So I Married a Deaf Man: Aren't you worried???

I'm going out of town tomorrow. By myself. For 3 days.

There will be no going to bed early and sleeping in. Nope. My sisters will be there and you can bet we will have many-a-late night and plenty of bookstore fudge and giggling and BYU Creamery. Oh, yes. I am so there.

What about the kids? Who's going to watch the kids?

That would be their father. And he isn't watching them, he is raising them. Key word being father. Just wanted to make that clear.

I have been asked before, "Do you get worried when you leave your children home alone with Hubs?"

"Ummm. What do you mean?" I ask.

"You know. With him being Deaf? Do you ever worry that something is going to...happen?"

Well, no. Not at all. And here are some of the reasons.

First, my kids can all sign before they can speak. This means that they are able to communicate in Hubs' language first. If something happens while I am away, they can tell him. In his language.

Secondly, there are plenty of children running around in my house. If someone is crying, you can bet someone else is going to tell. Believe me, my children are experts tattlers.

Thirdly, Hubs is usually pretty attentive to our children. I say usually because there was that one time when I went out with my friends and he was home with a friend and the children, and I came home to permanent marker all over the furniture, floor and computer monitor. But typically he is pretty attentive.

Fourthly, they are his children too. If he wasn't capable of taking care of children, we wouldn't have had them. He loves them like I do. He cares for them like I do. He knows our budget like I do and he knows we can't afford an emergency room visit anytime soon.

Fiftly, he is a good man, who strives to have the Spirit with him always. There have been times when he has felt prompted to check on one of our little ones and was able to rescue them from some hairy situations. He is a good man, indeed.

And fifthly, accidents happen. They happen whether you are a mom or a dad; whether you are in the room with them or not; whether you can hear or not. Kids are kids.

And a mom has got to live.

So, does letting Hubs be a dad scare me? Nope. Not at all. Not in the least.

A better question would be, does it scare him?!

Trip Tips

We had a great trip. We saw so many good friends, the weather was kind to us and no-one died of boredom, though after about 4 hours in the car, my daughter claimed to be on the brink. She has since recovered, in case you were wondering.

Because I am a giver, I am going to share a few tips with you on how to make your next trip amazing!

Make sure that Hubs the driver ignores the gas light until you are in the middle of no-where with no gas station in sight. That is sure to make me the passenger freak out and have a really great time. Then, just when divorce is eminent, you spot a Chevron sign. Marriage saved.

Play chicken with an elk.

Make sure your exhausted Hubs drives until he is crossing that middle line. Then, when he finally lets you switch places, make sure he forgets to put the car in park. Just for fun.

Make sure that you are visiting good friends. You know, the kind who will kick their kids out their beds for you. The kind who will feed all seven of you without blinking an eye. The kind who won't complain about hearing your children wailing at 2am. Start there.

Make sure that no matter where you go, you are late. Because that just make people love you more. And my friends really love me.

Make sure to get to the Easter Pageant 2 hours early so that you can sit on the grass and instead of seeing the stage, you can see a tree. A very nice tree. Big....large branches...big.

It would probably help if your two year old had a temperature of 102+ every morning when he woke up. Oh, and if you would like to add more enjoyment, make sure that you carry said two year old everywhere you go. And I do mean everywhere.

And, to make it the best trip ever, have your sick 2 year old throw-up the first 20 minutes of the drive home, making sure that he throws up on your germ-a-phobic-ultra-sensitive-to-smell-almost-teenager. It makes for a super duper ride home!

And that, my friends, is my advice for having a great trip.

Worked for us!

I've been hit!

Have you ever been hit by a car?

I was. Just the other day. And let me tell you, it hurts. Really bad. I almost cried. You know the cry...the one where you don't want to cry but your eyes disagree with you and leak despite your protests.

But that's what you can expect when you are hit in the head by a car!

You see, for whatever reason, my two year old has decided that throwing things is fun. Balls, understandable. Stuffed animals, not a problem. Hard, heavy toys, not so great.

I walked up the stairs, expecting to play with my little-er boys. (Yes, little-er is a word.) I bent down to pick something up, and on my way up I was hit. Hard. On the forehead. By a 2006 Camero. Blue with a white racing stripe.

