So I Married a Deaf Man: It's in my blood

I knew I wanted to sign at an early age.

I distinctly remember going on a trip to Utah when I was about 8 years old. We stopped at a McDonalds in Price. My sister and I decided that I was going to be deaf and she was going to be my interpreter. We pretended and we were sure people believed us.

That is where it all started for me.

 My sophmore year, my sisters and I went to the doctor's for an annual sports physical. And there, in the waiting room, was a girl, signing for her for real deaf sister. I was facinated. She, the deaf girl, was in my grade and in my classes and on my volleyball team.

We became great friends.  That is where it all started for me.

I went to college and took about 4 semesters of ASL. I loved this language. I didn't have a whole lot of people to sign to. Okay, just the one. But I knew that signing was going to be in my life.

I then decided to go on a mission for my church. Here's how that works. You fill out papers, you send them in to the mission department, and they decide where you are going to go. While filling out the papers, I put in there several times that I knew ASL, that I would really like to go on a siging mission. Oh, and did I mention I loved ASL.

I was called on a siging mission. That is where it all started for me.

I was immersed in the language. I was immersed in the culture. I learned about the people. I fell in love with the Deaf community. I worked with them. Taught them. Served them. Loved them. Every day for 18 months. Six of those months I had a Deaf companion who taught me so much. A forshadowing of things to come. It was there that I met Elder Hubs. We served in the same area for 4 months, doing the Lord's work.

We were only friends. But that is where it all started me.

I finished my mission, experienced a little heartbreak, a little hard work, a little me...I was thin back then. And cute. Kept up the ASL classes and attended church where everything was communicated in ASL. It was great. Then Hubs moved to Utah.

That's where it all started for me.

We met up again on Mother's Day, went on our first kinda-date the next day. Two weeks later we were engaged. 2 months later we were married. 13 years later he is still my biggest fan. No, wait. I am still his biggest fan. Whatever...we fan each other.

My life is full of signing. I do it for work. I do it for pleasure. I even do it in my sleep. Signing is such a huge part of who I am . What I love. How I live.

Where did it all start for me?

I was born to sign.

X Y Z

There is nothing more embarrassing than looking down, at the end of a long day, and realizing that you went the whole day with your fly down. And no-one even told you....

Unless you went the whole day with your fly down and your pants on backwards. 

Yeah, that's embarrassing.

Oh, and that happened today. Thankfully not to me; to my kindergartener. And the worst part? I didn't even notice it this morning before he left. I was just happy he had put on his pants without help. 
 
Chuckling to myself, I asked his teacher if she had noticed them throughout the day.

"Oh, boy. Nope. Didn't have a clue."

No worries. Once he found out, he shrugged his shoulders and continued climbing those monkey bars.

Kids are awesome!

You can say that again.

My daughter hates school. No, you don't understand. She really hates school.

How do I know this?

Because she was screaming all morning through her tears, "I hate school. I hate it. I am not going. I hate school!!!!" from about 6:30am until about 7:36am. That's a lot of hating, wouldn't you say?

I sat her down to try and figure out exactly where all the hating was coming from.

"Do you like your teacher? Is she nice to you? Did she yell at you?" I asked.
"Yes I like her. Yes, she is nice. And no, she doesn't yell at me. I just hate school," she whined.

"Do you know anyone in your class? I know that would be very scary for you if you didn't have friends in your class."
"Yes, I have friends in my class. I just hate school."

"Umm...did someone touch you or hurt you at school. You are really upset, I am just wondering if something happened." (It had to be asked.)
"No! No-one hurt me. I would tell you if they did. Don't you understand? I just HATE SCHOOL!"

Big sigh.... I get it. I understand there are just some things in life that we hate doing. I personally hate grocery shopping. I avoid it when I can. Unfortunately we all have to eat. If we didn't I would be $600 richer a month. The things I could do with that money.

