So I Married a Deaf Man: He loves HD

I teach an ASL class every week. If you lived by me, you could come. It's free. It's at my house. And it is fun. I do it partly so that Deaf Hubs has someone to talk to...other than me. But mostly for social reasons. Mine. See how selfish I am.

Anywhoo, there are some pretty amazing people who come to my class. All dear friends. Well, one of them related this story to me and I thought I would share it.

Her son came running down the stairs, super excited, "Mom! Mom! I am so excited." He was holding the Narnia movie. "Mr. Hubs can watch this movie. Isn't that exciting?!!"

She was curious why he was so excited that Hubs could watch a movie but more specifically that one.  "Really? Why is that?"

"Because," he blurted out, "it's in high def!!" 

Get it. High "DEAF".

I thought that was awesome.

Hey, I'm linking this up with Jen's ABC Thrusday.

Ahhhh, tradition!

Many years ago, Hubs and I made it our family tradition to get a new ornament every year.

This sounded great when it was just the two of us. Still okay when there were three. But we decided to have five children. I don't think we were thinking ahead with this tradition. That is over 125 ornaments if all our children stay with us until they are 18.

We are going to need a stronger tree.

Anywhoo, we have had some pretty good luck picking out ornaments. Hubs always, ALWAYS gets a football one. Yeah, shocking. Almost as shocking as when we go out to eat and he orders a hambugar. Just like that.

Kobe gets something sporty. Kyla usually will get a snowman or an animal. Brody is unpredictable, one year cars, another year a policeman, the next year Santa...you just never know with him. Camden will choose something...then change his mind...then change it back. By the time we leave the area he has decided on 15 different ornaments. Briggy...well, we make him choose from the cart. It's just better that way. Trust me.

So like I was saying we have had good luck with ornaments...specifically not breaking them with all our children.

Until this year...

You see, we came a few days late this year, which meant that all the cute, child friendly ornaments were pretty much gone. All that was left was the if-you-even--look-at-me-wrong-I-am-going-to-shatter ornaments.

So I told the kids to be extra careful. What I didn't know was that it was Opposite Day. (grrrr)

We start looking for ornaments and I hear, "Crash! Shatter! Shatter! Shatter!" I look over and there is Camden, face white as Santa's beard. To make it worse, these women, who couldn't have ever had children gasp, loudly and say, "Oh my. Look what you did." Like he needed their help feeling bad. Thanks! That was all it took for the tears that he had been fighting to spill out.

 I pick up the half broken child and distract him. I then pick up the completely broken ornaments and debate what to do.

C'mon. You know you've been there. Do I simply put them back on the shelf and pretend that nothing happened? I mean, it is their fault that they have 50 breakable, stringed ornaments hanging on one hook within a child's reach. What do they expect? Or do I follow my conscience and pick up the tag and bring it to the front and pay for it.

I did the later....dang conscience.

Then Brody, who had chosen a gawdy beautiful, white glass icicle looking ornament, was trying to help Camden find an ornament and in kneeling down also crushed and shattered his ornament. Lucky for him there were no meany-pants ladies to make him feel worse. He mourned the loss. After much searching Hubs found an almost exact replica. Yay!

Kobe was ticked because there were no good ornaments to choose from so he was refusing to choose one this year. "Good," I thought, "One less ornament to break." But then Hubs found a Steelers ornament that was 3x's the price of the other ones and he changed his mind. Double yay!

Kyla was torn between two: a snowman that changed colors or a dog holding a "Hope" sign. Tough choice, huh. She was literally in tears. "If I choose this one, I will feel bad that I didn't choose the other one. I don't know what to do." It was very emotional.

Briggy's was love at first sight. No drama. No breaking. Cookie Monster. A boy after my own heart!

It took an hour and a half. We did break about 4 ornaments that we didn't have to pay for. Ahhhh, yes, another successful year of the ornament choosing.

Tradition!!!!

?????

 Kobe and I were looking through the ads for Black Friday. He opens up the Wal-mart ad and says, "This is what I want for Christmas.". I look over and he is pointing at the Xbox that was on sale.

