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!


Throwback Thursday: My Shame

I found these pins when I was helping Little Man clean his room earlier this week:

For some reason unknown to me now, I gave these to him some time ago while cleaning out some old crap. I couldn’t help but cringe. I made these for myself when I was 14. Crushes or obsessions, I dunno. But they certainly made Sam tease me like hell (or the fire place).

What’s one of the most embarrassing things you did as a kid? Please top this. ūüėĄ

A New Year’s Wager

You know how you have serious talks with your spouse or partner at times and talk about goals and shit? Sam and I had one of those last night. We were talking about a certain goal for 2016 and how to achieve it.

“This year has gone by fast,” Sam said to me tonight after we watched an episode of Parks and Rec on Netflix.

“Not really. It’s been a hell of a year,” I responded.

“Oh. Well, what do you want to do for our New Year’s resolutions?” he asked.

“Lose weight, I guess.”

I don’t really care for doing resolutions, but if I’m going to do one, that’s gonna be it. It happened some in 2013. In 2014 I was pregnant much of the year and only had to maintain, then I got a pass for just having a baby on the rest of the year. 2015 was a bust and I can no longer blame just having a baby, I fear.

Sam patted his belly. “Yeah, it’s time.”

“Why don’t we make it into a competition?” I suggested. “The first to lose 30 pounds wins…something.” Since that¬†is my number for the physical, this is sorta to my advantage, which Sam doesn’t know.

Sam agreed. “What will the winner get?”

“Hmm. Well, I know what motivates me: leather jewelry, a vacation, video games, tattoos…I don’t know¬†about you.”

“Making you happy is my motivator.”


“Be for real. What do you want to do?”

“I am for real. But how about if I lose, then I finally get a tattoo?” Sam suggested.

Ooh, nice. I’ve been after him to get one for a while. Every time we visit the tattoo shop for me, he gets all amped up about getting one, but a week later he backs out and talks about the pain.

“Okay. If you lose, then I get to pick out a tattoo for you.” Before he could change his mind, I added, “It will be the size of a half dollar and will not be anything crude or embarrassing.”

He agreed. “And if I win, then you can’t play Hanson in the car or around me for a week.”

Da fuck is this shit?

“You like Hanson,” I stated.

“But not all the time!” he exclaimed. “Okay? If I lose, you get to pick a tattoo. And if you lose, no Hanson for a week.”

We shook hands to seal the deal.

And that, my friends, is how setting goals with your partner is done. I advise you to pick a band to play nonstop to annoy your person so that it can be used whenever any negotiating comes up or wagers are made.

I Joined A Club

There are things you can do to bring yourself down a notch in your spouse’s eyes.

The first time I watched Sam open a can of Chef Boyardee and eat it between two slices of bread, my opinion of him definitely plummeted. “What a savage! Heat that Chef up properly!” I thought. The nasty sandwiches didn’t stop with the Chef, though–he also put cold beef stew, leftover macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes on sandwiches. As a person who has a strict no-mixing-or-touching-of-the-foods rule, that was awful.

Despite everything, even being on the receiving end of awful mood swings and witnessing the Captain Morgan debacle, I don’t think Sam has ever thought less of me for anything I’ve done. You could call him a wonderful husband…


…or you could say he has super low standards. You’re probably leaning towards the latter.

And then I finally did something last week to lower his opinion.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a slight obsession with a certain band. I listened to¬†that band as a kid in middle school and continued listening as they grew into extremely talented adults that continued¬†to touch on¬†subjects I was dealing with in life (there’s songs relating to marriage, parenting, depression).

Despite how much of a fan I was, there was one thing I never did–join the fan club.

“I can’t believe you aren’t in the club,” my husband teased me once.

“I’d never,” I laughed, acting like I was above that. I was not one of those¬†shrieky girl/women fans (the ones that make concerts less enjoyable for everyone and brag about how they’ve been fans forever and are in the club, even), after all. But even more so than that, it cost $40 for a year membership, and I wouldn’t even pay for a membership to one of the warehouse clubs. And I’m a SAHM. Membership to a warehouse club is second only to membership in a church. I don’t have that, either.

