Yes, I said roadkill

One summer, when I was 10 years old, my dad spent the summer running the mail in the small AZ town where my grandparents lived. It was about 3 hours from our house so he would stay with Grandma and come home every 2 weeks.

My siblings and I would take turns going with him and staying the two weeks with Dad and my grandparents. We thought it was fun. We had cousins to play with. Time alone with Dad. Loving from the grandparents. It was great.

There were a lot of great memories that summer: beating my sister in several running races, watching Mary Lou Retton win her gold medals, delivering mail with Dad, watching Grandma and Grandpa dance with each other in the kitchen. Memories indeed.

One memory I have, though, has always been quite disturbing.

On our drive to Grandma's house we hit a rabbit. They kept jumping out onto the road, and this one apparently had a suicide wish. He was unavoidable; dead for sure.

I was a little sad, but soon forgot about the little critter.

We got to Grandma's just in time for dinner. We quickly unloaded our stuff, washed up and pulled up a chair at the table. Grandma always had yummy food and that night was no different.

We started eating and my dad looked at me and said, "Do you know what you are eating?"

"Pork chops?" I asked.

"Nope. You remember that rabbit we hit tonight? That's what we are eating."

I knew that my dad was a joker, but for some reason I believed him. Totally. 100% believed him. For many years. Too many to admit.

Looking back, I know that he was either kidding or we were having rabbit. Not the roadkill rabbit, just rabbit. But I was 10 years old. Very impressionable. 

I honestly believed that my wonderful grandmother had cooked roadkill for dinner.

And my dad let me eat it!

Rude!


**Just for clarification. It wasn't really the roadkill rabbit. It wasn't! Really!!

Participating in ABC Thursday and Writer's workshop. Need a prompt. Try theirs!

So I Married a Deaf Man: Let me call you Sweetheart.

Most people have names that they call their significant other. Names they call when they want to get that person's attention.

Babe. Sweetie. Honey. Sugar buns. Butter cup.

For us, it's "Hey! You!"  In ASL it is simply flapping your hand/arm at that special someone. Occasionally throwing a sock or two.

You see, Deaf people don't really use names. You are identified once with your name or name sign. From then on out, you never really use that person's name when they are around.

There is no, "Hey, Stef! How are you?" Instead, they look at you and ask how you are. There just really is no need for a name, unless you are going to talk about someone when they aren't around. (I would never.) Then of course, by all means, use their name.

But the whole terms of endearment, lost on the Deaf community. Or at least lost in translation.


English: Babe.
ASL: "flap."

English: Sweetheart. 
ASL: "Flap flap."

English: Hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin'-love.
ASL:(two arms) "Flapidy-Flap."

When Hubs and I are emailling or texting, we include those types of exchanges: Honey, Babe, Punk. But that is the extent of our tender references.

Hubs, however, doesn't completely understand that some terms of endearment are reserved only for your spouse. Or at least he didn't at first.

We have a really good hearing friend in AZ. I worked with her almost everyday and she worked with Hubs quite a bit. We love her mucho.

Well, there were a few times when Hubs would call her up and say, "Hey, Babe. It's me Hubs." He did this several times that I know of and I am sure a few more times that I don't. Totally harmless, but also totally awkward.

I wasn't upset. It actually made me laugh. I am not sure what she thought, but I just had to explain to him that that endearment was not meant for other women, regardless of how close we were to them.

I was his Babe.

His one and only flap.

The sky? Falling?

A giant meteor is headed toward Earth. What do you do with the last day of your life?

 I will tell you what I won't be doing:

I will not be making my bed. Just like every other day. Don't judge. Not a good idea, seeing as you are probably going to be meeting your maker in the pretend tomorrow too. Nope, no bed making.

I will not be sending my kids to school. And I will not be calling the school...on second thought, I may. "Yes, my three children will not be coming into school seeing as it is their last day on Earth. Please excuse their absence."

You can bet I will not be cleaning my house. That would just be a waste of time. Especially with the kids around. Plus, there's no telling the damage that a meteor can do to my vacuum job, so why even try?

I will not be throwing one to five loads of laundry in the wash...for obvious reasons. Who cares if you are wearing dirty underwear? I mean, really. And what are people doing looking in other people's underwear in the first place. That's just weird.

There will be no grocery shopping. I hate doing that in the first place. I hate doing that in the second place. I hate doing it in any place, actually. Why, then, would I do it on my last day on earth? I don't care if they are giving food away for free. So not going there.

