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.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
"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 likecrap regular Coke."
"Oh, yeah. Someone hooked up the regular Coke to the Diet and now we just have to wait for thecrap 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!!!!!
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
"Oh, yeah. Someone hooked up the regular Coke to the Diet and now we just have to wait for the
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!!!!!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 8, 2011
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."
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."
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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?
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 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?
Monday, August 1, 2011
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?
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?
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