. After locking the door I stood on the toilet and checked out my wound. All I could see was a huge red spot forming directly below my right tush.
I cried a little. Okay, a lot.
I came out of the bathroom and my mom asked me what was wrong. When I told her I'd burned myself with a curling iron, I am sure that she thought, "Why are you crying? That hurts, but tears? Really?" What she probably said was, "Ouch. That probably hurt."
"It did. I think it is really bad. Look." I pulled up my shorts and everyone's jaws hit the floor.
"What? Why are you all looking at me like that?" I asked, turning pale.
I looked again, and there was a huge white blister that was forming all across my upper leg. My parents had me sit in a cold bathtub for a few minutes.
I sucked it up and went to practice that day, without my hair curled. It hurt like heck, let me tell you. The blister, not my pride. Okay, maybe both.
But the worst part? This was the year that they decided the volleyball team needed to wear butt-huggers...you know uniforms that look like granny underwear. So everyone and their dog got to see the nasty healing process that a deep burn goes through.
Needless to say I learned my lesson.
Never put a curling iron on a chair and think you will remember it's there.
Chances are....
...you won't.
It was the summer of my Seniorr year. I was on the varsity volleyball team. School hadn't started yet, but practice had.
For some reason, I thought that it was important to have my hair curled to go to practice. Why? It's not like it was a coed team, so there was no-one to impress. I was just going to flatten it with my sweat. No, wait. Those were the days of perms. Flattening wasn't an option.
Whatever the reason, I curled it before I went.
This particular morning, I was curling my hair in my bedroom. However, the desk that held the mirror was not close enough to the outlet so I had put the curling iron, the hot, scalding curling iron, on my chair while I changed into my shorts.
I eyed it while putting on my knee pads and telling myself, "I better move that thing or I am going to sit on it."
Well, I became distracted by something, probably a song or my image reflecting back at me. I grabbed my shoes and sat down, you guessed it, on the fiery wand of fire. It took about one second for me to realize, "Oh my heck!!! I am sitting on that curling iron!" Zoiks!!!!
Up I shot, knocking the chair and the iron across the room. I ripped the plug from the outlet, set it down and ran to the bathroom. After locking the door I stood on the toilet and checked out my wound. All I could see was a huge red spot forming directly below my right tush.
I cried a little. Okay, a lot.
I came out of the bathroom and my mom asked me what was wrong. When I told her I'd burned myself with a curling iron, I am sure that she thought, "Why are you crying? That hurts, but tears? Really?" What she probably said was, "Ouch. That probably hurt."
"It did. I think it is really bad. Look." I pulled up my shorts and everyone's jaws hit the floor.
"What? Why are you all looking at me like that?" I asked, turning pale.
I looked again, and there was a huge white blister that was forming all across my upper leg. My parents had me sit in a cold bathtub for a few minutes.
I sucked it up and went to practice that day, without my hair curled. It hurt like heck, let me tell you. The blister, not my pride. Okay, maybe both.
But the worst part? This was the year that they decided the volleyball team needed to wear butt-huggers...you know uniforms that look like granny underwear. So everyone and their dog got to see the nasty healing process that a deep burn goes through.
Needless to say I learned my lesson.
Never put a curling iron on a chair and think you will remember it's there.
Chances are....
...you won't.
Friday, November 5, 2010
It's how I roll....
It's "Find My Butt Friday" over at my new blog Ooops...there goes my butt. Come join the fun!
Speaking of losing my butt, I made cinnamon rolls today.Yup, that's right. I actually baked up some yummy goodness. Well, I am assuming they are yummy.
I didn't get to eat one.
Not because I am trying to lose weight. C'mon! That's not enough to keep me away from a piece of Heaven.
Nope. The reason I didn't get to have one was because I let my two little rascals help me.
"Let me measure that."
"I want to pour that in!"
"Can I stir it, Mommy?"
"Just one little taste? Pleeeeeease?"
As wonderful as it is, and it is, it also about doubles the amount of time. Time well spent, if you ask me. Problem is, I had to work tonight and if I waited for the rolls to be done, I would have been fired. Okay, not really, but you get the idea.
See the sacrifices that we moms make. For what? So that our kids will look back with fond memories and say....
"Wow! Mom was in a really bad mood when she left."
Speaking of losing my butt, I made cinnamon rolls today.Yup, that's right. I actually baked up some yummy goodness. Well, I am assuming they are yummy.