I will not worry about finishing this book or that one because no ending could be as good and as interesting as my ending is going to be.

 I will be:

Waking up early so I can hang out with Hubs. Without interruption. I can't imagine any other person I would rather be with. He is pretty amazing. Good thing I believe in eternity.

Playing with my kids. Really playing. I'm talking get down in the mud with them. Literally. Make the best tent ever!! Wii games. All day. Talking, reading, praying, playing. Hugging, kissing, tickling. Expressing love in every language possible.

I will probably send a prayer or two to the heavens to let us die with as little pain as possible and let my kids die first. I don't want them to have to know what life is like without me. That would be horrible. Life without me. Not having someone to take care of you and to tell you all will be okay.

I will probably read a scripture or two. Not to try and prove that I am worthy, but rather for peace and comfort and understanding.

Could this really happen? A meteor falling to the earth? Yes. Do I think it will happen? No. But time is precious and fleeting. We should grab each moment and focus our time on those things that are most important.

Live each day like it was the last.

Except you probably should wear clean underwear.

I'm just saying.

What would you do?

Spring???

Spring weather seems to be upon us.

Warm days and cool nights. Soccer games and allergies. Really, really strong wind.

Check. Check. Check.

Shorts...

Check

Short sleeved shirts...

Check

Winter trapping hat...

Check.

Snow boots...

Check.

Hubs asked, "Are you really going to let him go to school like that?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

You only live once. 

Welcome Spring!!

X-cuse me for sleeping

In wanting to participate in Mama Kat's writer's workshop, I made the mistake of asking Hubs what were some of the things I did that made him crazy.

I could only think of two possible things that bugged him. I am that good of a wife. Cough...cough...ahem.

He made me a list. A list. Meaning more than one.  Brutal honesty, I tell ya.

Two of the things I expected.

First, I tend to leave a trail of messiness when I cook. He likes it better if I clean-as-I-go. But I don't do that. I know this drives him crazy, but I think he should just enjoy the treat and to heck with the mess.

I know it drives him crazy when I invite family to come stay with us without telling him. In my defense, I don't always invite them. They just come. That's what families do. Or at least that is what my family does. Also in my defense, I really honestly do forget these things. I would tell him if I remembered.

I knew these bugged him.

But it was the thing that was on the top of the list that made my eyes pop out and my jaw hit the floor.

"It makes me crazy when you lie on the bed doing nothing."

Huh? When do I ever lie on the bed doing nothing? Oh that's right. I think most people call that sleeping. Something that I do far too little of. I seriously couldn't believe he said that. I am not a Hubs basher, and Hubs is usually really great. And he has never voluntarily shared this annoyance with me.

But really?

I am a mother of 5 young children. That in itself is a full time job. Add to that that I work from 5pm-midnight 5 nights a week. I come home, change and settle into bed by 1am. On a good night I get 6 hours of sleep. However, with 5 children there aren't many good nights.  Most nights I get 5 hours of totally interrupted sleep.

Hubs, on a really bad night gets 6 hours. Most nights he gets 8+.

I'm totally not complaining. If I tell him I need a nap, he is always obliging. I get a nap probably 2 days a week. All this time I thought he was being so nice. Come to find out it makes him crazy.

Me sleeping makes him crazy?

I should never have asked. Ignorance is bliss.

Xcuse me while I go lie on the bed and do nothing.

Also joining Jen's X week of ABC Thursdays.

So I Married a Deaf Man: with benefits

I knew when I got married that life wasn't going to be "normal." Ours was going to be different for sure with a few extra challenges.

I also knew he is worth every single one.

But what I didn't know was that there were some hidden benefits. Perks, if you will.

Like discount skiing. In Utah, when we would go skiing, Hubs could get our all day tickets for $15. Sweet deal, if you love to ski. I don't, remember. But he does, and cheaper is always better.

Front row seating. We may have to fight for an interpreter, but once we have that, we usually get front row seating. Church, seminars, conferences, performances, etc. It's almost like we are V.I.P.'s. What am I saying? We are VIP's, only not everyone knows it.

I could list more, but then I wouldn't have any more installments for this series and half my followers would leave. You wouldn't really leave me, would you? Don't answer that.

This past week I learned of yet another bonus from being married to a Deaf man:

The Golden Ticket.