But last week, I got to really thinking about all of the music I was missing out on. These guys release special music for fan club members each year (sometimes multiple times) and I estimated that I was losing out on probably a hundred songs by now.

A hundred songs, y’all.

“It’s almost my birthday. I should have this music!” I told myself. And then I bit the bullet. After paying for the membership and the EPs from previous years, it was damn near $100. Almost a hundred songs for damn near $100, though. (As I write this I realize I broke our rule about clearing purchases over $25 or so with each other. Oops.)

I didn’t tell Sam. But he found out anyway.

I had a new song on in the car. He listened for a bit and commented on how good it was. I love it when he loves it, because he knows pretty much everything about music and the only time he has steered me wrong with his suggestions is with the Avett Brothers. (Yes, I realize I’m the only person who dislikes them.)

“Wait…is this a new song? Did they put on a new album? I haven’t heard this one before,” he said. He should damn well know, since that’s what I play in my car 90 percent of the time.

“It is,” I said with the sense of pride one might have when their child does something spectacular. “But it’s not on a new album…exactly…it’s on their new EP.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “But I thought they only released their EPs to fan club members.”


More silence.

“You joined their fan club, E?”


“So you’re now a card carrying member of their fan club?” he asked with a hint of derision.

I shook my head. “No. It hasn’t come in the mail yet.”

“Oh, E.” He gave me a look of disappointment. “I thought you weren’t going to do that.”

“Well…I wasn’t. But my birthday. And I won’t join next year–I’ll just join every few years or so that way I can get the music.”

“Sure you won’t.” He sighed. “My wife is a Fanson.” And then he shook his head and went into the bedroom to get on the computer. He’ll live, even though¬†my reputation has taken a hit.

My membership card came in the mail today. It has my name on it and everything (the name is on the back). Maybe I’ll whip it out in an official manner at people and ask what’s playing on their iPod. Just kidding…Little Man has claimed it, since that’s his favorite band, too. He plans to put it in his wallet. Hopefully it doesn’t cause him to get picked on much the way this band caused trouble for me…still causes trouble.


H is for Hanson

That’s right, Hanson.


Before you start reading this, I implore you to open your mind a bit, let go of whatever preconceived notions you may have about these guys, because if you do, you’ll hear some great music. I promise.

In fact, I’m so confident here, that I’ll offer this time-back guarantee–if you listen to at least one of these songs and absolutely hate it, then I’ll listen to any song you link below as punishment. I won’t even turn down my hearing aids.

Here’s what you’re probably thinking–

“But Hanson doesn’t fit your nerd theme!”

What can I say? I’m taking a creative liberty with my self-imposed theme for today. Besides, my husband calls me a dork for loving Hanson and other people have called me worse, so I’m catching grief for liking something that isn’t mainstream. It works.

Here’s my pitch:

Do you like quality music? Music that is written by and performed by the (extremely talented) artists themselves? Music that doesn’t sound like the same overproduced, auto tuned stuff you hear on the radio all day long? Then you just might like Hanson.

Sure, their high pitched voices of the mid 90s probably scarred your brain in some way. Hearing that one dreadful song over and over and over again…eek. But that was nearly 20 years ago. These guys are mostly in their 30s now, have kids of their own and all that, so don’t get caught up in thinking that they’re going to sound the same, play the same, etc.

After breaking away from a record label that wanted to force them to continue putting out cheesy pop crap, they went independent in the early part of the millennium. They might not have all of the success that they would have had had they walked the line, such as the awards, air time, etc., but they’re doing their own thing and loving it.

I’m going to leave you with a few songs to check out below (these songs range from the first album on their independent label in 2004 to their most recent album in 2013).

And for any women who are easily wooed by a good looking guy with long hair, a smoldering voice that can hit the big notes, and the ability to write lyrics that sound more like poetry, I leave you with this:

You thought I was going to disable the comments section after my time-back guarantee above, didn’t you? I didn’t, so say your piece!