Honey, I lost the ring…

It’s been ages since I’ve posted – no excuses, just had a brilliant (OK, I’m sort of lying, but the next couple of posts will elaborate on that.. does that work in keeping you enthralled?) summer and a return to school which became absolutely frenetic when we found out we were expecting an Ofsted visit 4 weeks into the new term! It went well by the way, slightly embarrassed that the inspector observed my amazing teaching skills in… no, not Maths, not Literacy, not Science, no, not PE either… Emotional Literacy. For emotional literacy we look at different feelings, and quite often, myself and my brilliant CSW (communication support worker for the children, and probably me sometimes when my hearing is shot every Friday afternoon!)  will act out an emotion. Which is great. Really great. The kids get it, they get to discuss it, think out their ideas, and go off and do their own. But this time, we needed to do it in front of an Ofsted inspector. Cue me explaining ‘surprised’ in the guise of a surprise birthday party we planned for our CSW, and exaggerating  and prolonging the emotion in order for the deaf children to get the chance to see it, absorb and understand the connection between my actions and my CSWs… thankfully the Ofsted inspector, from what I could hear anyway, had a right old chuckle at us.

Anyway, back to the title of this post. In April, the husband was taking part in the London marathon, something he had been training really seriously for. I mean, 3 running sessions a week, and closer to April, 20 mile sessions on a Sunday to prepare. On the Sunday, my family came over to come with me to support Ollie on the streets while he ran. We decided to go to the 14th and 21st mile marker so we could stay in one place and see him run the 14th mile one way and come back for the 21st mile.

I hadn’t been wearing my wedding ring for ages, because I gave it to a friend to look after while playing netball, and forgot to get it back off her. I thought it would be nice to pop the engagement ring back on as a show of support (yes, he wouldn’t notice me wearing a ring while running, but it’s the thought that counts, right?). Only, when I went to open the ring compartment of my jewellery box, it wasn’t there. Hmm. I could’ve sworn I put it in there when I swapped it back for my wedding ring… but I thought not to worry about it and I was sure it was somewhere, and off I went to the London marathon.

He did pretty well, 4 hours and 11 minutes, and complained he took it easy cos he kept expecting to ‘hit the wall’. My fault for making him watch ‘Run Fat Boy, Run’ the week before. Opps. I did think I was being the helpful, supportive wife, no?

It was playing on my mind about the engagement ring and I had been cognitively going through the last time I had it, and kept coming back to the same thing, that I put it in the jewellery box. I was so sure of it, and adamant about that even. The only person who could’ve taken it out was the man who had just run a marathon and probably didn’t need to be asked about it, that day… but I couldn’t help it. I did mention I needed it made a size smaller…

“I think I’ve lost my engagement ring” I say to him while going up the escalators at Covent Garden. He’s staring at his shiny medal when the words register and looks at me sternly.

“You better not have. You better find it”. I’m pretty certain now I’ve just brought him crashing back to earth. Opps. So I guess he didn’t take it out for anything.

Needless to say, the journey home was a bit awkward. I suppose any couple would have an awkward journey when you’ve admitted you think you’ve lost a ring that cost a fair bit!

I looked in the jewellery box properly when I got home, in all the other compartments. Nothing. I looked in my bags, my coats, my jeans pockets, I texted a few friends to see if they could remember when I last wore it, looked through my facebook photos to double check when I thought I last wore it…

Back in school on Monday, I was a bit depressed thinking I had definitely somehow lost the ring, when I got a text from the husband. ‘Just to let you know I’m not happy with you’.

Oh piss off.

I kept searching for it when I got home on Monday, and still, nothing. By this point I was going crazy because I was SO sure I left it in my jewellery box.

Tuesday, at work, depressed even more, and my colleagues noticed it. Got another text from the husband. ‘I’m still not happy with you, just so you know. You need to find that ring’.

That’s it. I hammer out a reply, ‘Look —- you don’t need to text me something I already know! Don’t you think I’m feeling bad enough already?’ he replied but I decided to ignore him for the rest of the day.

I stayed at work late, when I got a text from the husband, again.

‘Found the ring’.

I replied thinking he was asking me a question because he does that quite often, forget to put the question mark on.

‘Obviously not, otherwise I would have texted you’.

‘No, I meant, I found the ring’.

Cue me calling him and running around my school telling everyone the ring had been found!

Turns out it had fallen through the ring compartment right inside the jewellery box. He discovered it by completely emptying my jewellery box and shaking it (I won’t complain too much about the fact he just shoved all my earrings, necklaces, rings back haphazardly, it’s not important right….?) and he could hear a ring rattling.

Just goes to show you should always follow your gut instinct, and delve a bit further!

