To Hear or Not To Hear: That is the Question, Hamlet.

Husband returned from work for lunch today. Strolling in with a smirk on his face, I asked him how his morning went.

Husband: It was good. So, I had my hearing tested today.

Husband's got this hole in his ear drum from excessive ear infections/tubes/grafts/damage to his ear between the ages of say, birth to say, yesterday. He is also mostly deaf in one ear as a result. This deafness, by the way, drives me to DRINK. If he's looking ahead and his left ear is facing me, he hears NOTHING I say. Nothing.  I thought maybe it was like I was under water, or like Charlie Brown's teacher, but he assures me he hears nothing if that left ear is facing me.

Rather, he can hear me if I whisper "Want to have sex?" without moving my mouth or even looking at him, but he cannot seem to hear me when I say things like, "Hey, can you load and unload the disher?" or "Will you make Kiddo #1's lunch for tomorrow?" or "Honey, I lost our St. Bernard in the grass-- can you possibly cut the lawn today?"

At some point this summer, he was standing outside at Kiddo#1's soccer game on a particularly windy morning and ended up with a doozy of an ear infection that lasted almost a month and blah blah blah. Poor Husband.

So, after finally getting that all cleared up, he was referred to an Ear, Nose and Throat Doc to make sure the damage wasn't permanent or worse than it already was.

And today was the day that he went for his hearing test.

Husband: It was good. So, I had my hearing test today.
Me: Oh?
Husband: I can hear just fine.  In fact, the hearing tester person said that I had "better than average hearing."
Me: (silence)
Husband: (now preparing his lunch with his back to me) Literally, my hearing was so good that I was sitting in the chair and I could not only hear the tones, but also when other people were walking down the hallway outside the test room.
Me: (silence)
Husband: I'm not gonna brag, but I can hear better than some dogs. They tested my high-end and low-end sound recognition, and KER-POW, knocked that one right outta the park.

I know you know what I was busy loudly thinking while he blathered on about his ability to hear. I know you understand what I was thinking, because at around this same point, Husband figured it out, too.

While I just stood there, staring at him with a smirk on my face and nodding supportively, watching him "ker-pow" an invisible baseball out of the park, Husband suddenly stopped talking, looked me in the eyes and realized his folly.

Husband: Um. So. I. Uh.
Me: Yep.
Husband: And, uh, it's, I mean, the test results aren't, like, I mean, they'll type them up.
Me: Uh-huh.
Husband: Like, so once we get the final numbers, uh...
Me: Yes. Yes. We will finally know for certain just how much you can hear and how much you... cannot.
Husband: Actually, there was a lot of wind just getting back into the car.
Me: Oh?
Husband: Yes. And then on the way home, um, someone in the car next to mine fired off a cannon.
Me: Oh?
Husband: There's no winning here.
Me: Probably not.
Husband: Is that the baby crying?
Me: I would have no idea, your hearing is much better than mine.
Husband: (loud, sad exhale) Yes. It would appear so.

Terry Fox Is a Good Person

I was mad at Terry Fox last week.

See, I was supposed to go for my first big, 20-minutes-in-a-row, run and low and behold the Terry Fox Run was going on in MY park, the park where I run.

Sulking, I returned home.

Me: I can't run today.
Hubby: Why not?
Me: Because like, there's a real run going on in the park.
Hubby: Can't you blend in?
Me: Just don't joke. I can't run and it's because real runners are running in MY park.
Hubby: Then go for a run in the world.
Me: Don't toy with my emotions. I'm not there yet.

Off to the basement I sulked. I don't even think there's a better word for what I did, which is why I used it twice in the opening of this bloggy. Lip out, sighing heavily and feeling very sorry for myself, I went down to the basement and began cleaning the toy room.

From the basement I heard Kiddo #1 ask "Where's Mommy?"  When Husband replied to my whereabouts, I heard the gentle, excited jump of her feet while she bounced "That means there's a play date coming! I'm gonna go clean my room!"

Welcome to Real House: you know we're friends when  that's what you see when you arrive. Fake House, as dubbed by my brother, is the way your house looks for holidays, photo shoots and strangers. Real House is the everyday way you live.

Then I started to really be mad at Terry Fox. I mean, here was is this guy who is a Canadian Icon, running for Cancer research, running after he lost his leg, and the running no matter what and then dying because he was running and it spread to his lungs, and HE is the one keeping ME from running (not for Cancer research, no, I run so that I can pretend that my house is clean while I'm gone).

And worst of all, I now have to do the cleaning that I run to avoid doing, because I can't run.

GAH.

I'm a bad person.