"I understand you don't like to go to school. But we go to school so that we can learn. The more we learn, the smarter we are, and the smarter we are the more successful we will be. Maybe you don't like 4th grade, but you might love 5th grade. The only way you can find out is if you finish 4th grade," I reasoned.

"I won't like 5th grade either!" she screeched. "I hate all school!"

"Oh, Love. You really only have two choices at this point. You can go to school with puffy, crying eyes. Or you can calm down, eat your breakfast and pray that Heavenly Father will help you make it through this day," I explained.

"I don't want to go to school. I hate school. I don't want to pray!"

Great. There was only one thing left to do. Pour on the guilt.
"Do you want Mommy to go to jail?" I asked.
"Ummm....no. I don't want you to go to jail."
"If Mommy lets you stay home from school everyday because you hate school, not because you are sick, then the cops can take Mommy to jail." A slight exaggeration, but in extreme situations it could totally happen.

This was an extreme situation.

She thought it over. "Fine. I will go to school. But I still hate it. A lot!" She wiped off her tears and got dressed. She let me fix her hair and she ate breakfast. She even walked out the door with a smile on her face.

My oldest son looked at me after she left and said, "Wow! She is emotional."

That was an understatement.

"Welcome to the world of women, my boy."

Women who know....

Oh, my friends. I keep waiting for things to settle down. But the more I wait, the less they settle, and I am realizing that this is just how life is with growing children.

It's kind of like after having a baby. You keep looking for that routine that you had before and guess what. It ain't coming back. Not in this lifetime. You just develop a new one. 

I am not a developer.

"Stop whining," you say. What I wish you would say is this, "If you don't stop whining I am going to put you in Time Out." At which point I would continue whining long enough to get a substantial amount of Time Out time but not too long to trigger the 'extra job' punishment as well.

Kids just don't appreciate Time Out.

Back to my point...I keep searching for some time to just slow down and enjoy my children; to not be rushing to make dinner, or rushing to do homework, or losing my patience because things are a mess. But the more I look, the less time I find.

I think about a talk that Julie B. Beck, the leader of the women's organization in my church, gave regarding women who understand the importance of motherhood,

"Mothers who know do less. They permit less of what will not bear good fruit eternally. They allow less media in their homes, less distraction, less activity that draws their children away from their home. Mothers who know are willing to live on less and consume less of the world’s goods in order to spend more time with their children—more time eating together, more time working together, more time reading together, more time talking, laughing, singing, and exemplifying. These mothers choose carefully and do not try to choose it all. Their goal is to prepare a rising generation of children who will take the gospel of Jesus Christ into the entire world. Their goal is to prepare future fathers and mothers who will be builders of the Lord’s kingdom for the next 50 years. That is influence; that is power."

Source

I am a woman who knows but still did too much. Some of it is the natural stretching that comes with being a mother of 5 children. They all have needs...you know, like eating and bathing and socializing and playing and having clean clothing and getting an education, sleeping. But I also want them to be well rounded. So most of my children are in activities. Normally I let them take turns. But for whatever reason, all but my 2 year old is in something. 

I go to bed at night flustered because I feel like my kids are slipping through my hands. I feel like I don't get enough time to let them feel my love for them. I tell them all the time, but feeling it is a totally different thing. I do so much for them, but when you are a child, laundry and cooking and cleaning and driving and shopping and working do not translate into love. 

To children, love is spelled T.I.M.E. And this is something that I have made nearly impossible to give. 

I have always thought that it was a matter of balance, but balance just isn't the right word. Balance is completely impossible, because balance means giving equal time to all things. Prioritizing the most important things seems to be my struggle. 

How do you do it? How do make sure you have time for scriptures and personal prayer and family time and playing time with all your kids? Is it possible to do it all? Or at least most of it? You are all so amazing and I could really use your advice. 

How do you do it?  

What is that smell?

I smell.

No, I don't mean that I stink...although you would have disagreed with me if you stood next to me in the grocery line this morning after my rigorous Zumba workout. Yeah, I did smell.

