Musings on the Mustard Bomb...

The year was 2001. There was a little girl bun in the oven. We were living at "Grandpa's House", young and poor, still sort of newlywed. Pregnant me, too tired after a long day teaching Junior High Hoodlums, collapsed on the couch. Stewart came home from work, took one look at me, and decided to call Zubs -- Springville's finest sandwiches. In my oh-so-complicated way, I ordered my sandwich the way I like it. No mayo, put mustard on instead. (Hot subs with mayo make me gag. Quizno's makes me gag. Pregnancy makes me gag.) The Zub's employee on the phone was a boy I remembered from one of our many fine establishment visits. Memorable because he had two hearing aids and his speech was...well..."deaf sounding". I dozed off on the couch while Stewart went to pick up dinner. He came home, set the table, and woke up his cranky, pregnant wife who took one look at her sandwich and began to cry. Yes, I cried. There was mayonaise on my sandwich and NO MUSTARD. If you have never been pregnant, you may not understand why I cried over a sandwich. If you have, you know why and you have probably cried over a sandwich or two yourself. Angry, pregnant, awful, embarrassing me said, "Why on earth do they let the deaf kid take phone orders?" I know. Awful. Humiliating. One of the worst things I've ever said. I would later remember uttering that and cry again, certain that karma had dealt me a deaf child to pay me back for my lack of tolerance. Although I'm not sure which obstinate and disobedient person angered me and dealt me my Maddox. Or, for that matter, which parent I judged for not letting their child "cry it out" and sleep through the night. Meet Lincoln. He woke up twice last night. He's 15 months old, for crying out loud. No pun intended. But it's easier to give the kid a bottle and make him stop crying. I know, I know, let him cry for a few nights and it will stop. Whatever. Anyhow, if it holds true that your children are sent to teach you specific lessons in life, I can see where mine came from.

So now you are wondering what the Mustard Bomb title means. Well, that's where the sandwich story is disputed. In my mind, it goes something like this. I looked in the fridge for some mustard while Stewart patiently scraped the mayonaise off of my sandwich. He shouldn't complain. He's the king of "ketchup only" and really is quite fun to travel with internationally. I fall in love all over again listening to him try to explain to the Moscow McDonald's that his BEEG MAK should not have any cheese. Only ketchup. Also funny in French. Oooh, and in German. Really. Since there was no more mustard in the fridge, I had to open a new bottle. I hate all of that plastic safety seal packaging. I'm sure it's good because people are always in grocery stores trying to poison innocent mustard eaters, right? But at the moment, in utter frustration, as I wrestled with the safety seal, that mustard just slipped out of my fingers, hit the floor with great force, and exploded in all directions. Months later, when I was cleaning the kitchen, I found bits of mustard that I had missed in the Great Mustard Bomb of '01 cleanup. At the moment, though, I think I just cried.

Stewart didn't quite see the same thing as how I remember it. He remembers me behaving like a defensive lineman who has just intercepted a pass, run 99 yards and scored his first career touchdown. He enters the endzone and spikes that mustard...er...ball. He spikes it for everything he's worth because he's not sure if he will ever get to spike another mustard, ball, whatever. Yeah, there's no way that is right. Pregnant people just don't go around throwing mustard, do they?

You can judge the two versions of this story and probably come to your own conclusions. I, however, prefer my version of the memory. And since I've been pregnant a few times, I think I know.

Last night, all of my kids were in bed and I decided that my life was just not exciting enough so I just gave it all a light dusting of chocolate. The world is a beautiful place through rose-colored glasses, so why not covered in chocolate dust? What actually happened was that when attempting to reach my Stephen's hot chocolate mix to make one of my last cups of hot chocolate of the season (yay, yay, yay! It's getting warm!), the huge Costco-sized container slipped from my grasp and hot chocolate floated as if in slow motion through the air and across my kitchen. As I was cleaning it up from the tops of drawers, the backsplash and the floor, I started laughing because I remembered the Mustard Bomb. And, in case you're wondering, it's much more pleasant to wipe up a light dusting of dry hot chocolate mix than it is to clean up mustard.

Shoes

It is so hard to relate to somebody until you have walked a mile in their shoes. As a fan of shoes, you'd think I wouldn't mind walking around in other peoples' shoes. Not so. Setting aside the fact that I have a real foot fetish and don't like my feet being where other peoples' feet are, I can honestly say that I have become quite comfortable in my own shoes.

In my shoes, you'd know what it means to have a deaf child. See...most of you probably don't want to put these shoes on. They are cute shoes but they can be a bit uncomfortable at times.

I really am not complaining. I am so grateful for Hadley and for all that she has taught me. She is a shining light. Her spirit radiates and everyone who knows her absolutely falls in love with her. But...

We were driving home the other day and Hadley and Maddox were both in the back seat. Somehow, it came up that the earth is not actually a circle but a sphere. Hadley tried at least five times to say the word "sphere" but was really having a hard time with it. (Note: Misha, call the speech therapist and ask her to put that on our trouble word list.) After her failed attempts, Maddox clearly says, "No, Hadley, it's SPHERE." I felt my heart drop and I think I could hear Hadley's drop in the back seat.

I know how lucky I am that Hadley can sit in the back seat and even talk about what shape the earth is. I do understand that. I also know that this spherical earth is full of people who say awful things. It's full of awful words and awful thoughts and sometimes, Hadley's deafness spares her from some of the ugliness. Man, it's hard, though. You try to give your children everything. I WOULD give her my ears if I could. I really would. I have these moments when I wonder about what Hadley has in her future.

Last Sunday, Hadley's cochlear implant battery died during church. There were only about 15 minutes left and she asked her teacher if she could come find me to get a new battery. He told her she had to wait. Really? Can you really make that kind of a decision for someone. No, I'm sorry, you don't get to hear for the rest of church. I wasn't mad at him. He really didn't understand. He's never been in Hadley's shoes. We did have a few seconds of awkward tension after church when I asked him why he didn't let her come find me and change her battery. It has just been weighing on my mind, though. See, I understand fully what it's like in my own shoes. I have come to terms with being a parent of a deaf child. I am still not so sure what things are like for Hadley. What would it feel like to not be able to hear sometimes? To have technical difficulties in the middle of birthday parties, church classes, school, movies...that completely turn off the sound.

I know that it's my job as a mom to worry about my kids. I know it's my job to make sure that they have lots of comfortable shoes & stylish shoes; rain boots and snow boots; flip flops and tennis shoes. Hadley....has...a...lot...of...shoes. Literally. But figuratively, back to this whole metaphor of walking in someone else's shoes -- I think she's okay. I think so. She seems to take it all in stride. She seems to wear her shoes well. Could I?