Hard of Hearing

When I was in second grade, one of my best friends was a boy of the Jeff C. He was a quiet, artful and gentle spirit, more-so than the other boys in our class at least. He was also the first to introduce me to the life of the deaf, Deaf and hard of hearing.

Both of his parents were deaf, as were several of his siblings. Jeff was often required to serve as a translator between the hearing and deaf worlds as he was able to bridge the two worlds. I loved how he moved his hands, his graceful gestures and the dancing of the visual language. Sadly his family moved at the end of the year, so that his deaf siblings could be closer to schools that better provided for their needs - but I never ever forgot him.

While on my way-ward journey to acquiring the credits and classes I needed to apply to various Physician's Assistant programs, there was one semester in which I needed 5 credits in order to be 'full time' and receive the benefits associated with that status. Looking through the university's catalog I found a first level sign language class that fit perfectly into my chaotic schedule.

For 16 weeks, 5 days a week, I was part of a class of folks who came together each day to learn how to talk with our hands, not our voices. It was one of the easiest and hardest things I've ever had the opportunity to do, and I loved nearly every minute of it.

It turned out that like French and Spanish, I had a talent for American Sign Language and given my varied interested and educational background, relaxed personality and skill set I was offered a position working for the university to provide deaf and hard of hearing students with captioning services. I attend lectures with the student I'm paired with, and caption or type the words and material that the Professor presents during lecture. This service allows students with hearing challenges to read what their classmates hear verbally in class and it allows them to have a 'transcript' of the lecture material that can be later referenced.

At first the job was overwhelming, but after several months, I fell into a rhythm, and became more comfortable with my own shortcomings in signing. As with any other language, becoming comfortable with my rudimentary fluency in ASL allowed me to accept help from more knowledgeable 'speakers' and provided me with the opportunity to practice as needed.

Over the last year or so, I've come to befriend and rely on the people that I work with, and as the semesters come and go, we become closer as friends as well as colleagues. I pray that I never insult or offend those I know and have met with hearing difficulties through my own ignorance. I admire and respect the folks I've had the fortune to work with and I hope that I have the opportunity to see them succeed in life.

Several friends have shared their experiences as well as other resources that have helped me to become aware of the simple and so offensive things that the hearing ask, say and do. I know that not everyone has this opportunity, so I wanted to share a few here, so that you yourself can learn of another culture and become more aware in general. I am by no means a 'spokesperson' for this beautiful culture, but if the information I share can spare one hard of hearing or deaf person from being talked to in a shouting, drawn out manner then it's been a good day.

I've found that most often times, it's not the people I've met who are physically unable to hear who are hard of hearing, it's those in the hearing world who have the ability to listen but who CHOOSE not to hear, thus the title of this post.

These blogs are created and maintained by individuals who live with hearing issues as a part of their everyday lives.

http://mylifeisdeaf.tumblr.com

http://becomingdeaf.wordpress.com/2012/07/24/10-things-you-should-never-say-to-a-deaf-person/

If you are interested in the deaf culture, or learning American Sign Language, I encourage you to sign up for a class with your university or community college. You'll be amazed at how much you will learn, the experiences that you will have and the awesome people you will meet.

While this site is no substitution for an actual class, where you have the opportunity to learn the nuances and grace of the deaf language and culture it is a great resource for refreshing learned signs, and simple words.

http://www.aslpro.com/

Use the dictionary with care, as placement of hands can mean very different things. One example is the sign for umbrella. Incorrectly placed, this gesture is the sign for masturbation.  And what one assumes to be the sign for unicorn, is in fact NOT. No, in fact that gesture has a far different meaning. But, that is for you to find out...

How Unfortunate

With all of the raccoons, red tail fox packs (yes, they do run in packs), skunks, squirrels, and a vast array of unique and colorful birds within our backyard, JB and BW don't seem to realize is that most kids their age only learn about such wildlife through books and pictures found on the Internet.

To them, it's all just part of our environment. Even though we have a cornucopia of wildlife, on occasion we see something so out of bounds that words fail us.

One of the gifts I received this Christmas was a bird waterer. Coupled with the squirrel proof bird feeder we have in our backyard, we have a smattering of wrens, sparrows, finches, chickadees, flickers, woodpeckers, jays and many other interesting characters that visit each day.

On occasion, a little bird flies off a bit too eagerly and knocks himself silly by running into our glass deck doors. Most of the time they are simply stunned, and after a few minutes, they shake themselves and fly off to the feeder, waterer or the nearby shrubs. As the dining area looks out onto the deck, we are casual observers of this circle of life and when a characteristic 'thud' is heard, we look to see if the little one will be all right.

