So I Married a Deaf Man: Deaf-speak

Pain.

It can go anywhere on your body.

I'm actually talking about the sign for the word pain. It is a locational sign. Yeah, I totally made the phrase "locational sign" up. But I'm allowed because: 1) It's my blog, 2) I'm married to a Deaf ASL Linguist, and 3) It's my blog.

A locational sign is a sign that can be put in a different location to add meaning to the word. Take pain, for instance. There is a sign for pain. If you sign pain near your forehead it means headache. If you sign it near your tooth it means toothache. If you sign it near your stomach it means bellyache. If you sign it near your neck it means husband...no...wait.

See, locational signs. (Hubs will tell me it is locative signs, but, again, my blog.)

In our house, Hubs and my oldest are constantly having headaches. Not quite sure why...we've checked out all possible causes, but they still remain...the headaches, not the men. Well, the men still remain...but  so do the headaches. My point, the sign "headache" is used often in our house.

So the other day, Brig and I were going somewhere and I handed him an apple and a juice. As we start driving he says, "Mommy, I want a strawberry, not an apple."

"Well, we can't have strawberries in the car. But, there are strawberries in your juice," I tell him.

Exasperated, he replies, "Mo-om! Remember? That juice gives my stomach a headache!"

Pain indeed.

I need you...

My sister found out today that her 15 year old daughter has leukemia.

Would you please pray for her?

I am a strong believer in the power of prayer.

Could you send a couple up for our Joy!

Thanks friends!!

Wanted

I'm the best dog sitter in the world.

Yup. Even my co-worker trusted me so much that she gave me two of her dogs. Nevermind that I never wanted to be a two dog family. Five children, yes. One husband...absolutely. (not in that order...) But two dogs? No. And yet, here I am: Hubs and Stef plus 5...oh and 2.

My point, she trusted me enough with her precious dogs, (nevermind that she was giving away her precious dogs) that she gave them to me. I'm that good.

So you can trust me with your dogs. Unless, of course, you want your dog back alive. In that case you should ask someone else.

My friend, who has been letting my Rufus stay at her house for 3 1/2 weeks, asked me to watch her dog for a week while she goes out of town. Sure! No problem. It's the least I could do, right?

Well, the last two days we have been loading boxes from our storage until to our new home. My friends have been awesome. They just show up and say, "Well, come on! I have my truck/van. Let's go get your stuff." So my living room and garage are quickly filling up with boxes full of who knows what because I didn't label everything.

I know. I've only moved 11 times in 14 years. You would think I would remember that in order to get things to the right place, you have to label them. But I didn't. And now it's too late. I am in complete and utter chaos. So basically no different than every other day of my life, right?

So this afternoon, I went grocery shopping and when I came back, Hubs greets me at the door and casually mentions, "Oh, hey. Kayde ate mouse poison." 

"Ummm. What!! Are you kidding me? When? How? Where did she get it from? How much did she eat?" I started to fuh-reak out.

Apparently she got back behind the boxes, knocked down the one that had the poison in it, ripped open the bag and ate a TON of it. I know. (The mice thank her.) She is a pretty smart dog...in a dumb sort of way. I mean, she did eat poison.

To the dog emergency room I went. They had to induce vomiting 3 times and even then they still saw significant amounts of DeCon in her vomit. Poor doggy. Now she has prescription Vitamine K to prevent internal damage.

So my friend still has her dog. I still have my friend. All's well that ends well, right?

Let me know if you need a babysitter some time. I am sure I can find some shards of glass to feed them.

You might want to sit somewhere else.

I don't love flying.

I don't hate it. I just really don't enjoy it. I always think to myself, "Mine is going to be the plane that crashes." I also think this on roller coasters and ferris wheels, but nevermind that.

(Did I ever mention that I am related to the person who invented the ferris wheel? No? Well, I am.)

Where was I? Oh, right. Don't love flying. I will do it. And once I am up in the air I can usually distract myself. But take offs and landings...ugh!

Well, last week, as you might know, I flew to California to be reunited with my family. I was so excited and wanted to get out of the plane quickly, so I took the closest seat I could find.

I sat down, got settled, small talked with the guy next to me. Ready for flight. Then the flight attendant walked up and stood in front of me and started talking. To me.

"You have chosen to sit by the exits...blah blah blah." That's really all I heard. Kinda like when I was in labor with Brig and the triage nurse said, "Nope, you won't be getting an epidural tonight. You are too far along..." I just stopped listening.

