Something is amiss in my house. Haunted-ness. Paranormal.
Fortunately for me, I know his name.
It is Invisible Guy.
How do I know this? Not because he walks around, quietly singing his name as I nod off to sleep. It's not because he writes it on my bathroom mirror and it shows up after my shower. Nope.
Briggy told me.
Invisible Guy likes to hang-out around Briggy. The thing is, he only seems to appear when Briggy is alone, doing something that he shouldn't do, in a place he shouldn't be doing it.
For example, Invisible Guy likes to paint Briggy's toes with his sister's super special nail polish.
He also likes to write on the wall with not so washable markers.
He pees on the floor in the bathroom and dumps out Brody's special shell collection.
Invisible Guy has got to go.
Anyone know a good exerocist?
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
So I Married a Deaf Man: I'm not a dog!
So it was a rare occasion last week when Hubs and I went out to eat together. Just the two of us. No kids. It was nice.
We sit down, place our order, get our food at start to eat.
Of course, we were talking/signing the whole time....because that's what husband and wives do when they have been deprived of each others company for whatever reason....I have five of those "whatever reasons."
Well, we were chatting and our waiter, I kid you not, stood right at our table and stared at us. We are talking full on staring...not staring and then looking away for a few seconds and then look back. He was full on staring at us...and he was standing right at our table.
It was a little awkward and really annoying.
After about 15 minutes of him leaving to take care of his other tables and then returning to enjoy the view of our table, he finally approached and asked, "So, are you considered his interpreter?"
Huh? Bwahahaha. Wait. He was serious. Perhaps his reasoning went something like this, "Well, blind people have seeing-eye dogs that see for them...."
Not wanting to be compared to a dog, I responded, "No. I'm considered his wife."
Poor guy. In his defense, I was interpreting for Hubs. Secondly, we weren't making-out in the booth either, which would have made it obvious we were married...that or a really unethical interpreter.
And he did redeem himself. At least in my eyes.
"Wow. Well, you have a really good wife." Good boy.
But I am not a dog.
We sit down, place our order, get our food at start to eat.
Of course, we were talking/signing the whole time....because that's what husband and wives do when they have been deprived of each others company for whatever reason....I have five of those "whatever reasons."
Well, we were chatting and our waiter, I kid you not, stood right at our table and stared at us. We are talking full on staring...not staring and then looking away for a few seconds and then look back. He was full on staring at us...and he was standing right at our table.
It was a little awkward and really annoying.
After about 15 minutes of him leaving to take care of his other tables and then returning to enjoy the view of our table, he finally approached and asked, "So, are you considered his interpreter?"
Huh? Bwahahaha. Wait. He was serious. Perhaps his reasoning went something like this, "Well, blind people have seeing-eye dogs that see for them...."
Not wanting to be compared to a dog, I responded, "No. I'm considered his wife."
Poor guy. In his defense, I was interpreting for Hubs. Secondly, we weren't making-out in the booth either, which would have made it obvious we were married...that or a really unethical interpreter.
And he did redeem himself. At least in my eyes.
"Wow. Well, you have a really good wife." Good boy.
But I am not a dog.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Laugh...and then vote!
Anyone else excited for tomorrow....to be over?
Yeah. I am so hopeful that my guy will win. Not Hubs. Nope, he isn't running. But I hope that Mitt ends up on top.
But until them I am left with stress in my belly and really weird dreams.
You are gonna vote, aren't ya? If you aren't, you should. It's one of the things that sets America apart from most other countries. The ability to have a government chosen by the voice of the people....it's a great thing. I'm telling you who to vote for...MITT ROMNEY... but rather just encouraging you to vote. Period.
So in order to release a little of the stress I have been feeling, I thought I would share with you some really funny jokes. I have a neice who is obsessed with Chuck Norris. Not weirdly obsessed, but slightly.
Here are some of my favorites. Enjoy and happy voting. Mitt Romney
Yeah. I am so hopeful that my guy will win. Not Hubs. Nope, he isn't running. But I hope that Mitt ends up on top.
But until them I am left with stress in my belly and really weird dreams.
You are gonna vote, aren't ya? If you aren't, you should. It's one of the things that sets America apart from most other countries. The ability to have a government chosen by the voice of the people....it's a great thing. I'm telling you who to vote for...MITT ROMNEY... but rather just encouraging you to vote. Period.
So in order to release a little of the stress I have been feeling, I thought I would share with you some really funny jokes. I have a neice who is obsessed with Chuck Norris. Not weirdly obsessed, but slightly.
Here are some of my favorites. Enjoy and happy voting. Mitt Romney
- Chuck Norris never uses a stunt double, except during crying scenes.
- Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas to bed.
- Even Google can't find Chuck Norris.
- Chuck Norris was bitten by a cobra, and after five days of excruciating pain...the cobra died.
- When Chuck Norris was born, the only person who cried was the doctor. Never slap Chuck Norris.