"You want an Xbox? But we have a Wii," I reminded him.

"I know. But I don't care. I either want this Xbox or Uncle Scott's Xbox."

Looking a little puzzled, I asked, "Is Uncle Scott selling his Xbox?"

"No. I don't think so," he responded.

"?????"

Introducing...family!

 Let me introduce you to the family I grew up in....the one that crammed itself into a "slug" bug. Granted, we were smaller back then, but here we are nonetheless.

Then we all got married....

...and had kids.

The whole fam-damily.

Yeah, I love these people. Every last one

Hold your lunch!!!

Hubs has a weak stomach. 

He gags when he changes a poopie diaper. He about loses his lunch if he sees vomit. And if there is blood, forget it.

You needed to know this to completely appreciate this story.

When we had Kobe, our first child, Hubs was the perfect husband/father. (He still is, btw.) He was good about bathing him, rocking him, burping him and loving on him. He would even change the diaper. Yeah, I know.

After about four weeks, I had to return to work. Hubs was in school so we would take turns being with Kobe.

On my first morning back to work, I was showering, getting ready for work, sad that I was going to have to leave my baby. All of a sudden I hear Hubs yell, "Stef!!!!!"

Thinking that something terrible had happened, I ran into the front room. Something terrible indeed. There, in the middle of the room, was Hubs, holding Kobe out away from his body. Hubs' panicked face was red, looking like he was struggling to keep his already eaten breakfast in place.

What was the problem? I mean, Kobe wasn't crying. He wasn't bleeding. He was breathing fine. What?

One look at Hubs' white undershirt and it was obvious that Kobe was leaking. A lot. No, like a lot. Baby poop was all over the front of Hubs' shirt. And when I say all over, I mean all over. It was yellow, it was runny and it was a sight to see.

I looked at him and couldn't help but bust up laughing. Of all the people Kobe could blow out on, he chose his Daddy. His own little love note.

Ahhhhh. So sweet.

If you haven't read the books....

Yeah. I am totally going.

Not because I think Edward is hot...because their Edward isn't nearly as hot as the one that was in my brain when I read the books. Their Edward needs a haircut.

Not because Jacob will more than likely be spending 3/4 of the movie shirtless. Hello, I am 37 and he is..what...like 13. That would be weird. (Though I have to say he is my favorite. Not because of his body. But because I thought they did a great job casting him.)

Not because Kristen Stewart is an amazing actress...because we all know she is not.

No, I am going because dang it, I like the story. And I actually read the books. All of them. But not recently...that would just ruin the movie.

I am going because I am wondering how they are going to deal with the whole Jacob and imprinting and not make that weird, sick and unnatural. Yeah, I know he is an animal and they do that in real life. But he is also a human and if that really happened, it would be just plain perverted.

And lastly, I am so curious where they are going to end the movie. Aren't you? They have to end it at a point where it leaves you (the non-reader of the books) hanging...wanting more...wondering what is going to happen. Will they end it after the birth? After she becomes vampire? After the imprinting?

Yes, I am totally going. Tonight. 7pm.

Wanna come?

Back to work! Oh...and one of my favs

I love blogging. I do. That being said, I can only blog when I work. And I can only blog when I am at work and work is slow.

Since August, I have been working two days and three nights. I thought I would love it. I have not...loved it. I have 4 nights in a row off...that has been nice. But now I only have 3 days during the week to get everything done. It is frustrating at best, overwhelming to say the least.

Not only that, but I have really missed blogging daily. And visiting your blogs...(in a Yoda voice) missed it, I have. Really. Lucky for me, in Dec. I will be going back to all night work. Less sleep, but more blogging hours. More mornings to sit around and catch up on my shows to get laundry and cleaning and shopping and cleaning and laundry and... done.

I can't wait.

So, because I am at work. And because it has been a less than slow night, I am re-posting one of my favs:

Mormon Myth Busters 

I am a Mormon, aka. Could you tell? Not that it matters...except that it is pretty much my life. And since this blog is about my life, I thought it would be an important thing to put out there.