The circle of life became a bit too real one Saturday morning after a little sparrow knocked himself and was hanging out until the dizzy spell passed.  As he started moving about and regaining his footing, what we believe to be a Sharp-shinned Hawk swept down from a nearby tree, grabbed the dazed sparrow, proceeded to settle in the lilacs that line the deck and began dining on his catch.

It happened in just a few blurry moments only a couple of feet from where JB and BW were playing, and it was all a bit too real for them.

Nature is one thing, but NATURE is quite another.

BW realizing what had just happened ran to his room in horror. JB stood there frozen, simply saying 'Oh... wow.' After calming both children and explaining that the hawk was just hungry, they settled down and began to absorb the grim nature of what they'd just seen.

JB declared that she was 'now a vegetarian'. BW pondered for a moment and then said "Well, that was unfortunate for the sparrow."

At dinner that night we had grilled chicken over tortellini with salads and broccoli, JB once again reaffirmed her dedication to being a vegetarian. Looking over her bowl she firmly stated "Mama, just so you know, I am really, really into this meat eating vegetarian thing, I hope that you will support me in this decision."

When she noticed our confused looks, (BW was shockingly, at a loss for words) she asked what was wrong. To this Charles replied that the word she was looking for was omnivore, as she would most certainly NOT be a vegetarian by eating meat.

When it was BW's turn to be served dinner, he delicately raised on hand gesturing 'stop' and with a serious expression said "No thank you. I'm taking a break from birds for awhile."

All had returned to normal by the time Christmas arrived. Both BW and JB had seconds of the turkey, and to date, the Hawk has not returned. Oddly, though the kids are both keeping watch for him. Whether it's to protect the little birds, or see what happens, we don't know... but we have learned one thing.

We never, never, never ask, "What's next." It's better to take it as it comes than invoke Murphy's Law.

The LSK's

Many, many moons ago, before Charles and I relocated to Colorado, we lived in a small farming town that was also home to the university we attended. For the first several years of our marriage we lived in a series of apartment complexes, some better than others.

The second to last was aptly named 'The Shithole'. It had dark brown paneling on the inside, an enclosed decks and it was so small that not even the tiniest love seat fit within the living area and a table in the kitchen required that we move it to get from the living area to the cooking area. We would joke that when one or the other of us got into 'trouble', we wouldn't be sent out to sleep on the couch, but instead to sleep on the porch (never mind that winter was bitter cold and lasted for more than 7 or 8 months, depending on if it was a good year or not.)

After calling the manager and maintenance staff to tell them that the bathroom above us was leaking and causing our ceiling to buckle, and then watching it collapse in 'slow motion' over the course of a month, and then having to open our 'home' up to maintenance workers for another several weeks we decided it was time to move.

Fortunately, a new complex was about to open, and we were among the first to fill out the paperwork to see if we were qualified to move in. As it was subsidized housing, there were strict limitations on the numbers of units that were 'free market' vs subsidized and being a newer development, the list of interested parties was endless. Thankfully, it all worked out in our favor and we were given the very last 'free-market' unit available for college students.

Being a new community, everyone was friendly and eager to get to know each other and help out as we could. That is, everyone except for the LSK Family.

To be fair, we felt something awful for the head of that household. It was led by a single mom, who's story we never quite learned, except to say that she worked a series of low paying jobs in an effort to create a better life for her kids. Just how many kids she had, we were never able to determine though it seemed to be about five or six and the cast of characters in her life was constantly changing.

The apartment they lived in shared a common wall with ours, but we never got to know them since the entries to our apartments were in different corridors. But we did have front row seats to the circus that unfolded as the year we lived there progressed.

Because Mom worked so much, the children were often left to care for themselves, much to the consternation of the apartment maintenance man - a former Cop who was forced into retirement when, according to him, "A punk shot him in the chest and leg shattering his knee and rendering him unable to pass the physical." It was nearly a daily occurrence that we heard about the latest act of vandalism that Randy had to repair due to what had become known as the activities of 'the brat pack'.

It was, though the following story, that when shared with Randy, made him laugh out loud and wave goodbye with extra friendliness whenever he saw the mom leaving for work. As he lived on the opposite end of the complex, he was never privy to the weekly show that took place at our end of the building.