What I mean is that I have a sensitive nose. If there is a good smell or a bad smell...it will be smelled. I love to smell my hair when I am bored; my hands when they are lotioned, my clothes when they are clean. I dread walking into my house and smelling my unpotty trained child's diaper that wasn't taken all the way outside, the burnt toast from this morning and the overall Rufus smell that constantly fills the air.  

But if you think my nose is bad, my son's is worse. He really smells.

He has always had a sensitive nose. This kid would never wash his pillowcase if he has his way because then it doesn't smell like...well...his night head sweat.

I knew he was going to be a sniffer at a very young age. Two to be exact.

He wouldn't shake hands with people when he was little because he didn't want to smell like them. If friends put one of his toys in their mouth he wouldn't play with it again. Ever. I remember cuddling him close to me and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He wiped it off with his hand, then lifted that hand to his nose and took a long whiff.

Yup. Natural born sniffer.

I am not quite sure how the two of us are going to survive these stinky, p-u-berty years....

Any suggestions??



Linking up with Jen Matlock's ABC Thursdays.

By the way, tomorrow is my recipe group here. We are making foods made with Citrus...lemons, limes, oranges. If you have any you want to share, LMK and I can linky it up on Friday.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Somebody...Anybody???

You rush into the bathroom, just grateful that you made it without incident. Relief. Until.... you look over for some two-ply goodness and all you get is a cardboard cylinder.

"Who was the last person to use this restroom?? Grrrr.... Now what am I gonna do? Errr...ummm.... Wait, Hubs is just down the hall. I will yell to him for help. HEEEEEEEEELP!!"

In he comes, your hero, to save the day. It makes you forget that he was the one who cleaned out the last of the TP and didn't replace it. 

You don't know how lucky you are, my friends.

Hubs' story is exactly like yours. He enters, realizes that he forgot to replace the toilet paper last time, because I would never forget, and he yells for me. I come in, with the missing roll and Voila! Done.

Here's how my story goes.

I barley make it to the can. Relief. Until..."What the...Oh fiddlesticks! Ummm...errrr...what am I gonna do? Wait, I hear someone. Hey! Hey Hey Heeeeeeeey!!!"

Nothing. Nothing at all.

"Great. Hubs is just in the other room. There is no way to get his attention. That's just great. Just lovely. Now what?"

If I had my phone and he had his phone I could text him. If we had a light that flashed on his video phone I could call him. If there was a light switch right next to the toilet and he was in the next room I could flash him. If he was in close range, I could throw something at him.

Unfortunately, in my haste to simply make it to the pot dry, I didn't make sure these scenarios were in place. And at this point I am out of options. Or at least out of options that I wish to discuss on this forum.

Just me and my cardboard cylinder.

The End.

May I have your attention, please!

No-one can say that I don't pay attention to my children.

No-one.

Nevermind that my little rascal writes on my wall. Okay, so it's walls. But who is counting? 

Surely you have made it to the grocery store before realizing that only two of the five children you took with you have on shoes. The others...not so much. C'mon! You've been there.

Yeah, I know there are brand-spanking-new markers floating around outside in Rufus' water bucket. Who do you think put them there? Wait a minute....that wasn't me. But I knew it was going to happen the minute I pulled out the paper for him to draw on with said markers. That's just the natural order of things...right? No?

Dirty faces. Empty gum wrappers in my purse. The rock collection on the floor.  All proof that I pay attention to my little ones.

But the best one happened this weekend.

Apparently Briggy made his way into the bathroom where all his diapers are kept. The Sam's Club sized diapers. He thought it a good idea to test those puppies out. In the sink. Yes, he did. He filled it up with both diapers and water. And then more water. And then more water. 

Yes, those diapers can hold a ton more than I could have dreamed possible.

Literally.

All I can say is I'm grateful it wasn't filled with something else.