"What the....? Ouch. Briggy! Why did you throw that at Mommy?" Yes, I know. In that moment I completely forgot that two year olds don't know why they do things. They just do.

"Huh. Look at that. A heavy blue car. Hey! Here comes Mommy. I wonder......"

Whack!!

Re-gifting: Road Trip

What!?? Stef! Re-gifting????

It's true. I am re-gifting you this post because I am headed with my family to AZ this afternoon and thought that you would enjoy a little peek into my day. Or at least 6 hours of it.

All I can say is sunflower seeds and a large Diet Coke with extra ice, please!!! Enjoy!

***
A few years ago, we decided to go on a road trip: From Arizona to northern California, to Idaho and then back to Arizona. At the time we had 3 children: 5, 3 and 9 months. The first part of the trip took 12 hours.


Hubs sits down in the driver seat, all buckled up, water in hand, gum in mouth, sunglasses on, ready to leave. I am handing out goody bags, coloring books, crayons, water, etc. Making sure everyone is set to go. In goes the movie and off we go!

The first two hours are great. Then...

"She is touching me!"
"Can you open my water?"
"He is singing too loud!"
"Wahhhhhhh!"
"I can't hear the movie."
"My water spilled."
"Wahhhhh"
"My crayon fell."
"The sun is in my eyes."
"Wahhhhh."
"I can't hold it any longer."
"Wahhhhh."
etc.

This continued for the next 10 hours. My head was about to explode. I would look over, and there was Hubs, eyes ahead, oblivious to what was going on around him. He wasn't annoyed by the constant whining. The fighting didn't even phase him. The baby screaming at the top of his lungs...not even a flinch.

This is what he heard:...............................................................................................................................................

A big fat NOTHING! He would occasionally look over at me, with my hair all a mess, eyes bulging out of their sockets, twitching all the while, and ask, "What's wrong?"

Once we arrived and I had come out of my "special place", no longer in fetal position, we had a blast.

About 5 days later, we loaded up again to head to Idaho. About three hours into this trip, Hubs turns to me and asks if I would drive because he wanted to rest. (Angels singing, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh")

"Are you serious?" I asked, not wanting to get my hopes up. "Scooch over, baby!"

I hop into the driver's seat and start driving. He lays the seat back, closes his eyes and is about to fall into hibernation, when he feels a tap tap taping on his shoulder.

"He can't open his water," I inform him.
Tap, tap, Tap..."Baby is crying."
Tap tap tap... "They are fighting."
Tap, tap, tap..."They need a movie."
Tap tap tap...Tap tap tap...Tap tap tap...Tap tap tap...

About 30 minutes later he turns to me and says, "Can we switch back?"

"Not on your life, Buster! This is the noise that I have been dealing with for 14+ hours. It's all you."

Needless to say, he no longer offers to let me drive on long trips. But he also doesn't ask me "What's wrong?" when I have the permanent twitch on my face either.

***

PS. I actually do get to drive this time. Heehee.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Not a thing!

Sometimes I think we take our hearing for granted.

There are times when I have wished I couldn't hear my environment. You know, like when my kids won't stop fighting. Or when the person behind me can't lays off their horn. Or that person sitting next to you at the doctor's office apparently thinks you are an instant friend. (That is usually me...heehee.)

Those are the times that I wish I could simply turn my ears off. Sometimes Hubs is so lucky!

Then there are other things I wish Hubs could hear. My oldest playing in his first public piano performance. Or all my kids' first words and the cute things they say. Camden's laugh...it is hilarious, by the way. My daughter singing a solo. Brody's gentleness with his baby brother.

So many wonderful sounds that we take for granted.

That being said, I do not wish for Hubs to become hearing.

Nope. Being Deaf is a huge part of who he is. Being Deaf is not a disability to him, like many people think. He is part of aunique culture. A community. One that many people don't understand. I have heard it said, "Well, isn't it like a group of people with broken legs getting together and saying, 'We are the broken leg community?'"

It really isn't anything like that. These Deaf individuals have their own language; a language that is accepted, taught, shared and used throughout the country. Deaf have shared life experiences: discrimination, neglect, misunderstanding, education, etc.