But that doesn’t compare to the story I heard about our two recently married friends who went on a group European break with some friends and the groom accidently shook his hand too hard and his wedding ring flew off. Never to be seen again despite all of them forensically combing the ground for it. By the river.

The following week, when another friend on the trip was doing the laundry, she discovered a ring in her fiance’s coat (no jokes about finding dodgy knickers please!) By sheer luck, it had flown right into his pocket!

If that’s not fate or destiny telling you something, I don’t know what that is!

Shortcuts…

It’s been a while since I’ve written here. I can only offer you the excuse that all teachers will give you… school. manic. hectic. no social life. Yup, that’s pretty much it. I can’t believe we’re nearly at the end of an academic year, my NQT (newly qualified teacher) year, and we’re fast approaching the summer holidays. The difference in my class pupils from September is quite staggering. Obviously, I can’t go into details, but I am able to have a proper conversation with a few of them compared to the beginning of the year due to the language delay. The others were always quite good anyway. This is what teaching is all about. Reading, writing, Maths, Science, ICT and most importantly, common sense…

Anyway, the husband and I have planned an amazing summer holiday. We toyed with the idea of spending 6 weeks driving about America in a convertible, lounging around, having lazy summer hazy days, or booking a luxury 2 week exotic holiday somewhere. What did we settle on? 2 weeks in his parents place in Tipperary. Yes, it’s that place, it does exist (believe it or not, but when I told a few workmates, they asked if it really existed cos they’d only ever heard it in the song… you know, “it’s a long long long way to…. TIPP-ERRRR-RARRRYYY!”) in Ireland. And, no, it’s not really a long way. If you were driving from N Ireland, yes. I imagine they invented the song. But fly into Shannon, and with a car hire, you’re there in 30 minutes. Ah, Ryanair has ruined that song for them. Bet the irish peasants and farmers of old are turning in their graves.

The husband has recently been promoted at work, which was really exciting. He’s finally been offered sponsorship to do his Teacher of the Deaf course, and I had to fight my case to do mine, given that I’m relatively new, usually you’d have to teach a few years before doing it, but there is a massive shortage of Teachers of the Deaf, and quite honestly, I just want to get on with it! So, the husband and I are starting it this year… together. When he told me about his promotion and sponsorship for the course, I obviously congratulated him and told him how happy I was and all that palaver that wives do to support and encourage their husbands…

“You better not be on the same course as me though, you know you’re just going to copy my work!”

“That’s true…. That’s true”

Well, gotta give him credit for being honest…

Boys and their…

The husband was taking me to the airport on a Friday in a rush after school so that I could make my flight home, which is N Ireland, for the weekend. We don’t get to talk serious stuff much during the week, what with teaching being long hours. I am now beginning to understand the utmost importance of why teachers fight for longer holidays. OK, I can hear you protesting virtually already, but I’ll save the arguments for another blog post. So, shush! Or I’ll move your name down to the yellow warning face. Yes, I really do say stuff like that.

Anyway, I was yabbering away about my week, and he was going to yabber away about his. You know when you get yabbering away and you get quite passionate about the topic you’re talking about, you get into the flow, and all your excellent points make perfectly good logical sense, as if you should be standing on a platform speaking to the masses and stirring up support for your speech? Not quite “I have a dream..” moment, but I wasn’t too far off.  I was feeling that as I was talking away, spiralling out phrases that even political writers would take note of and use for campaign speakers to win votes.

The issue I was particularly passionate about was the issue that many hearing parents of deaf children don’t know many deaf adult role models. My husband and I, and certainly, many of my deaf friends, had taken it for granted that we all had parents rolled up their sleeves, who went above and beyond to ensure we all got a decent education and fought tooth and nail to get the support we needed. But what if you’re a person who genuinely just isn’t sure of what to do, where to go for support, and even worse, doesn’t understand the needs of a deaf child?

Sometimes I think having a deaf child is like a lottery. You get all sorts of parents from different cultural backgrounds, ethnic minorities, classes, backgrounds, religions and so on. Hearing people know all too well the differences in those groups can make to a child’s upbringing, but throw a deaf child in the mix, and it becomes a lot more complicated. So, you could get parents who do everything possible to help their deaf children succeed, but there are also parents who are willing to try, but don’t quite grasp it, and some parents who quite frankly, couldn’t care less. I know that about 90% of deaf children are born to hearing parents, the majority who have never met a deaf person before until their own deaf child.