I didn't get to eat one.
Not because I am trying to lose weight. C'mon! That's not enough to keep me away from a piece of Heaven.
Nope. The reason I didn't get to have one was because I let my two little rascals help me.
"Let me measure that."
"I want to pour that in!"
"Can I stir it, Mommy?"
"Just one little taste? Pleeeeeease?"
As wonderful as it is, and it is, it also about doubles the amount of time. Time well spent, if you ask me. Problem is, I had to work tonight and if I waited for the rolls to be done, I would have been fired. Okay, not really, but you get the idea.
See the sacrifices that we moms make. For what? So that our kids will look back with fond memories and say....
"Wow! Mom was in a really bad mood when she left."
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Baby, it's cold outside
I am going to start listening to Christmas music now. Okay, yesterday. Really, this last Monday.
I just can't help myself. There are so many good songs!! Who was the meanie that decided that we have to cram all that good music listening into less than 30 days? Who?
I have a friend who doesn't listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. It is prohibited. Who bans Christmas music for 11 months out of the year?
Not me. I start listening to it after Halloween.
Don't judge. If Hobby Lobby, Wal-Mart and Michael's can do it, then why not me? It's not like I'm making money listening to it. Totally not commercializing Christ's birthday in any way. If anything, I am extending my celebration of the Savior's birth.
Granted, there are a few Frostys and Sleigh Rides, Jingle Bells and Rudolphs. But the majority are uplifting and celebratory of the Savior's humble birth.
And it's the good stuff too: Carpenters, Amy Grant, Mannaheim Steamroller, Frank Sinatra, Jewel, Johnny Mathas, MoTab (Mormon Tabernacle Choir), Charlotte Churchill. Okay, there is some Mariah Carey, Josh Groban, Clay Aiken, Bare Naked Ladies. A little Martina, Faith Hill, Brad Paisley, Burl Ives, Harry Connick Jr. A bit of Hilary Weeks, Michael McLean, Point of Grace, Sarah McLachlan, and Veggie Tales.
So many songs and so little time. So why limit yourself?
So go ahead. Don't hide in your closets!! Take off the headphones and crank up the "Jingle Bells", "Silent Night"s and "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...."
It's that time of year, people! Enjoy it while you can!
ps...Blue is my favorite Christmas color. Just a little FYI.
I just can't help myself. There are so many good songs!! Who was the meanie that decided that we have to cram all that good music listening into less than 30 days? Who?
I have a friend who doesn't listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. It is prohibited. Who bans Christmas music for 11 months out of the year?
Not me. I start listening to it after Halloween.
Don't judge. If Hobby Lobby, Wal-Mart and Michael's can do it, then why not me? It's not like I'm making money listening to it. Totally not commercializing Christ's birthday in any way. If anything, I am extending my celebration of the Savior's birth.
Granted, there are a few Frostys and Sleigh Rides, Jingle Bells and Rudolphs. But the majority are uplifting and celebratory of the Savior's humble birth.
And it's the good stuff too: Carpenters, Amy Grant, Mannaheim Steamroller, Frank Sinatra, Jewel, Johnny Mathas, MoTab (Mormon Tabernacle Choir), Charlotte Churchill. Okay, there is some Mariah Carey, Josh Groban, Clay Aiken, Bare Naked Ladies. A little Martina, Faith Hill, Brad Paisley, Burl Ives, Harry Connick Jr. A bit of Hilary Weeks, Michael McLean, Point of Grace, Sarah McLachlan, and Veggie Tales.
So many songs and so little time. So why limit yourself?
So go ahead. Don't hide in your closets!! Take off the headphones and crank up the "Jingle Bells", "Silent Night"s and "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...."
It's that time of year, people! Enjoy it while you can!
ps...Blue is my favorite Christmas color. Just a little FYI.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
"Girl Fight!!!!"
I remember looking behind me and seeing the bottle of moisturizer flying toward my face....
Rewind. Rewind...To really understand this story, you have to get some background. I grew up in a home with 7 girls and one boy at the end. Needless to say there was drama. Lots of it!
I was an early bird. Not because I loved mornings, although I do. Not because it takes me a long time to get as beautiful as I am. No, I would wake up early...we are talking 5am early... so that I could get to the shower first. And the blow dryer. And the curling iron. And, sadly, even sometimes the mirror. It was worth waking at the crack of dawn to not have to wait for anyone.