Imagine living in a world where the majority of the people can't talk to you and vice versa. Unfortunately, you can't learn to hear them. In this world, you are always the man out. Always the one left not knowing what is going on. Always the one who people see as different, awkward, broken. Always relying on someone else to speak for you, to explain to you, advocate for you.

Now imagine finding a group of people who are like you. People who can communicate with you, on your level, in your language. No bariers. People who have been through a lot of the same things that you have been through. People who accept you for who you are and where you have come from. People who see your ability, not your limitations.

And though he is my world, my everything and I his, I would never take this away from him. Never wish it wasn't part of him. I fell in love with Deaf Hubs because of what his life has made him. A:ll of it. He is strong, he is kind, he is smart (he did marry me, you know), he is proud, and he loves who he is.

Good for him!

How many?

Forty-eight hard boiled eggs.

That is what Hubs did yesterday.

We are going out of town this weekend , so we have called the Easter Bunny and made arrangements. He is coming tomorrow morning. This meant that we needed to dye our Easter eggs yesterday.

I bought 4 dozen eggs because they were on sale not intending to use them all for dying. That's a lot of eggs.

I slept in a little Sunday morning, maybe 30 minutes longer than usual. That was long enough. 

Forty-eight hard boiled eggs.

Hubs said, "Don't worry. We will have no problem getting all these eggs colored."

I smiled back at him, lovingly. "Oh, yes, Deary. I have no doubt that our 5 blessings will be able to reek havoc on those innocent, white eggs. All 48 of them."

And color them they did. We did. My vinegar smelling fridge is proof. And it must be said that I was the only one who spilled dye this year. All over my leg. And that stuff does not come off easy.  My leg looked like a smurf threw up on it.

Getting all the eggs colored was not my concern. "What," I asked, " am I going to make with forty-eight hard boiled?"

No. Really!

Potato salad, yes. Deviled eggs, yup. Egg salad sandwiches, you bet.

These would all be great, and you can bet that we are going to be having our share of those. But remember, we are going out of town. So the time we have to consume these lovies is 3 days.

Oh, and let me remind that we are soon be be traveling. In a car. For six hours. We are going to be smelling these eggs...in a less desirable, recycled manner...if you catch my drift. My boys hold nothing back...er...in...er...Yuck. Yuck! Yuck!!

Sigh.

48 hard boiled eggs.

Tweet?

Do you Tweet?

Me? Nope. I wouldn't even know where to start. But I do know if I did, there would be a few less dishes done, a few loads of laundry left in the washer to turn sour and a few more children neglected. Not good.

But I will tell you the tweets I am familiar with:

Frozen Peanut Butter Cheesecake

Pomegranate White Chocolate Mousse Pie

Cinnamon Roll Sugar Cookies

One Hundred Thousand Calorie Bars

Tweets. Treats. They are one in the same at my house!

What are you Tweeting at your house?

(Have super un-windy weekend!)

(BTW, these pictures are not mine. I took them off google images. FYI.)

Liar, Liar! Pant's on fire!!

"Who ate the cake mix?" my mother questioned.

I look down at the blue cup that I have in my hand...full of dry cake mix. What am I going to do? If I put it down, someone else was bound to find it and eat it for sure.

"Who ate the cake mix I needed to make this wedding cake?" she yelled.

Ummmm....ummm. I could hide it under the blanket, but then it might spill, and I would have to clean that up. Bad idea.

"Everyone to the living room."

Oh no! Oh no!! What am I going to do...where can I hide...I can just put it behind...my back. Yeah, that's what I'll do. She won't see it. I'm so sneaky. And smart. And genius.

"Everyone line up. I am going to ask you a question and I want you to tell me the truth. Okay?" she explains.

The truth? Do you think she can see the bright blue cup? Behind my back? Nah. I don't think so.

"Tammy, did you eat the cake mix?" she asks.

Do you think she will notice that I have my hands behind my back? I doubt it. It just makes me look more innocent.

"Erika, did you eat the cake mix?"

She's getting closer. Do I smell like cake mix?

