Tomorrow’s The Big Day

Tomorrow I have the cochlear implant surgery. I freaked out briefly and contemplated writing letters to everyone to be opened in the event of my death. (Anesthesia freaks me out.) I’ve calmed down a bit, though, and am not writing death letters anymore. I’m worried about a couple of things, but at least it’s not that. (This better not be a case of jinxing myself.)

I am a bit anxious about how my hearing is going to be over the following year. The doc emphasized yesterday that I’ll likely lose my residual hearing in the ear being implanted, which I knew. I picked out an array that is supposed to be more flexible and better for preserving hearing, so we’ll see. The big thing I’m worried about is how everything is going to sound once it does kick in (assuming it does indeed work for me).

“I’m really worried that Hanson is going to sound weird,” I told my friend. Yeah, y’all know I’m a bit obsessed with that band, but I don’t even care at this point, I’ll gladly let my freak flag fly. (And I’m so going to order a processor cover with the Hanson logo on it to wear out to embarrass my husband.)

“Maybe it’ll make you realize they suck and you’ll want to find good music,” my friend said.

It’s going to be interesting see how it sounds since I’ll be using a hearing aid in one ear and the implant in the other. The implant is supposed to sound kinda tinny, so I wonder if that sound will overpower my other ear or if it’ll combine together somehow. Hmm.

(Near the bottom of this article on NPR, you can hear how a piano sounds with normal hearing vs. cochlear implant. I thought they sounded the same, but my husband thought it was very different. If you listen, comment with your thoughts.)

My other concern is my hair. They’ll have to shave off a patch of my hair. Gah. I seriously almost said “Never mind” when my husband brought it up, since I hadn’t even considered it for some reason. I know, I know, if all goes well, it’ll be worth it, but I’ve had some shitty short haircuts. If the clippers (or however they’re cutting the patch) slip, then…shit.

All righty…I’m off to get the kids ready for bed, finish up an article since I’ll be off for a couple of days, and then listen to music with the hearing I’ve been accustomed to for the past 34 years, maybe do a doodle blog post, and go to bed myself!


More Things Kids Say: Superman and Hanukkah

Earlier this week my dad and stepmom took me out for a belated birthday dinner. We were all talking about Christmas when Little Man announced, “I’m not celebrating Christmas this year; I’m celebrating Hanukkah!”

Sam and I exchanged glances. This was new to us. I was hoping this wouldn’t be like Thanksgiving when LM went on a political rant at my dad’s dinner table. Things got uncomfortable and a bit tense.

My stepmom asked LM if he didn’t want Santa to leave toys under the Christmas tree this year.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t want presents?”

“You get presents with Hanukkah. But I really want to celebrate Hanukkah because it has a much cooler story than Christmas.”

Yikes. Telling people who get irked over saying “Happy Holidays” that the Christmas story is less cool than another story might be worse than singing Obama’s praises while making negative comments about Trump at Thanksgiving.

“Oh, really?” she asked. I figured she was thinking, This is what happens when you don’t take your kids to church for four years!

“Well,” Little Man continued, “Superman did fly the Jews out of Egypt, after all. That’s pretty awesome.” He had a big smirk on his face.

“Superman? Egypt?” my stepmom asked incredulously as I got the reference and nearly spit my sweet tea out laughing. He had watched one of the Christmas episodes of Friends with me last week and using it to make a joke.


“He’s talking about Friends, the TV show,” I explained, but that did little to explain things.

“He wants to be Jewish because of a TV show?” she asked.

“No. He was making a joke. Just…” I shrugged.

“It’s a joke!” Little Man said. “Of course I want presents on Christmas morning.”

Like mother, like son — making random references to TV shows as jokes that nearly no one gets.

Share Your World – 48

041514 sywbannerDo you prefer eating foods with nuts or no nuts?

Generally no nuts, unless they’re finally chopped. I like the flavor, but don’t like the consistency of most nuts.

If someone made a movie of your life would it be a drama, a comedy, a romantic-comedy, action film, or science fiction?

It’d probably be a dark comedy. I’ve had a lot of serious stuff happen and deal with some serious stuff on a regular basis, but I’d rather put a humorous spin on it than be all Lifetime. (Obviously that doesn’t always apply to my blog posts.)

Who talks real sense to you?

My best friend, J. I might not always go to her with my stuff since I’m a very private person, but when I do, she shoots straight with me. She’s also great at keeping me in check at times, since I tend to have more book smarts than common sense. (I hate being told “You’ve got book smarts, but no common sense” from pretty much everyone, since it’s usually a cop out for being wrong about something, but when she says it, she’s right.)

Do you have a favorite board game?

Scrabble! Except no one ever wants to play with me because I always win (hooray for the benefits of having an English degree), so when I do play it’s usually online.

The Share Your World Challenge is hosted by Cee — check out the challenge here

The Squatty Potty

[This whole post may be a little TMI — or straight up weird — for some of y’all, so between this warning and the title, read at your own discretion.]