Being Mormon, I get some of the most interesting questions. So, let me save you all the trouble. Here are the FAQs and answers.

"Do Mormons have horns."

We do not have horns. Nope. We file those off of our young before we leave the hospital, before the hearing test and after the circumcision. It's just easier that way. (Actually never got this question, but I read it somewhere and it made me laugh.)

"So, Mormons don't like to talk about their underwear, do they?"

I don't think I know anyone who likes to sit around with a bowl of chips and salsa discussing their drawers. I think it is odd that people want to. Don't you?

"So, in your temples...do you... you know?"

No. No! Eeewe no!! Procreation, consummation, and intimate recreation are not things that take place there. Believe me. I would know.

"Polygamy?"

There are zero sister wives in my house. (Mormons don't do that.) But I might consider it IF she was really really ugly, and couldn't have kids, and loved to fold and put away laundry and mop the floor. Oh, and if she would sit and sing songs with me around the piano and she would blog too and follow me and tell me how funny I am. And she would watch the kids while Hubs and I went on a date. Almost like a live in maid-n-nanny. Is that wrong?

"Are you required to have lots of kid?"

Didn't you know that the more kids you have the better chance you have of making it into heaven? No? If it was that easy, I would be on fertility pills and have kids coming out my eyeballs and the name of my blog would be changed to "Ooops...My Head Just Exploded". (Cue sister wife laughing.)

"You don't drink? Ever?"

Well, we do have to drink water. Everyone does. I live on the wild side, though, and drink Diet Coke now and then...it isn't forbidden, by-the-way. (I think I may have just lost a few Mormon followers.) No alcohol, coffee or tea. That's pretty much all that I don't drink. Oh, and Dr Pepper. I don't like the taste.

"Three hour church? Are you serious?"

I say this one to myself every week every once in a while, too. It's tough, trying to teach my kids to be reverent and listen. But there is something to be said about worshiping as a family. For three hours. Not quite sure at this point what is to be said about it, but "good long nap" is what comes to mind.

A few last words:

No, not all Mormons like carrots in their Jell-O.

Yes, I will share my 20 year supply of food with you if there is no food anywhere else.

I will be accepting applications for sister wife after the New Year. Please include a picture.

Any questions?

If I could just get over myself...

This morning, I came down the stairs to find that my little Briggy was awake. I knelt down to his level and said, "Good morning, son! Come and give your mommy a kiss."

"No!" was his response.

"No? No? Come on. Just a little kissy, right here," I coaxed, pointing to my lips.

"No. I no want to," he refused.

"Waaaaaahhhhh. Boohooooooo," I sniffled. This was my attempt to teach him to show compassion. Empathy. Kindness.

"Stop crying!" he demanded. "You can't do that. Only I can."

Compassion FAIL.

Innocent until proven...

He blamed me. Me! Can you believe it?

He got a ticket and he blamed me. He, who has never received a ticket, got one and then blamed me! How rude!!

Why?

Because I was driving.

But he couldn't prove it if we went to court. Heck, it was his name on the ticket. He was determined to prove that it wasn't him. We watched the video...we meaning all 7 of us. Yes, he felt the need to show it to our children.

"Look. There is Mommy, breaking the law," he pointed out.

You couldn't see my face, or my hair or any other identifying feature for that matter. There was no proof that it was me. Just our car, with his name on the pink slip, running through a light that had just barely turned red. That was it.

Nevermind that this happened at 7:50am on a Tuesday, the day that Hubs leaves for school around 7:15am. Nevermind that it is in a part of town that is nowhere near the university that Hubs attends. Nevermind that I knew it was the morning that I had to run, at the last minute, to the store to buy my middle schooler a new shirt because all of his were stinky and..well...unwearable. Nevermind that Wal-Mart is on the same corner as the above mentioned infraction.

No proof I tell you! 

The many uses of PBJ's

Comfort.

For some it is a blanker. For others a stuffed animal. And still for others it is music.

For my third child it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

For the life of me I can't figure out why that was his thing, or even where it came from. It wasn't like we introduced him to it. "Here son. Now let me tuck you in. Oh, here is your sandwich. Now go to sleep."