"Christa, did you eat my cake mix?"

I'm next. She will never figure out who did it. I'm such a smarty pants.

"Stef, did you eat the cake mix?" mom asked.

"Me? No. I didn't do it." I lied. Badly.

"Are you sure? You didn't get into my cake mix?" she repeated.

"Ummm...no. I don't think so."  Do you think she believes me?

"Okay. Everyone. I want you to put your hands in front of you so I can see your hands," she said.

Gulp!

Participating in Jen Matlock's ABC soup and Mama Kat's Workshop. 

So I Married a Deaf Man: A wink and a smile

You want to know what bugs me? Really bugs me?

I really hate it when people drive with their blinker on and they aren't turning. It's just annoying and potentially dangerous. Are they turning? Not turning? Are they going to change their minds and really need to change lanes right as I am in their blind spot?

See? Annoying.

I have been known to pass the car simply to get in front of it and turn on my blinker and not change lanes so that he will think, "Hey, that idiot driver left her....wait...what's that sound? Oops, it's my blinker. Thanks lady!"

Just doing my duty.

I am able to avoid doing this myself because I can hear the "Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. TICK TOCK."

Hubs can not.

And to be quite honest with you, he couldn't care less if he drives from here to Kingdom Come with his blinker blaring. He can't hear that annoying sound.

He hasn't quite caught on to the beauty of what I call the Winker. You know, when you push the magic blinker wand half way and it blinks, but once you release the pressure it stops. Winker. Hubs rarely uses it.

So when he changes lanes, the motion isn't enough of a turn to release the blinker, and it ticks on. And on. On....on....on.... Every time he passes.

I sign, "You Flash-Flash-Flash." ("Your blinker is on.")
Hubs shrugs, "Huh? Oh. Ehhh."

After having this happen every time he changes lanes...every single time...for the past 12+ years, I have come up with a plan on how to help Hubs appreciate the annoyingness of the blinker.

The next time he forgets his blinking blinker, I am going to slug him.

Tick... slug. Tock...slug.
"Why are you hitting me?" he will ask.
Tick...slug. Tock..slug.
"No, seriously. Why are you hitting me?"
Tick...slug....Tock slug. "You. Flash-Flash-Flash." slug.

Every time. Every. Single. Time.

See, leaving your blinker on really is dangerous.

Be a winker.

Windy weekend: whooooosh!

This weekend started off great!

We woke, loaded into the van and headed off to Home Depot. (Isn't that where every family of 7 goes on a Saturday morning?) Why? Flowers. Hello!

I go crazy when I see flowers. I wasn't always that way. In fact, up until last year I had never successfully planted a single flower. My whole life. But last year I said, "What the hay!" and started with several bulbs. The more they grew, the more excited I became. Then they bloomed.

Now I'm hooked. Line and sinker.

Anyway, we went into Home Depot, bought a bunch of flowers and other yard stuff. We were ready to plant our flowers. Only the wind started to blow....like "The wicked witch is dead" wind. You can't plant flowers in that! Dang!!

As if that wasn't enough, Brody had a soccer game. In the wind. I was sure they would cancel...but these are kids. Weather can't stop them. No siree! Well, wouldn't you know I left my hair-thing at home. That's what we call them in our house...hair-things. It's like naming a dog Dog. A thing you put in your hair: Hair-thing. Makes sense? Don't mock!

My hair is long-ish. So the whole whipping my eyeballs with longish hair was getting on my nerves. I sat through half the game before I looked at my wrist and realized, "Hey, there is a hair-thing. On my wrist. This whole time!"

While at the game, Brody fell and hurt his elbow. He complained about it at half time, but then played the rest of the game. Then he favored it the rest of the evening and came into my room that night. I promptly pulled out the non-bed for him, drugged him up and rolled back over.

Sunday his pain seemed worse and he was whimpering by the evening. Ugh! "I hope this boy hasn't broken another bone," I thought to myself out loud. After another night on my floor, I decided I needed to know: was he a master faker, or was it really broken?

To the doctor we went. She checked him out. She asked questions. In the end, she wasn't sure either. We are waiting for a radiologist to check out the x-ray. For now he has a doctor's note to get him out of PE for a week. On the bright side, this afternoon he was hanging like a monkey on our swing set. Master Brody.