The only day of the week that Mom had off was Sunday. And even though she was young, she was determined to make certain that her children knew the love and guidance of the Lord. Every Sunday, at ten minutes to 11:00, the family would burst out of their apartment in a flurry of chaos, dressed in their Sunday best; Mom in the lead and the kids in tow, looking as uncomfortable and unhappy as possible.

Mom would set her mug of coffee on the roof of the Oldsmobile classic, dig about in her purse for her keys only to remember that they were in the apartment. As she would furiously stomp back to the apartment she would shout over her shoulder "Ok guys, get in the fucking car, I'll be right back out and we need to get to church - lets try not to be late this week for Christ's sake!"

And that was when the show really began.

Kid 1, the eldest of the bunch was a girl around the age of 12 would attempt to round up the team of boys and get them into the car as Mom directed. Her shouting and swearing resulted in the bunch of them running about the car in an endless loop that was accompanied by lots of vulgarity (we were honestly shocked at all the words these kids not only knew, but used).

At some point, Kid 3 would make a break from the group, jump up on the hood of the car and start bouncing up and down on it as if it were a trampoline.

Kid 2 would continue to egg on Kid 1 renewing the track meet about the car. Kid 4 would jump up on the hood of the car, forcing Kid 3 from the hood onto the roof. At this point, the entire car would be shaking, warping and protesting the two kids jumping up and down on it, never in time with each other.

Kid 6, who was more of a toddler than a Kid, would be standing in the same place she'd been left, looking onward to the circus with her own clothes a disheveled and hair not quite in place.

Kid 5 had usually gone rogue by this point and had dragged the hose used to water the foundation plantings out from where it was stored. Just as the circus seemed to be running out of energy, the hose would be turned on and everyone sprayed with icy-cold water.

Seeing that Mom's coffee mug was still in place on the roof of the car, Kid 3 would momentarily stop jumping, take aim and with all his might, kick the mug off the car and down the parking lot.

It was usually at this point that Charles' would critique Kid 3's kick noting both the distance and array of the coffee splatter. "That one was impressive... it's certainly better than last weeks. It's almost as though he's been practicing. Ope! It's now 10 after. They are really running late this week."

Most weeks, it was at this moment that Mom would reappear. Seeing the pandemonium she would yell out "What the Hell?!" and it was as if time stood still; all movement and noise ceased and the kids stood frozen in place. Mom would typically continue spouting off a series of commands blended in with swear words, and as though in shock, Kid 5, hose still in hand, would turn to face Mom with a look of fear on his face. And nearly every single week, she got nailed right in the face with a jet of ice-cold water; sometimes more often than others.

She would stop mid-word, her mouth in a perfectly shaped 'O', shake her hands to flick the water away, look at her watch and after taking a moment to realize what time it was, shriek "Holy Shit! We are so F'n Late! Get in the G'D Car we need to GO!!"

With that, the stooges all piled into the clown car, mom managed to get it to sputter to life one more time, they would pull out, and head out to church with a trail of black exhaust behind them.

As silence returned to our neighborhood, a nearby neighbor would go out, turn the water off and return the hose to it's proper location. Over the course of the week someone, usually Randy, would collect up the coffee mug and any other wayward belongings.

"Well, that's one more adventure with the LSK's" I said one weekend.

"LSK's?" asked Charles

"Yeah, Little Stephen Kings. They seem like the sort who grow up to be a character in one of his books."

"Oh, I thought you meant Little Shit Kids."

"That works too."

Thusly the perfect covert description for terribly behaved children came to be.

Banta

The Christmas spirit is certainly present in the Olson household. It's Christmas Eve, and the day has been filled with Christmas movies of all genres and flavors, reading Christmas related books for school, eggnog, frosting cookies, dancing for snow and of course, bickering.

The kids, eager to prepare for Santa are busily asking Charles and I for chores that need to be done, areas to be cleaned and what time they need to go to bed in the hopes that Christmas day arrives all the sooner.

JB remembered that we forgot to build the Santa Trap that was the focus of so many energies a few weeks ago, and rather than suggesting that we whip it up tonight, shrugged her shoulders and said "Oh well, we can do it next year!"

When told that cleaning off the stairs that connect the bedrooms to the living area, JB excitedly remembered that one of her school friends shared with her and the class, that if the house was not in order, if the children did not obey mama and daddy, then Banta, Santa's evil twin brother would come instead and no one wanted that to happen!

Banta was indeed an evil twin brother because "he takes all of the good presents from under the tree and leaves only underwear, socks and coal!" Both BW and JB responded in horror at the idea, and quickly collected their belongings and stashed them in their rooms.