He said something about helping others off the plane and then something about if I couldn't get off safely to just slide off the wing...or something. "Just make sure when we take off and land to watch the wings to make sure there are no flames coming out of the engines."

"This airplane is not going to crash," I told myself. "When has my plane ever crashed? Never. This is going to be the same. I am not going to have to help people off this plane. I am not going to have to slide down the wing. Sitting here is just fine."

After about 10 minutes of boarding, we hear a loud noise coming from outside the plane....like the engines are running. Cool. Time to go, right? Then the pilot comes on the speaker, "Sorry folks. We are having some minor engine problems on the right side of the plane. We are just gonna take a few minutes to test it out and then we will be on our way."

Wait a second...does he mean his right, or my right? That question was quickly answered when I peaked out the window and saw the mechanics checking out the engine...on my side of the plane.

Minor engine problems. Who wants to hear that? Minor engine problems are only minor until they become major. And once they become major, you have people sliding off the wings of the planes. Minor indeed.

After about 20 minutes, the "minor" problem was no longer minor. Nor was it a problem. Really? And the check engine light came on because...? You might want to check the check engine light.

It seems to be having minor problems.

P.S. I lived, in case you were wondering.

So I Married a Deaf Man....Bring out your dead

I didn't marry a dead man.

He is deaF! Not dead.

Why would a rational person think that a sane person, like me, would marry someone without a pulse. I mean, can you imagine if I had...you know...actually married someone who had passed...onto the other side? 

The conversations would be so one-sided. And he would never laugh at my jokes. He would never help me fold laundry or do the dishes. Plus, who would take me out on dates and tell me I was pretty?

In short marrying a dead guy would cramp my style. No fun at all. Morbid.

Lucky for me, I didn't do that. I married a living, breathing, rather handsome man. So for the life of me, I can't figure out why people keep asking me, "So, your husband is Death?" What would make them think that?

Maybe they know something I don't know. Maybe he has some secret plan to take me out while I am sleeping and they are trying to warn me. "So, you are married to Death?...(wink wink)" Good thing I don't sleep much.

Maybe Hubs gives off some sort of dark vibe. You know, underneath that ever-present smile of his...and if you know him, you know that it really is always there...lies something sinister. I'm just not seeing it. Maybe love really is blind.

But my guess would be that they don't realize that Deaf and Death do not mean the same thing. Death means no life. Deaf means no hearing. Yes, I know they sound a lot alike, but if people would actually take a minute to think about what they were saying, I am sure they would get it right.

Nope, he never went to a school for the dead. He doesn't hang out with other death people. And I wouldn't know what it is like to be married to a death man.

He's Deaf, not dead.

The wait is finally over...almost.

We decided to buy a house.

5 1/2 months later it's finally ours.

Signed today.

Keys tomorrow.

On to our next adventure...

...unpacking.

Are we there yet?

21 hours.

By himself. Well, not all by himself. He did have 5 kids with him. Yup, I said that right. Hubs drove my 5 kids, across 3 states, on a 21 hour drive, without me...

...and lived.

In fact, he said it was the best trip ever!

What!!

The only thing missing was ME. Meaning "Long Trip" -minus- "Amazing Wife" = "Best Trip Evah!" He assured me that my absence wasn't what made the trip so great. I wonder.

"There was no fighting! There was only one pulling-over-to-pee stop. And they only watched 3 movies the whole way!" he recounted.

How...what...why...huh! My children? Really?

I'll tell you his secret.

Tyranny. I'm kind of kidding....kind of.

They were only allowed a 6oz water bottle per stop. He stopped every 4 hours. When they did stop, they went to the potty and then ate either a meal or a snack. If they wanted something once the driving resumed, it was an apple.

They could only watch a movie after traveling 1-2 hours.

No-one complained. Why? Because they knew there was no point. Hello! Dad can't really help you once he is driving. They had to solve their own issues. How they did this remains to be seen, but there were no obvious bruises when I got there a week later so they seemed to have fared alright.

Okay, yeah. So it sounds similar to what my growing up experience was...except we could drink whenever we wanted, and we ate snacks the whole trip and we didn't have to wear seat belts, and there were no movies, and we had to listen to my dad's music. Okay, so nevermind. Nothing like my experience.

But back then, an 8 hour trip felt like 21.

My point?

Hubs' is my hero!