That would have got my attention.

Just stuff

Okay, do you remember when I told you I couldn't wait for school so that things could slow down a bit.

I think I was delirious when I said that. Things are anything but slowed down over here. Yes, I know it is the first week of school and things will calm down as the weeks go by. But this one has been a doozy!

Four of my children are in school this year. This will be our first year with them attending two different schools: elementary and middle school. This means two different drop off and pick up times. A new challenge for us. Plus school starts a little earlier and gets out an hour earlier...something I will love....eventually.

Middle school is kicking our butts. My son, sweet boy that he is, has cried every day this week. Yesterday I went to pick him up and I am not kidding...he had three text books, two binders and three notebooks. Not to mention 2 locks and all the other crap that goes into a locker. His bag was literally ripping at the seams.

I saw him moping up the street and it made me want to cry. He drops into the car, declaring, "I can't go back to that place. Please don't make me. Please, Mom. I hate that place." Poor kid. He can't stand being late and so in order to avoid being late he will not go to his locker. At all.

I tried talking him through it. In the end, I ended up going with him to his locker this morning and told I would do so every morning until he felt comfortable. Middle school is so hard. I'm not sure we will survive the month if today goes bad. Sigh....

To top it off I agreed to coach Brody's soccer teams and got suckered into coaching Camden's too. If I hadn't, neither of my boys would have been able to play soccer this year. So this last week has been filled with coaching meetings, calling parents, team meetings, setting up blogs. A lot more work than I had time for...but it's for my kids. How can I say no?

Oh, yeah. And flag football practice has started. That's 2 hours on Tues and Thurs. But this, to me, is a blessing. You see, I have to leave for work before these practices are over. So Hubs takes all the kids and I have 2 hours to myself 2 days a week. It is going to be my saving grace.

He's a good man, that Hubs.

One week down....only 40 weeks left.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Ride like the wind....

Hubs likes to mountain bike. Not sure I have ever mentioned that here, but it is true. He loves it almost as much as he loves me. Almost.

Well, early this morning he left me to our not-yet-set-in-stone-morning-routine while he went riding in the mountains just out of town. He took an interpreter friend of his with him. Good thing, too.

Hubs was leading, the little daredevil. He noticed that his riding buddy was pretty far back so he stopped. Once his friend pulled up next to him, he told Hubs that he heard something. He listened a little more intently but didn't hear anything anymore, so they shrugged it off, assuming it was his bike.

One should never assume. Ever.

They continued on their ride for a few more minutes and Hubs again stopped to wait. Up comes his friend, with a terrified look on his face, pointing up the mountain about 10 yards, "We have to go. There is a bear!" Hubs looked up, and sure enough, there was a bear on all fours. Thankfully, it was running away. Unfortunately it was running in the direction of their trail.

Hubs and friend decided to go off the beaten path to avoid being bear breakfast. Once they got to a clearing, there was the bear again. He had circled around them and was now headed in the new direction they had chosen.

"Gulp!" I am pretty sure that is what Hubs did. I know I would have. Actually, I would have wet my pants first. Then gulped. But that's just me.

Again, they searched for a more direct route.

Luckily they were near the ski slopes and the way was very clear. Hubs and friend flew down the mountain. Hubs said he didn't even touch his brakes. He was complaining of whiplash this afternoon.

See, bears are scary.

But what was more scary to me was the fact that if Hubs hadn't had his friend with him, he could have been attacked by that bear. He wouldn't have had any clue that there was a bear there. At least not until it was too late.

Now Hubs is talking about bringing a gun when he rides alone on the mountains. Like that's going to be useful!.

Personally, I would go with Depends.

**Linking up with Jen Matlock.

Raw hide!

You wouldn't catch me dead on a roof. They are steep, they are slippery and they are dangerous. People die falling off those things.

Uhuh, no way you would catch me dead up there. Sunbathing, yes. Dead, no.

Sunbathing? A mother of five children? What are you thinking????