Boy, can he act.

Today, our carpets were shampooed. Cleaned. Sanitized. Actually, that's a lie. I didn't want to pay the extra $50 for them to sanitize my carpets. I mostly couldn't understand why that wasn't included in the "Two Arms and A Leg" Package. Punks!

Regardless of the price, they look so much better. Not perfect, because there just aren't enough chemicals to get 5 kids out of my white carpet. Did my kids notice? Nope. Not at all. Ehh.

And that, my friends. was my weekend. Wind, bones and shampoo.

What did you do this weekend?

If you only knew....

How well do you think you know me???

If you really knew me you would know that I kill plants. Not on purpose. Who does that? I just forget to water them and then they slowly turn yellow. Then brown. Then crunchy. Then I feel bad and blame it on something or someone else.  Dang kids!

If you really knew me you would know that if you see me on Thursdays, I will not be showered. I will not smell nice. And I will probably still be in my PJ's when my kids get home at 3pm.

If you really knew me, you would know that at first I am shy. Friendly, yes. Comical...that's debatable. Timid? Absolutely. Case in point:  I blogged for about 6 months before I went public. I wanted to check out the blogging world and see what it was like out there before I took the leap. Believe it or not, I am a little shy.

If you really knew me, you would know that 80% of the balls that we own (..and 90% of those 80% are footballs) are trapped under our trampoline. Our tramp is built into the ground..so you just walk onto it. It's nice, but annoying the amount of stuff that falls under there. We could have a yard sale with all the junk under there.

IF you really knew me, you would know that I will never have a yard sale.

If you really knew me, you would know that I hate jellybeans. Gag! The thought of that stuff getting stuck in my teeth makes me want to hurl. Yuck. Robin eggs, good. Cadbury eggs, awesome. Jelly beans.......blah! Oh, and Peeps. Yucky.

If you really knew me you would know that I am going to Women's Conference this year and can hardly wait to be back on my old stomping ground. Any of you going? Wanna come? BYU makes some heavenly fudge.

If you really knew me, you would know I like to walk around the house with socks on. Only, that is a little dangerous in my house after any meal. And when my son randomly drops water on the floor. Socks can soak that stuff up like nobody's business.

If you really knew me, you would know that I am really good at starting things. Not so good at finishing. Laundry. Grocery lists. Dishes. Growing plants. One of the few exceptions is labor. Obviously didn't have a problem finishing that up.

Now you know me!

Is there something I should know about you?

The ULTIMATE party!

Welcome to my blog! I would have invited you to my house house, but that would require some major cleaning and that doesn't happen at my house. But my blog? Totally clean.

Kids? Do I have kids? Just look at my body. You can't get a body like this without some sacrifice. And sacrifice my body I did. 5 times over: four boys, one girl and a dog. Wait, I didn't give birth to the dog, but he has still managed to make his way onto my kids list. Love them all to death!

I am married to a man who doesn't hear a word I say. Literally. You see, Hubs is Deaf. Not death. That would just be weird. DeaF, meaning you can scream in his ears and he will hear nothing. I actually have a whole series about some of my experiences being married to a Deaf man...see the tab at the top.

Me? I'm Stef. I'm a little sarcastic, quite a bit silly, somewhat annoying, and a lot tired. Besides trying to keep my house from imploding, my kids from starving, Hubs from straying (he would never), I also work as a sign language interpreter. Needless to say, the only time I have alone is in the bathroom and even then...well...let's just say we need a deadbolt. Ahem...moving on....

I can't promise that you will find cutesy crafty things on this blog. In fact, I can promise you won't. I am not a extraordinary cook. My kids don't starve and that in and of itself is saying a lot. My walls aren't filled with amazing pictures...my kids are my masterpieces. Just look at them.

The only thing that I can promise is a good laugh.

What else is there in life... besides God... oh and family...oh yeah, and sports, and...and....okay! Okay! So there is more to life than laughing, but laughing makes life that much better.

So come on back anytime. Love to have ya!!


(If you want to meet tons of great bloggers, click below and head on over!)