- When the Boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he checks his closet for Chuch Norris.
- Chuck Norris never won an Academy Award for acting in any of his action movies- because he's not acting.
- Sweating bullets is literally what happens when Chuck Norris gets hot.
- When you say, "No-one is perfect", Chuck Norris takes that as a personal insult.
- Chuck Norris can bounce a football.
- Chuck Norris will never have a heart attack...His heart isn't foolish enough to attack him.
- When Chuck Norris does push ups, he isn't pushing himself up, he's pushing the earth down.
Monday, October 29, 2012
The request
"Honey. Please don't wear your pajamas," he added before he left this morning.Although it sounds like he was being frisky, I guarantee you he wasn't. No-one gets frisky in front of their 5 kids and right before they head off to work.
Okay....so maybe some people do...but Hubs does not.
I thought to myself, "Hey! I do get dressed." I just choose to get dressed the night before.
For most people this means putting on clothes they call pajamas. Me? I wear my exercise clothes to bed and call them exercise clothes.
Why do I wear them to bed? Because if I have them on when I wake up, I am that much more likely to exercise in the morning. Or at least in theory. It hasn't worked perfectly yet, but I have hope that it will. And hope is what keeps me in my sleeps...er...I mean exercise clothes that I wear to bed.
But, as being a mother of 5 children always goes, things come up. Someone forgot their lunch, or their homework, or is feeling sick, or, all of the above. So, without a moment to change, I pick up and drop off...all in my exercise clothes.
It's not my fault that one of these times it was HE who had forgotten something. And so, being the giver that I am, I ran it over to him in my exercise clothes. And let me tell you I was looking hot! Uh-hmmmmmmmmmm. (I had brushed my teeth, by the way. Just in case you were wondering. I do that at night before I go to bed as well....but also in the morning for good measure.)
So imagine my suprise when I told him this morning I would be coming in to have lunch, his response was, "Honey. Please don't wear your pajamas."
Well, of course I won't wear my pajamas.
But I may wear my exercise clothes.
**I didn't, by the way. And for the record I almost always get dressed by 10am. Just so you know.
Okay....so maybe some people do...but Hubs does not.
I thought to myself, "Hey! I do get dressed." I just choose to get dressed the night before.
For most people this means putting on clothes they call pajamas. Me? I wear my exercise clothes to bed and call them exercise clothes.
Why do I wear them to bed? Because if I have them on when I wake up, I am that much more likely to exercise in the morning. Or at least in theory. It hasn't worked perfectly yet, but I have hope that it will. And hope is what keeps me in my sleeps...er...I mean exercise clothes that I wear to bed.
But, as being a mother of 5 children always goes, things come up. Someone forgot their lunch, or their homework, or is feeling sick, or, all of the above. So, without a moment to change, I pick up and drop off...all in my exercise clothes.
It's not my fault that one of these times it was HE who had forgotten something. And so, being the giver that I am, I ran it over to him in my exercise clothes. And let me tell you I was looking hot! Uh-hmmmmmmmmmm. (I had brushed my teeth, by the way. Just in case you were wondering. I do that at night before I go to bed as well....but also in the morning for good measure.)
So imagine my suprise when I told him this morning I would be coming in to have lunch, his response was, "Honey. Please don't wear your pajamas."
Well, of course I won't wear my pajamas.
But I may wear my exercise clothes.
**I didn't, by the way. And for the record I almost always get dressed by 10am. Just so you know.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Slugs, snails and puppy dog tails
He wished we were all boys.
My dad.
He had 7 girls...and then finally a boy. Okay, technically it was my mom who birthed us out, but you know...the whole two-to-tango thing. That. Yup, but he wished we were all boys.
Oh, he would never say that out loud. But I knew.
It wasn't because he treated us badly. Or tried to force us to wear boy clothes. He didn't make us swear or spit or pass gas or burp or anything like that. We weren't required to wrestle, or play with trucks or guns or green army guys. He didn't make us sit and watch hours and hours of NFL, NBA, NHL or WWF.
In fact, he was the perfect girl daddy.
He loved Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea and loved musicals. He listened to and sang show tunes. He cried often. He talked about his feelings. There were even times when you could catch him wearing pink. Yeah, I know. Perfect, right?
That's what he wanted all of us to believe.
Oatmeal.
It was the oatmeal that gave it away.
You see, every time he made oatmeal, he made about 3xs more than us girls could ever eat. It wasn't just once, or once in a while. It wasn't once a month or every now and again. It was probably 2 times a week. I kid you not.
To keep us from getting suspicious he would said something like, "Darn it all. Looks like I made too much oatmeal again." But what he was really thinking was, "Eight boys could have eaten this much and never blinked an eye."
See, he was subtle. He thought he was fooling us. But I knew.
It was in the oatmeal.
My dad.
He had 7 girls...and then finally a boy. Okay, technically it was my mom who birthed us out, but you know...the whole two-to-tango thing. That. Yup, but he wished we were all boys.