Okay, technically it is called a Golden Pass, but it sure feels like a Golden Ticket.

As many of you know, this last week was our Spring Break and we went to a few places in our state that were pretty amazing. Some of which were national monuments.

Me, being the planner that I am not I of course had everything ready. Food: check. Luggage: check. Kids: check, check, check, check, check. You can imagine my surprise when we pulled up to the monument we saw that we needed to pay. How did I not know this? Duh! Hello!

"No problem," Hubs says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. The Golden Pass. He hands it over to the ranger, who smiles and waves us on.

We paid nothing. Nada. Zilch. Golden indeed.

This happened not once but twice. I forget the money. He pulls out the ticket.Voila!

Apparently the government issues these Golden Passes to individuals who have a permanent disability. Why? I don't know. Maybe they feel that people with disabilities aren't able to entirely enjoy these places as much as a person without a disability? I can see that. More so if they are blind or in a wheelchair.

Not so much if you are Deaf. I don't know of many national monuments you can visit that require you to hear to fully enjoy it. But whatever.

We'll take the Golden Ticket whenever we can.


Do you think forgetfulness is a permanent disability?

Roughing it....

When my kids wake up in the middle of the night I let them sleep on my floor.

I am a nice mom that way.

I have a pillow and blanket that belongs under my bed. If you are sick, if you have a bad dream, if you pee the bed, you are perfectly welcome to sleep on that blanket, on the floor, next to my bed.

We've tried the "crawl into bed with me" routine. I'm exhausted enough that I rarely even feel my kids sneak in. Hubs, however, is a little more sensitive to the movement and kicking. It probably has something to do with the fact that the kids put their heads on my pillow or my back, leaving their kicking for their father.

Because I love Hubs and want to avoid his grumpiness the next morning want to please him every way possible I came up with the "pull out bed minus the mattress" idea. It's worked great.

Until last night.

Yesterday, against our better judgment, we let our 2 year old take a much too long nap. Because of this, he wouldn't sleep last night. He woke from his nap at 7:45pm. Finally, around 12:30am, he went down again, but I had to lay by him. In his bed. His ever so small toddler bed.

Finally asleep! I flopped out of his bed and tiptoed into my bathroom to get ready for my own slumber. Not even 5 minutes later he comes walking into my room. Sighhhhhhhh.

Seems he would only sleep if I was laying by him. I don't know if you know this, but toddler beds are not made for mommies. And definitely not for mommies and toddlers. Needless to say, I was not going back there.

Out came the blanket and pillow from beneath my bed. To the floor we went. The hard floor. Camping in my own room. Next to my own bed.  

About 4am I was woken up by my 6 year, climbing onto the floor next to me. There we were, all three of us, crowded on the hard floor next to my bed while Hubs slept. In our bed.

All by himself.

I think next time, I may just kick Hubs out of the bed and let him sleep on the hard floor seeing as he is the only one that has a problem sleeping with kids.

What do you think?

In and out!

This is going to be brief.

It is Spring Break... you know that week when all your kids are out of school and you think it is a great idea to tour your state, seeing things you normally wouldn't, kids whining all the while, for three days. Who would want to skip out on that fun?

Not us!!

It really was fun. Lots of amazing places.

We just pulled in.  

Van is cleaned out, first load of laundry in, and kids have finally stopped fighting.

Inhale. Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.

But for some reason, unknown to me, my left ear is vibrating like crazy. Not ringing. More of a low rumbling...constant rumbling. This has been going on for two days now. Odd. And noise seems to aggravate it.

So you can imagine how relaxing those last 3 hours of our Spring Break adventure were for me. Us.

Memorable.

Oh, and I realized as we were driving passed the soccer fields next to our neighborhood that we totally forgot about Brody's soccer game today.

That's awesome.

Whirlwind

A lot can happen in two weeks.

Wet dish towels can begin to stink and grow things. Don't ask how I know this...I just do.
A person can gain a few (5) pounds. Again, don't ask.
A government can be overthrown. Egypt.
A couple can meet, date and become engaged.

Yes. That can happen. It happened to me and Hubs.

Let me start by saying, Hubs and I first met while we were both missionaries for our church. We served in the same area and were both serving among the Deaf so we got to know each other. On a totally platonic level. We served together for 4 months. So technically I knew him before our second meeting.

I had learned a lot about him on the mission.