So I Married a Deaf Man: Protection?

We did something this weekend I thought I would never do.

We bought a gun.

A real, heavy, scary, 9MM (whatever that means) handgun. A if-someone-breaks-into-our-house-and-tries-to-hurt-my-children-I-will-hurt-them-badly-if-I-was-a-good-shot gun. I knew it was bound to happen. Hubs is really excited about it.

I am not. 

Truth be told, I am horrified that one of my kids will get into it and hurt themselves or a sibling with the dang thing. Yes, I know there are cases/safes that can prevent that from happening. We are getting one that requires a fingerprint to open the thing...specifically mine and Hubs'.

There was no way that we were getting a lock that required a key. For one, we lose everything. Everything! So I would have a gun, in a safe, with a lock, and no key. Can you imagine? "I have a gun. And it's loaded!! And I'm not afraid to use it!" (To self..) "Where is that dang key!!??"

Secondly, my kids find every key in our house that we have lost, misplaced or hid. It doesn't matter if it belongs to us or not, whether we still have the lock or not; leave it to my kids, they will find the lost key. You see where this is going, right? Nope. No keys.

Well that's all great and dandy, but what does this have to do with being married to a Deaf man?

I was getting to that.

When we went in to buy the gun, Hubs wanted to "Test Drive" it; meaning he could shoot the gun to make sure he liked it. How convenient and scary at the same time.

We filled out all the paperwork, waivers, etc. Then the guy asked, "Do you want ear protection?"

Okay, the guy had just spent the last 30 minutes watching me interpret everything he said and vice versa. He made the usual comment, "That's so cool. I have always wanted to sign." Obviously he caught on that Hubs was deaf. Ear protection, not necessary.

So you can imagine my surprise when Hubs said that he would indeed like the ear protection.

"What?!?! Hubs, don't you remember? You are Deaf...like, really Deaf...as in there are rocks that can hear more than you can," I reminded him. (Hush. I'm not being mean. I can hear Hubs laughing when he reads that.)

To which he replied, "I know. I know. But I don't want other people to look over at me and wonder why I am not wearing ear protection."

Huh. I hadn't ever thought about that.

Did I mention that Hubs keeps following me around asking, "Do you want to touch the gun? When are you going to touch it?"

Men!

They're being held hostage

I have a closet in my room
It holds my pants and shirts,
Hubs' nicky-nacks, a book or two,
Some shoes and maybe some dirt.

I have a room inside my house
with toys left here and there.
Not sure how to describe it other than
maybe your worst nightmare.

I have a house that's full of kids
who haven't learned to clean.
I thought that I had taught them this,
But proof has yet to be seen.

"This has to stop" I told my Hubs,
"The toys strewn everywhere!"
Then an idea popped into my head,
I hadn't a moment to spare.

I collected the toys from that room in my house.
Into my closet they went.
I put up a sign outside the door:
"These toys are up for rent."

"Huh?" "What?" "But those are mine."
A few began to cry.
"But when they are left upon my floor,
they're mine," was my reply.

"You can use them all, one at a time.
"You sign them out each day.
"You can have another, all you have to do
"Is put the first ones away."

Is it going to work? I sure hope so,
If not, what else can I do?
But call those men, in the clean white coats
And bid you all adieu.

Please pray for me.

I'm a giver

I have something to say, and then I ain't gonna say no more.

Do you know where that quote came from? Anyone? Anyone?

Anywhoo....

I have something to share with you. Quite possibly the best recipe I have made in a long time.

                                 Recipe here

These suckers are good. How do I know this? Because I made them? That I did, but that's not why.

Because I ate them? I wish.

Last week when my sister and her family were in town I made these puppies for all of us. It made 48 rolls. (I doubled the recipe.) But before they were done I had to run off to work.

When I got home that night, guess how many they had saved me. Zero. None. Not-a-one.

That's how I know they were good. They were so good that all the adults lost their minds and forgot to save some for me. They are that good.

So, if you want to eat something that is so good you will lose your mind, your manners and your love for family, these are for you!

What about you? What is a recipe that you want to share with me? Come on! Please.

I'm hungry over here!!