My friends and I give each other hell quite often. Sometimes it’s over things that happened ages ago — like my slurring and saying that I was sharp as a dick instead of sharp as a tack — and sometimes it’s over more embarrassing stuff that I should absolutely write about here sometimes.

One thing in particular that we like to harp on is a habit my husband has. Since my husband doesn’t read this blog unless I send him a direct link to a post, I have no problem talking about his little habit here.

One night at my friend’s house a couple of years ago, she left her bathroom and asked, “Y’all, why are there footprints on my toilet seat?”

This was just an adults only cookout, so drinks were involved, and when drinks are involved with these people, you never know what’s going to happen, but usually whatever comes up isn’t quite that odd.


We all looked around at each other, wondering who stood on my friend’s toilet — and for what reason.

“Well, I knocked off your shower rod and curtain,” my brother offered. “But I didn’t have to stand on your toilet to fix it.

Then it dawned on me.

“It’s him!” I said loudly, pointing at Sam. (A: Yeah, that probably lost me wife points. B: I can be trusted any with serious secret you tell me, but if you tell me something that’s hilarious, there’s a chance it might come out over drinks.)

My friend laughed, thinking I was giving Sam a hard time, until she noticed the dirty look he was giving me. She knew then that he was indeed the culprit of the footprints on her toilet seat.

“Sam, why are you standing on my toilet seat?!” she asked, looking at him incredulously.

He wouldn’t say anything at first, so I did.

“He thinks it helps him poop better.”

This elicited a round of “Whats” and guffaws from the rest of the group.

Finally Sam spoke. “I don’t stand on the toilet, okay? I squat on the toilet. You get a lot more out that way.”

Naturally, we all told him that he was full of it.

My friend told her that she didn’t care what he does on his toilet, but not to be putting his dirty feet on her toilet to try to get more out. Between the butt plug she found in her toilet tank a few years ago, she’s already had enough weird shit going on in that bathroom.

“So, Sam, you’re perched up there like a gargoyle, pretty much?” another friend asked, teasing.

Sam took it all in good stride, while reminding us every so often that he’s the only one in our little group who has good BMs. (And this is probably why all of our adult interactions that don’t involve kid stuff are limited to this one small group that wouldn’t run for the hills over some of the stuff we talk about.)

Like I said, that was at least two years ago. In the last few weeks, I’ve discovered that Sam wasn’t exactly wrong. Weird, yes, but not wrong. Not only did I read an article that talks about the benefits of squatting to poop, there is also a nifty little potty companion that helps you achieve super BM benefits without going gargoyle style on your toilet.

I’ve never seen such a look of smugness as when I showed that link to Sam. We discussed this at the party on Saturday, and while Sam was in “how do you like me now?” mode, that still didn’t stop us from still giving him hell for perching on the throne. What are friends for, amirite?

Also, we’ve decided to all chip in and buy the squatty potty for Sam for Christmas. We’re lovely people, in case you haven’t figured that out. Don’tcha wanna hang out with us?


For what it’s worth, I suspect that a $3 footstool from WalMart would achieve the same effect, but when it’s Christmas, you do things up right.

So, weird blog topic, but now you’ve possibly learned something that you probably didn’t expect to learn on this blog and have an idea for your Christmas shopping. Would #winning be inappropriate?

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever caught someone doing in your house?

I’m Smaug, Bitches!

This is a letter to my 31 years, 9 months, and 18 days self.

The kids are staying with their grandparents tonight and your friends will invite you over for a last minute cookout. You’ll be excited, as you haven’t hung out with these friends in a while.

At first, you’ll regret agreeing to come, because anxiety. But then that’ll wear off with the help of a rum drink.

You’ll feel relaxed and have a great time, and at some point, one of your friends will have everyone gather around for shots. Now, you typically don’t do shots, as you suck at doing them and can’t stand the taste of most liquors. But then you see that your friend has brought out Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey, and you think “Ooh, yum, I haven’t had this since college, bring it on!”

So you do one shot, and then another, and then the small bottle is empty, but your friend says, “Wait, I’ve got another bottle!” and you finish that one off together.

At a point, you expel a breath of air and shout, “I’m Smaug, bitches!”

And the rest of the night is a lot of fun. In fact, you don’t feel too drunk, despite having two large mixed drinks, two jello shots, and at least five shots of cinnamon whiskey in the span of about 5 hours.

You’ll go home and go to bed. And two hours later, you’ll wake up as sick as a dog.

Your 31 years, 9 months, and and now 19 days self will learn that while that cinnamon whiskey tastes great going down, it hurts like fucking hell coming back up.

Don’t take those shots. In fact, don’t take any shots ever again, because you suck at shots–even jello shots, which you eat with a spoon. Stick with your mixed drinks. It’s fun and exciting to get out of the house without the kids and have some rare adult fun, but don’t overdo it. You’re too old for that. And especially stay away from anything you haven’t touched since college–there’s a good reason for that.