Something else you need to know is that my older sister had somewhat of temper in her youth. She is now one of the kindest, sweetest, most considerate people I know. But back then, she could be a little scary if you pushed her too far.
Well, one morning I got up a little late, still earlier than everyone else, but not by much. And I, not wanting to lose my right to first-ness I hid one of the curling irons...the favorite one. My thinking, "Hey, I still was the first one up and if I, the most deserving, couldn't have it first, then no-one could." (You know, typical teenage rational)
She walks in right as I was finishing up blow drying my hair.
"Where's the curling iron?" she asks.
"I'm getting ready to use it in like 2 minutes," I reply.
"Well, I'm ready to use it now," she states, losing her patience.
"But I don't want to have to wait for you. Just wait 10 minutes and I will be done," I plead, slowly walking backwards.
"That's stupid. You aren't even ready to use it. Just give it to me or I will take it." Looking back, she has a good point. I just didn't see it then.
"No!" was my not-so brave response.
At this point I pick up the curling iron and run for my life. She is on my heels, and I did what any selfish, helpless teenager would do. I locked my fingers around that iron, fell to the ground and started to scream for help.
She tried to pry my fingers off, but I have a freakishly strong grip. Just one of those hidden talents that comes in handy every now and then. And come in handy it did. Somehow, by some miracle, I wiggled myself free and made it across the room before I looked back.
That's when I saw it. A turquoise colored Avon face moisturizer being flung at me. It wasn't one of those soft, rubbery tubes of lotion. No. This was one of those bullet-proof, shatter-proof, use as a weapon jars.
She was a good shot, that one.
It hit me. Hard.
And it hurt. Bad.
And I cried. Loud.
And in the end, I got to curl my hair first.
Because that's what matters.
Participating in both Mama Kat and Jen Matlock's fun!
Rewind. Rewind...To really understand this story, you have to get some background. I grew up in a home with 7 girls and one boy at the end. Needless to say there was drama. Lots of it!
I was an early bird. Not because I loved mornings, although I do. Not because it takes me a long time to get as beautiful as I am. No, I would wake up early...we are talking 5am early... so that I could get to the shower first. And the blow dryer. And the curling iron. And, sadly, even sometimes the mirror. It was worth waking at the crack of dawn to not have to wait for anyone.
Something else you need to know is that my older sister had somewhat of temper in her youth. She is now one of the kindest, sweetest, most considerate people I know. But back then, she could be a little scary if you pushed her too far.
Well, one morning I got up a little late, still earlier than everyone else, but not by much. And I, not wanting to lose my right to first-ness I hid one of the curling irons...the favorite one. My thinking, "Hey, I still was the first one up and if I, the most deserving, couldn't have it first, then no-one could." (You know, typical teenage rational)
She walks in right as I was finishing up blow drying my hair.
"Where's the curling iron?" she asks.
"I'm getting ready to use it in like 2 minutes," I reply.
"Well, I'm ready to use it now," she states, losing her patience.
"But I don't want to have to wait for you. Just wait 10 minutes and I will be done," I plead, slowly walking backwards.
"That's stupid. You aren't even ready to use it. Just give it to me or I will take it." Looking back, she has a good point. I just didn't see it then.
"No!" was my not-so brave response.
At this point I pick up the curling iron and run for my life. She is on my heels, and I did what any selfish, helpless teenager would do. I locked my fingers around that iron, fell to the ground and started to scream for help.
She tried to pry my fingers off, but I have a freakishly strong grip. Just one of those hidden talents that comes in handy every now and then. And come in handy it did. Somehow, by some miracle, I wiggled myself free and made it across the room before I looked back.
That's when I saw it. A turquoise colored Avon face moisturizer being flung at me. It wasn't one of those soft, rubbery tubes of lotion. No. This was one of those bullet-proof, shatter-proof, use as a weapon jars.
She was a good shot, that one.
It hit me. Hard.
And it hurt. Bad.
And I cried. Loud.
And in the end, I got to curl my hair first.
Because that's what matters.
Participating in both Mama Kat and Jen Matlock's fun!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
So I Married A Deaf Man: I don't dance
I have always really liked to dance. It's such a fun way to express yourself. When I was in high school, I could lead foot like nobody's business. I wasn't the best dancer, but I wasn't emabarrassing either.
Once I hit college, I was introduced to the world of country dancing. Boy, was that fun! I was thin back then and so flipping and swinging and tangling was easy and so much fun. I really enjoyed doing that throughout my college years.