He was a hard worker. One of the best missionaries I had met. He was strong in his faith, meaning he truly believed what he taught and lived what he believed. . He was always so positive and fun. Just an all around great guy. We were friends.

Hubs went home to his family. Two months later I went home and headed off to BYU. About five months later, he arrived in Provo searching for a wife.

He found me.

He showed up at my apartment on Mother's Day. I hadn't seen him for 6 months so it was nice to chat for a bit and see how he was doing. I would be lying if I told you I didn't get butterflies. On the mission I didn't really pay attention to how cute he was. But on this day, you can bet I was looking.

We got together the next day to hike "Y" mountain. It was a lot of fun. He says on that day he knew he was going to marry me. Me, not so much. But we hung out almost every day after that.

I didn't really know that he liked me. He was a new deafie in the area. He knew me. I knew him. I could sign. I just figured I was his hangout. I liked him, no doubt, but I didn't know if he felt the same. Then one night he told me of his intentions. I liked those intentions.

Two weeks later we were engaged. Two months later we were married. 12 1/2 years later we are still together and loving it!

Some people call it a whirlwind. Some call it a love story. I call it us.

A lot can happen in two weeks.


Linking up with Jen Matlock and Mama Kat! Check 'em out.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Turn up the radio

Last week I was sitting in my car waiting for my kids to finish up their piano lessons when Hubs pulls up, radio practically on full blast.

You see, Hubs loves the music up loud. Not so he can sing along with the lyrics because he can't hear them. Not because the tune is catchy, because he can't hear it. Not because he loves the particular artist. Artish schmartist. He can't hear them.

Nope. He loves his music loud so he can feel the beat. Specifically the vibrations that those beats create. He loves them. The lower and the louder it is, the more he likes it.

He is not picky. He doesn't care if it is rap, country, rock or jazz. He doesn't care if it is Taylor Swift, Bon Jovi, Karen Carpenter or Justin Bieber, though my kids would kill him if it was. Hubs accepts any musical group from any genre from any era on any given day.

He doesn't care.

But on this particular day, I had to draw the line. The bass was so loud when he pulled up.

"What is he listening to?" I asked myself.

I tell him to roll down the window so I can hear. I listen. You have got to be kidding me.

Talk radio, my friends.

"Hubs, just so you know, you are totally blasting talk radio," I inform him.
"Really? Huh. I didn't know. It just feels good."

Apparently Glenn Beck makes good, good, good, good vibrations.  

Have you herd-ed?

Do you know the difference between a shepherd and a sheep herder?

Oh, yes, there is a difference.

A shepherd walks in front of the flock and calls to them. The sheep recognize his voice and they all follow him. A sheep herder walks behind the sheep, shewing them along while trying to keep them all together. 

I wish I was a shepherd.

Sadly, I am a sheep herder.

I re-discovered this today as my kids and I went to our local hands-on science museum.

Such a great place. So many great things to explore and investigate and try out. So many places to hide and to seek and to get lost in. Oh, yes. Explora is a fun place. If you are a sheep.

Sadly, I am not a sheep.

I am a sheep herder, remember.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Of course I love watching my children learn and try new things, and have fun. That's why I took them there. On the first day of Spring Break. Along with every other sheep herder in the area. It. Was. Awesome.

Here are some of my sheep herding calls...in case you wanted to know.

"I know you love it, but it's time to move on."
"Have you seen.... Where is he..."
"Stay right here with him. I am gonna go find..."
"I told you to stay with him."
"If you wander, we are leaving. I mean it."
"Go left. Left. Not right. That's right. Go LEFT!"
"Get baaaaack here." (I couldn't resist.)

That's a lot of herding.  Apparently they still don't recognize my voice.

The life of a shepherd sounds much more do-able.

Can you imagine just standing in front and all the little sheeplets come flocking? I walk to the Water Works area, they follow. They stay close by and always look to see if I'm there. I lead. They follow. They always follow.

How is this done?

Perhaps it's the big stick that shepherds hold. Where can I get me one those?

Until then....

....move along, my little flock. Move along.

My husband is VERY Hot

Master Cleanse.

That is what it is called.

Hubs is doing the Master Cleanse. What, exactly, is this Master Cleanse. I wish it meant that I could take the kids for a day and when I came back, my house would be squeaky clean.

I am not that lucky.

The Master Cleanse involves drinking a nasty looking concoction for 10 days. What exactly is this funk that he is putting into his body every morning for the next two weeks?