Not now, sillies. This happened back when I was a freshman in college. You know, back when I cared if I was tan or not. When I cared if I had tan lines. Back when I actually looked forward to getting into a swimsuit. Back when I was childless, single, and stupid.

You see, I have always been white. Like really white. As in I have to burn 5 times before I match the Peach Crayola crayon. Yeah, white.

I went to college in a small town, Easter Arizona College in Thatcher AZ. A very small school full of fun people. I loved it.

My first year I lived in a small, rundown, on it's last leg house with 8 other girls. It was known as the Passion Palace. Yes, I know. It sounds really bad. But it was a lot of fun.

A lot of memories made in that house. (I think one of my roommates made a baby there, but let's not get into that now.)

One of them was attempting to make ourselves more tan. We would climb the tree, with towel, water, and readings in hand and make our way to the top of the house. We would set up shop and waste away the afternoon on the top of our world.

We could see everything from there. The school. The small convenient store. The people. The cars. But mostly the sun. I think we may have even put Crisco on our legs. Lovely.

I was tanner than I have ever been.

Never mind that I may have given myself skin cancer. Never mind that the cars and people passing by got a peep show. Never mind that I could have rolled off the roof and impaled myself with a tree branch.

Then I would have been caught dead on my way off a roof.

But at least I was tan...ish.

What interesting thing have you done a roof?

Good, better, best

Living in a family with 8 kids meant that we didn't have much that was just ours.

Bathrooms were shared. Bedrooms were shared. Beds were shared. And with 7 of us being girls, you can bet clothes were shared. But once we were old enough to earn our own money and bought our own clothes, sharing was up to us. And we did, most the time, because we knew if we didn't share, then they wouldn't share with us.

Well, once I got into high school and had my own job I found my true love....silk. I loved silk shirts. I loved the way they felt. I loved the way they looked. I loved wearing something that would induce loud laughter at a much later date. Love.

And I took care of my silkies.

These were one of the things that I would rarely share with my sisters. They knew if I did, by chance, let them wear one, they had strict instructions they had to follow while wearing said shirt. And it had to be back in my room promptly after returning home.

I was a little mean back then.

That's why she waited. My sister waited for me to leave for my early morning class to put on my forest green, long sleeve silk shirt. She was planning on putting it back before I got home so I wouldn't know she had used it. And put it on she did. Right before she poured herself a cup of orange juice which she decided to "accidentally" spill all over my lovie.

Ruined. Have you seen what pulp can do to silk? Not good. Not good at all.

I was so mad when I found out. I yelled. She defended. I yelled some more. She cried...maybe not but this is my story. I told her that she was going to have to replace my shirt with her own money whether she had some or not. 

Then Mom stepped in. "It was an accident. They happen. You can wash it and see what happens. But she does not have to buy you a new shirt."

What? She used it without asking. She was being sneaky. Surely there is a punishment for being sneaky. Sneaky and clumsy. Oh, and careless. Where was the justice?

It was in that moment that I knew she was Mom's favorite.

"Do you want a receipt for that?"

It should have been free.

My drink. My coke. My not Diet Coke.

You see, I really like Diet Coke. I am not addicted. I am not. I am....not. Whatever! So I have decided to give up my non-addiction this week, proof that it is the end of the summer and school starts in 5 days and I have lost all reasoning.

But tonight, I am really tired. And I can hear it...calling my name. So I go to it. See, not addicted. At. All. I pull up to the Circle K, walk right up to the fountain and fill 'er up. I proceed to the line and take a swig.

This is not Diet Coke. Oh, no. I can tell the difference. And this is not what I came in here to get. But maybe I am wrong. (hahaha...good one.)

When it's my turn to buy the drink, I didn't want, I say, "Your Diet tastes like crap regular Coke."

"Oh, yeah. Someone hooked up the regular Coke to the Diet and now we just have to wait for the crap regular to make its way out the hose. That will be $1.07, please."