Gone are those days.
Hubs doesn't dance. Can you blame him? If you can't hear the music, we do look a little spastic flopping around on the dance floor. Oh, there are times, in the privacy of our home, with our kids, he will shake his booty a little and get jiggy. But you will never see him dancing in public. There is no way!
Never.
Except for that one time when we were engaged. He was the best man at his best friends' wedding. The wedding was beautiful...except for the fact that I, by default, had to interpret the ceremony because the interpreter was so late she missed the ceremony. I blundered the last names of these two deaf friends whose last names I had never heard and believe me, they were not easy names. But I digress....
After the ceremony, there was a dance.
The bride and groom, like Hubs, are deaf. So they would sway back and forth, with or without the music. They couldn't hear when the music had stopped. They were dancing more for their families' traditions, and smiling all the while.
Hubs and I were on the sidelines, just chatting. The father of the groom came over and gave Hubs a hard time for not asking me to dance. He practically dragged us onto the dance floor. Thankfully, it was a slow song and all we had to do was sway.
I remember thinking how Hubs must be feeling. For one thing, I was leading, and that in itself would make one want to run and hide. More importantly, though, is when you are slow dancing, both your hands are unavailable. No hands= no talking. I remember thinking he must have felt awkward and silly. He never said so, but I never wanted to make him feel that way again.
So my dancing days are over. At least with my favorite partner.
But there is still the next life...
I can just see Hubs doing the Roger Rabbit, taking down the house!
(Yes, I know the Roger Rabbit isn't cool, but it is hilarious. Don't you think?)
Once I hit college, I was introduced to the world of country dancing. Boy, was that fun! I was thin back then and so flipping and swinging and tangling was easy and so much fun. I really enjoyed doing that throughout my college years.
Gone are those days.
Hubs doesn't dance. Can you blame him? If you can't hear the music, we do look a little spastic flopping around on the dance floor. Oh, there are times, in the privacy of our home, with our kids, he will shake his booty a little and get jiggy. But you will never see him dancing in public. There is no way!
Never.
Except for that one time when we were engaged. He was the best man at his best friends' wedding. The wedding was beautiful...except for the fact that I, by default, had to interpret the ceremony because the interpreter was so late she missed the ceremony. I blundered the last names of these two deaf friends whose last names I had never heard and believe me, they were not easy names. But I digress....
After the ceremony, there was a dance.
The bride and groom, like Hubs, are deaf. So they would sway back and forth, with or without the music. They couldn't hear when the music had stopped. They were dancing more for their families' traditions, and smiling all the while.
Hubs and I were on the sidelines, just chatting. The father of the groom came over and gave Hubs a hard time for not asking me to dance. He practically dragged us onto the dance floor. Thankfully, it was a slow song and all we had to do was sway.
I remember thinking how Hubs must be feeling. For one thing, I was leading, and that in itself would make one want to run and hide. More importantly, though, is when you are slow dancing, both your hands are unavailable. No hands= no talking. I remember thinking he must have felt awkward and silly. He never said so, but I never wanted to make him feel that way again.
So my dancing days are over. At least with my favorite partner.
But there is still the next life...
I can just see Hubs doing the Roger Rabbit, taking down the house!
(Yes, I know the Roger Rabbit isn't cool, but it is hilarious. Don't you think?)
Monday, November 1, 2010
Do-do run run run
I run.
Well, I am not sure you can count what I do as running... But I call it running. My legs are moving faster than they do when I walk, and I breath faster, so that constitutes as running, right?
Why do I run? Because I like to sweat. Not the "walk-out-of-your-house-in-mid-July-in-Phoenix" sweat. I mean the "I-want-to-fall-down-and-die-because-I-can't-take-another-step sweat. There's just something about feeling like you are going to collapse from exhaustion that does it for me.
I have always loved to run. Okay, not true. Totally not true.
My first year to really try out running, I was in Jr High and I decided to try out cross-country. A little advice, cross country isn't for the casual runner. Oh, no. But my older sister was a state champion cross country runner. So I thought, "What the hay!" But then on my first meet I thought, "What.The. Heck!!" I wanted to cry. I think I did. In the middle of the desert where no-one else could see me.
And I spit under a rock. My grandma told me it would make the pain go away.
It didn't.
One season. That was the length of my cross-country career.