2TBS lemon juice
2 TBS maple syrup
1/10 tsp cayenne pepper
8 oz water

That will clean you out.

The first day Hubs tried it, he misunderstood exactly what was meant by 1/10 tsp cayenne pepper. He thought it meant 1-10 tsp. So the first day he put in a whole teaspoon of cayenne pepper.

He couldn't believe how hot it was. But, if it was going to clean his insides, he could handle.

On day two, he put in 1 1/2 teaspoon and I think I saw fire shooting out his eyeballs and heard fire alarms going off inside his head. After he was able to catch his breath, I asked what had happened. And he explained.

I got out our 1/8tsp and told him that 1/10 was less than that.

I always knew Hubs was hot.

I guess I never  knew just how hot.


Swing by Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday for more V posts.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Accessory after the fact...

Being married to a Deaf man sometimes brings out the protector in me. Much like a mother does with her child, protecting her young from the mean things people say and do, I do the same to Hubs sometimes.

There are so many things that I hear people say or do because they think that I can't hear. Most of them are harmless, but some of them are just plain annoying.

And some of them are just plain dangerous. 

When we lived in Arizona, Hubs worked in construction for a while, building houses. It was good enough money. But some of the people that he worked with were....ahem...less than reputable.

One guy in particular took a liking to Hubs. At first he just needed a ride to work. So Hubs, being the nice guy that he was, would pick him up in the mornings.  I talked with him a few times on the phone. He was a little odd, but who am I to judge, right?

Well, one day he asks Hubs if he can take him to Phoenix to get some money from his friend. Hubs agreed. However, on the drive, the guy's story kept changing. He needed to go give this guy money for a gun. And instead of meeting him at a house, he needed to meet him at the laundry mat.

The guy was talking on his cell phone, making his plans, all the while Hubs is cluelessly driving him to his rendezvous with his "friend."

They get to the laundry mat and this guy gets out of the car and tells Hubs to stay there. He starts talking to some really big, shady looking guys then runs behind the joint.

At this point, Hubs is a thinking something isn't right. But he is not sure what. Is the guy getting a gun and if so is he in danger? Is this some sort of drug deal going down and by staying he becomes an accessory to the crime.

Just then, the guy comes running to the car, gets in and motions for Hubs to "Go. Go. Go!"

Fortunately for Hubs there were no cops involved and whatever transpired, transpired without incriminating my innocent husband. But that was the last time Hubs let that man step foot into our car.

Turns out the guy was recently let out of jail. For drugs. Dealing drugs.

Wonderful.

Jerkface totally took advantage of Hubs, knowing full well that Hubs couldn't hear what was going down. Knowing full well that he was putting Hubs in danger.

It's people like this jerk who make me want to...well...not do nice things to them. Hubs is nice, not dumb. He is trusting, not an idiot.

That is why I am overprotective sometimes.

Can you blame me?

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Bathrooms, the most looked forward chore of the week.

What? You don't love cleaning the toothpaste that has cemented itself onto the counter? What do they put in that stuff? Super glue? My favorite is the line of blue spit in the sink. Lovely. I don't understand why my kids can't just swipe it off with a Lysol wipe. I guess they know how much I like to do it at the end of the week.

They are very considerate children.

And the toilets. I dream about them. It's called a nightmare. I now have 4 male contributors in my home. And boy do they contribute. Three words. Target. Practice. Fail.

But the most hated bathroom chore for me?

Bathtubs.

First, I have to remove half the toys that we own from the darn thing.  Then rinse the whole tub with a large cup because I don't have a removable shower head. Squirt soft scrub all over, making sure to squirtt it into places that I will miss until days later, at which point it will be crusted on, because it is made of the same stuff as the blue toothpaste.

In previous years, I would have to get into the tub to wash the walls. But I have since bought a really nifty scrubber with an extend-able handle. After getting my weekly arm work out, I then get on my hands and knees and scrub. I am always amazed at the ring of dirt that my children can produce in a week's time.

Onto the facet, knobs, plugs and metal handle. Do those things EVER shine? I mean really really shine? I have tried everything. But those dried drops still linger. Grrrr. Who cares. I'm done.

There is nothing like a clean bathroom.

So you can imagine my chagrin when the day after my scrub-a-dub-dubbing I'm bathing my babes in the tub and he starts to freak out. Why in the world would he be....grrrrr!!

Number two. In the tub.