We didn't. I promise. And yet he would ask for it. Call out for it. Cry for it.

And it wasn't like he would eat it. Oh, no. We would put it in a sandwich bag and he would lay his head down and insist that we put it on the pillow next to him. And in the morning, it would still be there. Slightly smooshed, but still untouched.

Don't judge. You have all been there, at the end of a very long, stressful, day and your child just won't go to sleep and won't stop screaming. And you know he just tired and if he would just calm down for one minute, he would sleep. And if a PBJ is what is going to get the job done, then why not.

We did eventually wise up and reused the sandwich several days before disposing of it. And thankfully, it didn't last too long. But isn't that the weirdest thing?

But if later in his life, if he turns to PBJ's during stressful times, we will all remember him softly petting his sandwich as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Comfort food, indeed.

The Dark Side of yogurt

Darth Vador loves yogurt.

What? You didn't get that from any of the Episodes? You need to pay a little more attention. He only says it everytime he enters a room.

How did this come to my attention? My two year old.

We were playing Star Wars and he was picking our guys. He said, "I want to be this guy. He likes yogurt."

"Darth Vador? How do you know he likes yogurt?" I asked.

"Because, he always goes like this: (whispering) 'Yooooguuuuurt. Yooooguuuuuurt.'"

Try it.

And there you have it. Darth Vador like yogurt.

Now the question is...does he like fruit on the bottom?

An Afghan with a bark!

I think our neighbor hated us. Growing up, we had a neighbor who, for whatever reason, seemed to hate us He would do mean things just to be mean. Like shoot me in the leg with his BB gun while I was jumping on my trampoline.

Or like the time we went on vacation and he broke glass all over the porch hoping our dog would cut his feet. This is the same guy who raided my 13th birthday party (See here.) The same guy who rode his bike on our trampoline and totally ripped it.

Yes, he was not the ideal neighbor.

One of the other things he would do was train his dogs to go to the bathroom in our yard. This wasn't as big of a deal when it was his little poodle. Annoying, but not a big deal. She was female and our dog, Spike, hat the hots for her so he didn't mind. 

Not until Beethoven.

Beethoven was a huge male Afghan dog that looked like this:













He was tall and he was scary. And Spike did mind when this huge camel looking animal came into his territory and began marking it. Needless to say there were many dog fights between Beethoven and Spike. And many times, this hating neighbor, would call his friends over to watch as he would release Beethoven into our yard. (No, his name was not Michael Vick.)

I guess in my mind Beethoven hated all things Lee. And I was a Lee. 

Beethoven lived between me and my best friend. If I wanted to go to her house there were two options. I could just walk up the street, passing by Beethoven's house, or I could go through the alley which was longer. Most times, I would choose the longer route.

At night, however, the back alley was not an option. I had to pass by Beethoven. There was no choice.

I would call my parents and tell them I was coming home. Then I would make my friend walk me halfway. Then I would run, as fast and as quiet as I could, on the other side of the street. I would almost be home, mere steps away,  when Beethoven would let out a loud bark. And no matter how many times I ran past, even knowing it was going to happen, that bark would scare the living daylights out of me. Every. Single. Time.

 Yes. Beethoven was definitely something I was terrified of as a kid.

What about you? What scared you when you were little?


 I'm a late linker to Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday.

So I Married a Deaf Man: "Yah. My dad is Deaf. So."

I thought today I would let you view our life through the eyes of our 11 year old. (BTW, we are totally going to skip the quotation marks because I am so lazy. Sorry teachers....it just ain't happenin'.)