That's it? No, "We are so sorry, ma'am. This one is on the house." or "If you want to go and choose a different drink you can." or "Yes, I know we are incompetent and don't understand the difference between life saving Diet Coke and wouldn't feed it to my dog Coke."

Nope. Just "That will be $1.07. Would you like your receipt."

I, the non-confrontational wimp-O that I am, picked up my I-will-never-be-addicted-to drink and left. Disappointed. Annoyed. A little sad.

Silence.

It should have been free!!!!!

So i Married a Deaf Man: Okay, not really....

What do you want to know?

No, really. I have a whole other blog full of ideas I can write about, being married to a Deaf man and all. But sometimes I forget things that are different about Hubs and I because I am living in it... everyday.

Are there questions you have? Things you have wondered? Things you are just plain curious about? Bring it! Ask it. Go ahead. Just do it.

Yeah, I know I am totally bailing on you tonight. But I am out of gas.

I love my children to death. My death. I love seeing their faces everyday. But I'm ready to not. See them. Every hour of every day. Yeah, I know. Lay on the mommy guilt. That's okay. I am so there. Five days, people.

Five days until I wish I could see their faces every minute of every day. But until then, I am out of ideas. Out of umph. Just plain out.

So give me your questions. Your curiosities. Your nosy-ness.

Ask away.

Bearly made it

Sometimes I wish I would just not say things out loud.

You see, I love to camp. I grew up camping, every summer...a couple times actually: my family, my parents' family reunions and Girl's Camp. It is nothing new to me.

I am not sure, though, at such a young age, that I truly understood the potential danger that the wild presented. Particularly bears. No, I have never actually seen a bear while camping. I have never known anyone who was mauled by a bear. But I have heard stories. Many.

Like the lady in AZ who was attacked by a bear...twice in one night... by the same bear. Then there was my brother-in-law who had a bear sniffing around his cabin a few years ago. And let's not forget the bear that entered my sisters' camp two months ago and spent 30 minutes trying to open an empty cooler because it smelled like food.

So last week, my family had a camping reunion up in Colorado. I was very excited to see my siblings and their families. I was not excited, however, to sleep with the bears.

"Oh, the rangers haven't seen any bears in this area all season," my sisters tried to comfort me. "Yet," I would add. Still, to be on the safe side, Hubs brought his gun and slept on it every night we were there. For my sanity. Never mind that by the time I woke him, explained to him and he loaded and aimed, I may be dead...but at least I felt better.

Around 8pm the first night, right after dark, I made my way into my tent to set up the beds. And there, in my tent, was a bear!!

Just kidding.

I stepped into my tent, and there on the floor...all over the floor...was half of a Chex Mix bag...minus the bag. It was everywhere. I am not kidding.

Nothing screams, "Hey, Bear! Come eat me!! I have got the strongest, longest lasting, most potent smelling snack every made to man all over my sleeps!" like Chex Mix. To say I was frustrated would be an understatement. I didn't even buy Chex Mix. What the heck!?!

Have you ever tried cleaning that stuff up by the light of a child sized, $.99, Wal-Mart special flashlight? It was pathetic. I borrowed my brother's hand-held broom and started flinging the snack toward the door. I couldn't just fling it out the door because...hello! The bears would figure out where that stuff came from. I took me a good 30 minutes to clean it all up.

I was so annoyed. Then I shot my mouth. Unfortunately 3 of my younger children were around to hear me shooting.

"Great! This is just great. Now the bears are going to come and try to get Chex Mix. And guess where they are going to look. Right here. In this tent. Where we are sleeping. Lovely!!"

Yeah. They were scared. And worried. And now had lost all desire to sleep. "Are the bears really going to come here, Mama? What if they try to eat me? Do they like to eat people?"

"Don't worry, my little children. Mommy has it all worked out. I cleaned up the mess. We threw away the mess. If that doesn't keep the bear away...