Thusly the house is now spotless (save for the kid's rooms), the classic 'A Christmas Story' is playing, and both kids are eagerly gnawing on candy canes while regularly checking out the time. Charles and I quietly laugh at the kids' new found understanding of the movie's humor as we wait for them to tire so we can stow the presents under the tree. (We started this practice years ago, after several presents fell casualties to the inquisitive nature of two busy greyhounds.)

BW wistfully asked if we can watch Polar Express before trucking off to bed, and it is with that lone question with the softened look of warmth and holiday spirit that I knew that we had one more year, hopefully more, before the magic of Santa is no longer found within the hearts of the little ones.

And, knowing this, the Christmas Spirit has arrived within this Mama's heart.

Pleading the Fifth

Today, while the minions were at school, Charles and I took advantage of the kidless time to finish up some last minute gift getting for JB and BW.

While reviewing what we'd collected to date, I asked if Charles' had seen the cord collector critters that I'd picked up along the way. He replied that he had, that they were in one of the piles in 'The Room that holds all gifts Magical and Not-so'.

To his response, I ruefully replied, "Well, it's not as thought BW will actually use it, it seems beyond him to wind any cords up."

"Oh, he just models his behavior after what he sees."

"Pardon me, are you saying that I'm not good at putting things away?"

"I didn't say it."

"So, you ARE saying that I don't."

"No, I didn't."

"You just smiled. You did. Are you also saying he is MY child."

"I plead the Fifth."

"Brat."

"Yup, I plead the Fifth."

The Tangled Yarn

I just published what is likely my last post on my prior blog. And while those words left me feeling a bit of sadness, the overwhelming feeling is of warmth, comfort and joy. And an eagerness that is irritating the hell out of my little family.

Over the last several months I've come to realize that along the way I have outgrown this blog, this space that has allowed me to work through and share so many many adventures. I am no longer the 'CAD Monkey' of a Landscape Architect that took to the 'Internets' to try and create something, some place that was an indication that I truly existed, even though many times it felt as though I was an invisible S@HM who was swallowed up by the tasks and obligations of small children after having slayed many a dragon as a once upon a time professional working mother.

My god that was a long sentence. *Phew*

As a blogger since 2008, I've seen my writing improve, I've grown as a person and I've found my voice. Where I once thought of myself as a 'Drafting Monkey' I now realize that I am that, but so much more and this blog, this place no longer represents who I see myself to be.

Over the years I've shared stories of my children growing while I hold on by what seems a single thread of sanity during long summer vacations. I've had countless laughs as I put words onto paper of interactions between the MinYons and we their parents. Heartaches and tears have also been shared in talking about the loss, the mourning and the growth achieved from the actual loss of AunT and the virtual loss of my parents and siblings.

And that will continue. I have no idea if I have an audience to 'hear' my voice, but if you are out there, I invite you to join me as I and my little family continue to grow.

I've spent the better part of the weekend moving most of my posts to this site, so that they will continue to live and breath on. You will notice that many of them have been removed from my former blog because like most if not all good things, must come to an end. That included my former blog.

So, at some point, when it feels right it will cease to exist except as a memory. But to me that is not a sad thing. It is something to be celebrated - and so I invite you to join me and I welcome you here, in my little space. Where the only children or dogs allowed are part of the story.

~ Amy

The Loss of Innocence

I find it both ironic and sickening that I as a volunteer at River City's hospital,  I had to attend 'Active Shooter Training' earlier this week. Yesterday, the airwaves and media are filled with the news of a lone gunman who entered an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut and for reason's yet known, opened fire and took the lives of 20 kindergardeners and several adults.

My heart goes out to the families who's little ones never had a chance to live, to those children who no longer have the blissful joy of childhood ignorance, and for the community forever changed. With only 27,000 members of the town, it is a near certainty that everyone living there knows many of those lives taken or destroyed.

This morning I awoke to find that beyond the sentiments of sorrow from a nation in shock at this tragedy, the news and media are filled with polarizing sentiments regarding the serious nature of the cursed situation that befell the families and community members in Connecticut.

Please, to those who are calling for action at this moment, do not diminish the loss of these innocents by politicizing the behavior of what is one sick individual and to not cast blame without knowing the details of the situation.

This is not about guns, this is about something far deeper and it will not be solved if we do not come together as guardians of our young and without casting blame and declaring who is more righteous than the other.

Now is the time to pause and mourn the innocence lost. Once the tiny souls have been put to rest, let us then begin the process of preventing this from happening again.