I have a very hard time - OK, it's next to impossible for me to put on a front when I'm really thinking about the stupidity level of whatever/whomever I'm dealing with at the moment. I have learned that it is truly best if I RUUUUUUUUUN as fast as I can away from the situation, because otherwise I will wind up in very hot water.
Last week, I was (not surprisingly) sputtering about a conversation I'd had with someone and (not surprisingly) I was irritated. Last straw. Flabbergasted. Disgusted. Sitting on my hands so I don't punch someone. That kind of conversation. I was relaying this conversation to Tom, and also relaying (as if he doesn't actually know what I'm thinking!) what I was actually thinking.
His response...
"When diplomacy fails, it's good to be married to you."
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This week, following our wonderful election process, Tom and I ran into an acquaintance at the library. This guy and I have been debating politics for a year. We weren't in the library for a minute before we got wound up. The librarians, having been witness to our scuffles in the past months, laughed and told us that guns aren't allowed there, and neither is patron harassment. This goof dared to tell me I wasted my vote, because I didn't vote for McCain. (As he did, to keep Obama out of office - yeah, we see how THAT turned out!)
When Tom went to work yesterday, he was talking with this guy's wife (who works with Tom) about our library discourse.
"If your husband and my wife have many more political discussions, one of them is gonna wind up dead."
Her response...
"Oh please, let it be my husband."
Hey! The guy isn't all bad! He let us borrow his truck to bring home a fridge!
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A neighbor stopped by last night. Bucky inhaled his taco salad and disappeared out the door. The minute he closed the door behind him, it opened again and in walked little Abby and her Mama, Crystal. Little Mister D. was happy to see Abby.
Later when Bucky came back in the house, he was standing staring into the kitchen cupboards because apparently the taco salad had worn off - it had been an entire hour, after all! We were sitting at the table, having a nice after-dinner conversation, and Crystal happened to say "I have a yard that needs raked."
Bucky's response...
"I have a wallet that needs filled."
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Savannah is so disgusted about the election results that she can't speak. Her solution?
Tonight, she raked the front yard. Then she dug around in our shed and found 2 large Ron Paul signs and 1 small one, and stuck them up in our front yard.
This empowered her so much, she took her rake and broom and cleaned up the very nasty neighbor's yard as well. (They don't like us. Not a bit. We don't really care. We ain't movin'!)
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Gabe has been working very hard at school. Everyone is trying to get him to use some basic modified sign language.
He can sign "Candy" and "Ball" fairly well. He waves goodbye to me every morning when he heads out the door to school.
One night last week, he was sitting in his wheelchair waiting for us to finish eating dinner. I noticed his hand was on his throat. (sign for thirsty) We asked him if he wanted some water. Tom gave him a drink, and the whole time he was drinking, he kept his hand on his throat. Eventually he turned his head away from the cup. When Tom tried to get him to drink more, he jerked his head to the side (always his cue that he's done). But this time, he also flung his hand away from his throat. He followed this with his hilarious guffaw/evil giggle.
Yeah for Gabe!!!
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Preston is quite quiet most of the time. He is a deep thinker, and often prefers to be alone. I don't get it! Tom does.
He decided to go to youth group tonight. When I picked him up, he told me...
"I talked to a couple people. That's pretty good for me. I'm not very social."
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Little Mister D. is developing into a very well-rounded boy. He's most assuredly into the "Why?" and "NO!" stages. Recently, after flinging crayons all over the place, he was told by Dad to pick up the flung crayons.
"NO! YOU pick up cwayons!"
Dad - heading toward D. with a determined look on his serious face...
D.'s response...
rush..rush...rush as fast as those short little legs can rush in cute little jeans to pick up the cwayons...
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