"...Daddy has his gun."

So I Married a Deaf Man: Limited.

I try not to interpret for Hubs.

Oh, there are times when I do and don't mind it. Church. Family reunions. Social outings. The vasectomy. But other than that, I don't.

"Why?" you may ask.

You see, I do not have a large vocabulary. I am a pretty simple person. Don't misinterpret me as saying I am simple minded. I don't believe I am. I have a bachelor's degree and have been exposed to a variety of subjects so ignorant I am not. I understand. I just speak simply.

Hubs, however, likes to use big words. He knows them and wants to use them. And does. I know this because he sends me messages. I know this because I have read the papers that he writes for his master's program. Trust me, I know.

See where I am going with this?

One thing you need to know about ASL is that one sign can can be translated into many different english words. For example:

Sign: eye doctor; Translation: eye doctor or optometrist.
Sign: short  Translation: short, brief, momentarily
Sign: rich; Translation: rich, wealthy, loaded
Sign: make; Translation: make, create, generate

Our choice of words is called our register. My register is lower than Hubs'. Often when I translate for him, I struggle to raise my register to sound more like his.

Case in point.  About a year ago, Hubs and I had the opportunity to go to our state senator's office to voice some concerns related to my work. When we got there, my supervisor asked me to voice for Hubs.

"Ugh!!!!" I thought to myself out loud.

Yes, I probably understand what Hubs was saying better than my supervisor because, hello! I live with him. That being said, I struggled to say what he was saying, the way that he would say it if he could speak for himself.

To say it was frustrating would be an understatement.

So unless it is a minor operation that is NOTHING like bearing children....then I don't interpret.

Period.

Not in this lifetime!

You will never see me on the Bachelor.


I wish I could say that you will never catch me watching it either, but that would be a lie. And I don't lie. Every season I tell myself that I am not going to watch that smut. It's trashy, sleazy, and well, simply not reality. But all it takes is one episode. One episode to say, "WHAT! He gave her a rose???" Then I am hooked.

Like I said,  you will never see me on the Bachelor.

For starters, in case your forgot, I am already married. I have a whole series about it up there at the top of my blog. And if this gig ever fell through,I would never heal I would never get over it I would be the first bachelorette with 5 kids, which I am pretty sure would get me booted the first night.

I am not a size one. Oh, and everything on me...real. Pretty sure those two features alone would bring me to the limo...the ride of shame.

I don't drink. And it seems that in every gathering, every date, every dinner, even in every car ride, there is alcohol.

I actually wear clothes.

Yeah, so not going on that show.

What is something you wouldn't be caught dead doing?

Do you miss me?

I have the house. All to myself. For 3 days. Hubs took all the kids up north to hang out with cousins. I will head up on Wednesday morning. So if you are planning on breaking into my house and killing me, tonight would be a good time.

I'm just saying.

So what am I going to do? With all that time?

I could play Super Mario Brothers for hours and hours. Without advice from my munchkins.

I could buy all the junk food I wanted and not have to share and rent all the movies I haven't watched but wanted to.

I could invite all my friends over and we could trash the house...no, wait. The house is already trashed. Nevermind.

But what am I going to do? Really?

Read. ("The Help" by Kathryn Stockett...so good!!)

Sleep in.

Read.

Eat.

Clean. Clean some more.

Work. (That's the reason I got to stay here...)

Read.

Clean.

Lunch with a friend.

Clean

Sleep.

Doesn't that sound great? I think it sounds glorious. Cleaning, with no-one behind me messing up what I just cleaned. Reading without interruptions. Sleeping until I wake up...on my own. Eating what I want...as many gross veggies and chicken cooked how I like. And only one plate to clean.

I will miss my family.  A little. Okay, probably not. It is only 3 days, after all. I was feeling a little guilty for being so excited about the whole thing. But that guilt didn't last long. maybe a minute....or less.

Ahhhh.

What are you doing this week?