In the nicely scrubbed, shined, squeaky clean tub. Really?

That hasn't happened since two babies ago.

The baby cried. I cried like a baby. Breath in. Breath out.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Does this make me look fat?

I have been on a health kick lately. Okay, I guess I wouldn't say health kick exactly because that would actually involve eating better. But I have been exercising a lot more.

Hubs found me a workout plan that blends P90X and Insanity. It is the ultimate, tone you and burn you and make you walk like an idiot plan. Intense, to say the least.

Plus, I have been going to Zumba every Wednesday for 6 months now.  That is some serious butt kicking, right there.

Then why I have gained 25 pounds around my hips. It comes and goes. But lately it comes to me with arms wide open saying, "Hold me."

This extra 25 pounds has a name.

Briggy.

He has always been such an independent child. Okay, so he is only two. But it seems like all of a sudden, my child who could be entertained by himself and others, only has eyes for me.

I should be loving it, seeing that he is our last one. Our caboose. Our grand finale. And I do. I really do. Most of the time.

But lately his favorite time to latch on and not let go seems to happen between 4-5:30 every night. You know, right when I am helping with homework and cooking dinner and getting the last load of laundry dried and folded and getting ready for work and, and, and....

"Hold me!" he cries.

In the moment, it takes all that is in me to take a deep breath and remember that someday, this extra weight will be gone and he will no longer want me to hold him, and tickle him, and kiss him all over his cute little face. Nope, this weight will come off way to soon for me.

So, step aside, Tony Horton. Shaun T, take a seat. This is 25 pound that I wish to keep, right here on my hips, for as long as he will let me!

Bring it!

I am Crazy Train!

Where did you learn to put on makeup?

I learned by watching. Watching my sister. All six of them. Watching my roomates. Not stalking...just watching.

No-one ever really taught me how to do it right.

But, I think I do an okay job. I don't wear it all the time. Always to work. Always to church. And a few times in between. I don't think I go overboard on any one product. At least I hope I don't. (Local people, back me up here). I don't want to be one of those people who just can't get it right.

Like the gal at our local grocery store who sometimes sacks my groceries. She is having a love affair with blush in a big way. Not the powder kind. The kind that my mom used to use. The type that is the same consistancy at lipstick. She really, really likes her blush.

Or the lady I saw on t.v. the other day who was addicted to wearing makeup. She wore make-up 23 hours a day, only taking it off when she showered. She was actually considering tattooing green eyeliner on her eyes. She looked stuck in the 80's. What a sad place to be stuck... at least on the face.

I don't think I am any of those people. Hubs has never mentioned anything. My friends have never acted embarrased to be seen with me. In fact they invite me places.

But kids, they never lie.

The other day I had just put on my makeup. I was holding my little Brig and my oldest walks up to me and says, "Your eyes look black."

"Do they really?" I asked, a little panicked.

"Yeah, you look like Ozzy Ozborne."

And there, my friends, is apparently where I get my inspiration. Don't ask me how my son knows who Ozzy Osborne is and what he looks like.

Note to self: Never trust a child who has been told he cannot play his favorite Wii game just moments before he unloads his ever flattering compliments.

ALL ABOARD!!!!!!

Underground

Ours was made out of bricks and plywood. And it had two rooms and a hall.

Yes, our club house was the bomb.

It was kid-made as opposed to man-made. We just happened to have random bricks in our back  yard doing nothing but providing a home for many a spider. I think originally my dad was going to make some sort of grill or BBQ thingy.  But that was a project that never got finished.

So my sister got an idea and built us a fort. One with brick walls and a plywood roof.

It wasn't in a tree, silly!

Nope, on the ground, safe and sound.

We would spend a lot of time in there. It was the hideout when it was time to do dishes. It was the cool place in the summer. It was the place where my friends and our 5th grade boyfriends would play spin the bottle. We were 10. Harmless.

Fun place to be.

Our neighbor, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky as us.

Oh, he had a fort, alright. He dug a really deep circular hole in his back yard and covered it with plywood as well. He had dug out little candle ledges in the dirt and little smoke chimneys. We thought it was great because there could be light inside. And it had carpet.

Looking back all I can think is idiot!

It gets worse.

One day we went into of his inferior fort and he was lighting the ledges. Only there wasn't any candles. How was he doing this? Kerosene. The guy had access to kerosene. And he brought it into his fort.

Not cool.