Track. Everyone likes track, right? I was in Jr High. Track translated into boys. Hours at a time with boys. I liked running short distances: short, sweet and less pain. But, again, my sister was a state champion long distance runner and my coaches must have mistaken me for her. So to the 800 I went. I hated it.
I remember running in my last track meet and my little sister coming up behind me. I could tell that she needed to pass me but didn't want to hurt my feelings. "Just pass me. I don't care." And off she went. On my last 200meters, I heard my dad cheering me on from the side. I yelled to him, "I never have to run another lap in my life after this!"
So, like I said, I haven't always liked running. But I do enjoy it now.
Maybe because, lately, I have been doing it on my treadmill. You know, where there is zero wind resistance, I can control the uphills and downhills. I am forced to keep a steady pace. I know exactly how far I've traveled and how many calories I've burned. I can watch 19 and Counting and lose track of time wondering how in the heck that mama does it!
But today I tried something a little different. I ran outside. I put on my new running shoes, styled my new ipod arm band, got my stick of gum and off I went. I decided on the whole interval approach: run 5 minutes, walk 5 minutes, then run another 5 minutes, and then walk, etc.
I was really surprised that I was able to go the 5 miles without falling over and dying. I had chosen the uphill for the first half of my journey. I was very thankful at the 20 minute mark. But I did it. And I didn't die.
One problem. I got the hiccups. And they keep showing up at random times: While drinking water. Whileyelling at reproaching my children. Interpreting a phone call about a dying grandmother. None of these the ideal time to hiccup.
But that's not my point.
My point is, I like to run. I like to sweat. I'd like to fit into my pre-baby jeans. And that is why....
...I run.
PS. I'm on a journey to find my cute butt at my new blog Ooops...there goes my butt. (See above tab.) Care to join me? Find your own butt too.)
Well, I am not sure you can count what I do as running... But I call it running. My legs are moving faster than they do when I walk, and I breath faster, so that constitutes as running, right?
Why do I run? Because I like to sweat. Not the "walk-out-of-your-house-in-mid-July-in-Phoenix" sweat. I mean the "I-want-to-fall-down-and-die-because-I-can't-take-another-step sweat. There's just something about feeling like you are going to collapse from exhaustion that does it for me.
I have always loved to run. Okay, not true. Totally not true.
My first year to really try out running, I was in Jr High and I decided to try out cross-country. A little advice, cross country isn't for the casual runner. Oh, no. But my older sister was a state champion cross country runner. So I thought, "What the hay!" But then on my first meet I thought, "What.The. Heck!!" I wanted to cry. I think I did. In the middle of the desert where no-one else could see me.
And I spit under a rock. My grandma told me it would make the pain go away.
It didn't.
One season. That was the length of my cross-country career.
Track. Everyone likes track, right? I was in Jr High. Track translated into boys. Hours at a time with boys. I liked running short distances: short, sweet and less pain. But, again, my sister was a state champion long distance runner and my coaches must have mistaken me for her. So to the 800 I went. I hated it.
I remember running in my last track meet and my little sister coming up behind me. I could tell that she needed to pass me but didn't want to hurt my feelings. "Just pass me. I don't care." And off she went. On my last 200meters, I heard my dad cheering me on from the side. I yelled to him, "I never have to run another lap in my life after this!"
So, like I said, I haven't always liked running. But I do enjoy it now.
Maybe because, lately, I have been doing it on my treadmill. You know, where there is zero wind resistance, I can control the uphills and downhills. I am forced to keep a steady pace. I know exactly how far I've traveled and how many calories I've burned. I can watch 19 and Counting and lose track of time wondering how in the heck that mama does it!
But today I tried something a little different. I ran outside. I put on my new running shoes, styled my new ipod arm band, got my stick of gum and off I went. I decided on the whole interval approach: run 5 minutes, walk 5 minutes, then run another 5 minutes, and then walk, etc.
I was really surprised that I was able to go the 5 miles without falling over and dying. I had chosen the uphill for the first half of my journey. I was very thankful at the 20 minute mark. But I did it. And I didn't die.
One problem. I got the hiccups. And they keep showing up at random times: While drinking water. While
But that's not my point.
My point is, I like to run. I like to sweat. I'd like to fit into my pre-baby jeans. And that is why....
...I run.
PS. I'm on a journey to find my cute butt at my new blog Ooops...there goes my butt. (See above tab.) Care to join me? Find your own butt too.)
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