Oh, he would never say that out loud. But I knew.
It wasn't because he treated us badly. Or tried to force us to wear boy clothes. He didn't make us swear or spit or pass gas or burp or anything like that. We weren't required to wrestle, or play with trucks or guns or green army guys. He didn't make us sit and watch hours and hours of NFL, NBA, NHL or WWF.
In fact, he was the perfect girl daddy.
He loved Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea and loved musicals. He listened to and sang show tunes. He cried often. He talked about his feelings. There were even times when you could catch him wearing pink. Yeah, I know. Perfect, right?
That's what he wanted all of us to believe.
Oatmeal.
It was the oatmeal that gave it away.
You see, every time he made oatmeal, he made about 3xs more than us girls could ever eat. It wasn't just once, or once in a while. It wasn't once a month or every now and again. It was probably 2 times a week. I kid you not.
To keep us from getting suspicious he would said something like, "Darn it all. Looks like I made too much oatmeal again." But what he was really thinking was, "Eight boys could have eaten this much and never blinked an eye."
See, he was subtle. He thought he was fooling us. But I knew.
It was in the oatmeal.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Don't give up on me....
I used to be a blogger
Who posted everyday
And I was always tickled
With how much I had to say
I'd talk about my children
My husband and my life
My childhood and my children
Wait, I just said that twice
I'd wake up every morning
My comments sure to read
"How many people do I have
Who want to follow me? "
They'd read my blog and I theirs
Because that's what we do
I'd leave my sentence on their post
And watch as my numbers grew
Then something happened, call it life,
Or tuggers on my time
But the posts that flowed so easily
I couldn't beat out of my mind.
People say "I've lost my mojo,"
others say "Writers block"
With five kids and a husband
I've not time upon my clock
By the time I have a moment
To sit and catch my breath
My brain has gone all mushy
No creativity left.
I'm still married to a Deaf Man
And children I still have five.
I'm still a little quirky
And have family stories to contrive.
So if you're wondering where I've gone
Don't worry, do not fret.
Although I write less frequently
I've got some stories yet.
Who posted everyday
And I was always tickled
With how much I had to say
I'd talk about my children
My husband and my life
My childhood and my children
Wait, I just said that twice
I'd wake up every morning
My comments sure to read
"How many people do I have
Who want to follow me? "
They'd read my blog and I theirs
Because that's what we do
I'd leave my sentence on their post
And watch as my numbers grew
Then something happened, call it life,
Or tuggers on my time
But the posts that flowed so easily
I couldn't beat out of my mind.
People say "I've lost my mojo,"
others say "Writers block"
With five kids and a husband
I've not time upon my clock
By the time I have a moment
To sit and catch my breath
My brain has gone all mushy
No creativity left.
I'm still married to a Deaf Man
And children I still have five.
I'm still a little quirky
And have family stories to contrive.
So if you're wondering where I've gone
Don't worry, do not fret.
Although I write less frequently
I've got some stories yet.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Won Twin-Tea Won
121. One hundred twenty one. CXXI. One Two One.
121....the temperature at which one should decide to move to another state. I know. I felt that way when I lived in AZ.
121...the number of hours I work outside my home every month. Believe me, the IN-home hours are much harder, and yet that's where I would choose to spend my time.
121....11x11 (In case you didn't remember.)
121...the number of times my children asked for costumes when we had to go to Party City today. I know. I know. I was asking for it, taking them there this time of year. But sometimes we are glutton for punishment. (What an odd idiom...)
121...from today would be Feb 3 2013. This date has no significance to me other than it fits into my 121 theme. But if it has significance to you, note that it is only 121 days from today.
121... an age I hope I never reach.
121...the number of hours I sleep every 18 days.
121...an unattainable weight...for me...at my age...and at my motivation level. Not happening.
121...the number of pictures my 3 year old took that I just deleted off my phone. They were mostly blurry pictures of my neighborhood, his shoes, the back of my head, total strangers...his shoes.
121....the temperature at which one should decide to move to another state. I know. I felt that way when I lived in AZ.
121...the number of hours I work outside my home every month. Believe me, the IN-home hours are much harder, and yet that's where I would choose to spend my time.
121....11x11 (In case you didn't remember.)
121...the number of times my children asked for costumes when we had to go to Party City today. I know. I know. I was asking for it, taking them there this time of year. But sometimes we are glutton for punishment. (What an odd idiom...)
121...from today would be Feb 3 2013. This date has no significance to me other than it fits into my 121 theme. But if it has significance to you, note that it is only 121 days from today.
121... an age I hope I never reach.
121...the number of hours I sleep every 18 days.
121...an unattainable weight...for me...at my age...and at my motivation level. Not happening.
121...the number of pictures my 3 year old took that I just deleted off my phone. They were mostly blurry pictures of my neighborhood, his shoes, the back of my head, total strangers...his shoes.
They are pretty cool shoes. At least he thought so.
121 times.
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