Enjoy.

me: So, son, I have a question for you.
Kobe: Ok

me: How does it feel having a deaf dad?
Kobe: Awesome

me: Awesome why?
Stefanie: It is different and so cool

me: Why do you think it is cool?
Kobe: I get to learn sign language. I like that

me: And what is the hardest part?
Kobe: The hardest is you can't really get his attention. You have to run to him and tag him to get attention

me: And what is the funnest part?
Kobe: My favorite part of having a deaf dad is talking to him in sign language,and learning it

me: Do you think you would want to marry someone who was deaf?
Kobe: Yah. Totally.That would be really cool

me: How do you feel when your friends find out your dad is deaf?
Kobe: I may feel embarrassed or I may feel cool

me: Why embarrassed?
Kobe: Because they will be looking at me weird when i am talking to dad in sign language and tell everyone at school that I have a deaf dad. That has happened to me before

me: How does that make you feel?
Kobe: Awkward

me: What do your friends usually say when they find out?
Kobe: They say, "Your dad is deaf? Why?"

me: What do you say?
Kobe: "Yah, he is deaf because he got sick when he was little."

me: What is the weirdest thing that has happened to you when you were with Dad?
Kobe: When people were staring at us when we were talking. I feel kind of like they think I am weird or something. I feel awkward.

me: Do you think you get away with things because dad is deaf?
Kobe: Yah. Like sneaking stuff. And saying bad things to him (speaking it).

me: You say bad things to dad? Like what?
Kobe: Like "I hate you" or "You are stupid."

me: You say that? That's crazy. Good thing he can't hear you, huh.
Kobe: I don't. Brody does. All the time.

Me: Do you ever wish he could hear?
Kobe: No way! I want a deaf dad!

The second most scariest day of my life

It was Oct 30, 1987. I had just turned thirteen. I was having a birthday party/sleepover with ten of my good friends.

We started out the evening hanging outside in the front yard, standing around talking, because that is what 13 year olds do. A guy friend who lived up the street was also having a guy sleepover at his house (yeah, that wasn't planned at all) and so they were hanging out with us as well.

They eventually left. By this time it was getting dark. We continued our exciting game of standing around doing nothing. Soon after, we heard a group of guys walking down the street. We assumed it was our friends and started to taunt them, secretly hoping they would come over.

Well, come over they did. Only it wasn't our friends. Nope, it was our drunk teenage neighbor and his equally intoxicated friends. They rushed the yard, screaming and yelling, scaring the shabowwows out of us. One of the guys actually had a large knife and held it to my friends throat.

Eventually, they ran off and we were able to make it indoors without dying. I am not quite sure why my mother wasn't alarmed with amount of screaming from the front yard...but then again, we were a bunch of 13 year old girls. What's a little screaming? Once inside, we told the whole story to my mom She figured the boys had had their fun and as long as we stayed inside we would be fine.

Right?

Well, my mom had to pick up my sister from a Halloween party she was attending. My dad was still chaperoning the high school Halloween carnival, along with my older siblings. She simply told us to lock the doors and play some games and everything would be alright.

Right?

Well, we decided it was time to cut the cake which was actually a huge chocolate chip cookie. As we were standing around the table, my friend looks right behind us out the sliding glass door, and sees someone in a skeleton costume with a butcher knife in his hand, scratching it on the glass.

She starts screaming. We all look around. We all start screaming. Running and screaming.

It wasn't just the skeleton. There were about five drunk terrorists running around the house, pounding on windows, kicking at the doors, messing with the door handles, each of these actions caused much screaming, wailing, and an amazing amount of tears. (Remember, ten teenage girls.) A few of us were brave and decided to close all the window blinds and curtains. Some of us were too scared to do anything but hide behind the couch.

And still, one of us kept screaming, "We are going to die!! I want to go home! We are going to die!" No, it wasn't me. I think that someone slapped her, but I couldn't tell, being behind the couch and all.

One brave friend ventured back into the kitchen and got the phone. She called 911 and got the cops on the way. But not before the guys outside had kicked in our screen door.

"The police are on their way!" my friend yelled. Immediately we hear footsteps running away from the house. Girls start to emerge from behind couches and chairs. Immediately a line forms with girls calling their parents to come get them. 

Once the police get there, we each have to tell him what had happened. Things were really tense. We were all nervous. Some were sniffling. I mean, it was probably the most traumatic thing any of us had experienced up to that point in out lives.

My friend lost control. In the middle of all this tension, she cut one. Totally tooted. And it wasn't small. And then we all lost it..

There is just something about gas that can really lighten a mood.