It was also not very cool when he spilled some of that gas and the rugs caught fire. 

I scrambled out the hole with my sister close behind. The guy broke through the roof of his fort and rolled on the ground trying to put the fire on his leg out.

Yes, this guy's fort was the bomb.

Literally!

There U go! Thanks Jenny!

So I Married a Deaf Man: Flasher

Babies come with checklists.

Crib...check.
Stroller/car-seat combo...check.
Burp clothes, blankets, Lansenol....check.
Diapers, wipes, more diapers, powder, more diapers...check.
Baby strobe light...check.

What's that you say? Baby strobe light isn't on your list?

Oh, you call it a baby monitor. We call it, "Hey! Just letting you know your baby is screaming by flashing at you" monitor.

You see, those normal, boring monitors do nothing for Hubs. The baby could be screaming at the top of his lungs and Hubs wouldn't know it, he being Deaf and all.

So some genius person came up with the Baby Strobe. *Not the actual name unless you live in our house...then it is the actual name. The sensor part is plugged into outlet in the room with baby. The other half is plugged into the wall with a light plugged into it.

Baby cries, light flashes. Voila! Baby Strobe. Genius!

The sensor also has the ability to turn up or down it's sensitivity. So you can choose to strobe at whimper or screaming at the top of their lungs. Totally up to you. Whatever you are comfortable with. 

With our first, we thought this was the greatest invention ever. We ordered it and had it installed months before baby Kobe arrived. We plugged it in both rooms. I pretended to be a screaming baby while Hubs excitedly waited in the strobing room.

We laughed. We clapped. We switched place. It was an exciting day.

Then baby arrived.

Day One: Kobe cried. Light flashed. We both woke up and took care of business. Repeated 10 times.

Day Two: Repeat Day One.

Day Three: Kobe cries. Flashes. Hubs rolls over. I wake up. Turn off the light. Take care of business. Repeated 10 times.

Day Four: Kobe cries. Light flashes becoming annoying. Hubs rolls over. I hit Hubs. Take care of business. Repeated 12 times.

Day Five: Kobe cries. Light flashes. Hubs covers his head. Strobe unplugged indefinitely. Take care of business. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

And so it went. It was great that Hubs knew baby was crying....when he did something about it. When he didn't, for me, it was like two babies crying. Only one was extremely obnoxious. The light, not Kobe.

Do we still use the light? Yes, but not for night time feedings. I find that simply hitting Hubs is more effective and quite therapeutic. (It's more of a nudge...in case you were planning to report me for spousal abuse.)

We use it when I go to work at night so he knows when babies or children or fire alarms are screaming.

You know, when I don't have to be there.

It's in the Jeans

We are all a little like swimming pools.

We all have a deep side. And we all a shallow side. Some people seem to be more like a wading pool while others are as deep as the ocean. But we all have a little shallow in us.

My shallow end is full of wrangler jeans.

Yes. It's true. I hate them. Loath them. I throw up a little in my mouth when I see them. No offense to you Wrangler lovers. I know there are some of you out there. They just aren't for me. No man should ever wear Wrangler's. Ever. Period.

They are deal breakers for me.

I once went out on a date with a guy who was cute, he was funny, a great catch. At least that is what I thought until he entered my apartment to pick me up for the date in a pair of those bad boys. From that moment on, he annoyed the heck out of me.

Poor guy. He didn't even know what hit him.

Shallow.

I knew I could NEVER marry a man who thought it was okay to wear them. Luckily for Hubs he didn't own a pair.

So you can imagine my horror when I was going through my son's pants drawer and there were........Wranglers!!!!

"What the.... Where in the name of all that is holy did you get these sickos?!?!!" I growled.

"You bought them for me," he replied, looking at me funny.

"Ohhohohoho no I didn't! I would never. Believe me, I would have remembered if I bought you these pants. Actually, I would have shot myself first before buying them for you. Where is your father?"

He shrugs. Obviously he didn't realize the seriousness of the situation.

I picked them up, holding them as far away from me as humanly possible (slight exaggeration) and marched to where Hubs was sitting.

"Did you buy these for Kobe? Please tell me that none of our money was spent buying these," I said, staring him down.

A little confused, he confessed, "Yeah. We bought them for him the other day. At Savers." (I love Savers. Hate Wranglers, love Savers.) How did this happen?

Sadly, it will be a wasted $5 because they are going right back to Savers.

See what I mean.

Shallow.