I know hearing children of hearing parents can have the same problems as deaf children of hearing parents do, but the major crucial difference is that hearing children with, for lack of a better word, shit parents, can still pick up on learning all around them via overhearing in those early years. For example, they could be playing in the park/playground etc and overhear a parent disciplining their child.  They will understand authority and discipline even if its indirect. A deaf child? Totally missing out on that learning. Hasn’t a clue what authority / discipline is one iota.

If you understand that, think about all the other things hearing children pick up on before they start school. The tones of people’s voices to display sarcasm, irony etc, the wide range of conversations people have, appropriate or not, the kind of conversations people have in society with shops, chemists, doctors etc.  They need to be taught it directly and explicitly, which is why I think so many deaf children have behavioral difficulties / tantrums.  They’re constantly being ‘scolded’ for things they don’t understand yet. I’m pretty sure my mother will agree to that. In fact, she thought my brother and I had behavioral issues before it was discovered we were deaf. In fact, she will probably say we still do have behavioral issues…

So, I was telling the husband my idea about having deaf role model events for hearing parents at my school. I said it was ‘odd’ in a sense, because they were talking about issues about their child’s futures and I wanted to just bring in about 50 of my deaf friends who have  a range of fantastic jobs, with different audiological aids, use a range of communication methods, similar challenges etc. This was my “life”, it was completely normal to me, but yet so alien to them. I needed to show them this, in some way or the other.

I had already shown our wedding album to some of the deaf children who kept asking to see it, and they were aghast at the fact I had a deaf husband, the majority of my friends were deaf and the fact we had a mixture of deaf friends who varied in their audiological aids, and communication styles. What I thought was a wedding album with my amazing husband and showcased an fantastic weekend in N Ireland, with fantastic friends and family, but for them, it was the moment they realised there were deaf adults out there who were friends with each other and even attended each other’s weddings and deaf people even married EACH OTHER! GOOD LORD! What was normal for me, was alien for them. This was why deaf ‘role models’ were important, I said to him, because the majority of deaf children are the only deaf person in their family. Hearing parents need this just as much as their deaf children.

So, I was coming to the end of my rallying speech, expecting a little round of applause, and if not that, at least a gallant nod of the head in approval, and looked at him, just on the M11 towards the airport. He nodded, and I awaited his response of my amazing, inspiring, motivational, making a difference to the goddamn world speech.

His response?

“Tom got a BMW X3!”

Boys and their toys. Deaf or hearing, boys and their frickin’ toys!

I feel sorry for you…

The husband and I got ourselves dolled up for a wedding reception, the first wedding we’ve been to since our own. It was a nice feeling, going as a Mr and Mrs officially. The wedding reception was in a nice quaint pub in Hackney, and as soon as I walked in the door I could sense a chilled and happy atmosphere. The bride was even wearing a beautiful 50′s light green dress, which I thought suited the vibe of the wedding.

The husband’s family are family friends of the bride’s family, my mother in law started her nursing career at the same time with the mother of the bride, and they have been firm friends ever since. There was another lady there with them, both of whom had come to our wedding. I hope my friends and I will be able to do that in 30 odd years, attend  each other children’s weddings! I was looking forward to having a fun evening.

However, the batteries died on me as soon as I walked into the pub. Balls, balls, balls! I wear a cochlear implant, and it really, REALLY aids my listening, especially in a hearing environment. BALLS. I haven’t been without a CI in a hearing environment for about 6 years, so I knew my lipreading skills were really rusty.  It’s actually deteriorated as my listening has gotten better. I had no spare batteries with me, and no one else had any on them either. BALLS. As people started talking to me, it dawned on me that it was going to be a looooooong night.

Obviously, if I was at a deaf party, or at a party with lots of people who knew BSL, it wouldn’t even be an issue if the batteries went dead. I’d pop my CI in my bag and get on with the evening. But at hearing parties, I absolutely rely on my CI, and having it non-functioning made me realise how far I had come with it. I remember going to hearing parties with hearing aids and would still have great difficulty following conversations. The CI made life in a hearing world a lot easier, and suited my lifestyle.

I came up with a plan, and asked the husband to make sure he signed around me so that I could pick up conversation topics, and with lipreading and guesswork (and plenty of alcohol) I was sure I would be fine. I was a bit annoyed I wouldn’t be able to follow the speeches though, but the husband said he would try to interpret for me. He’s deaf as well, but hears really well, but in a chatty pub with no microphones, even some of his family were struggling to follow.

When people started talking to me, especially new people, I quickly worked out if I was going to have ease lipreading them or not. A family friend who grew up with the husband had come all the way over from Australia and I was meeting him and his children for the first time. BALLS. Just not ideal to have a CI defunct! But he was relatively easy to lipread, and it really helped that he was so nice looking too (if he’s reading this, erm, hi) so I was happy enough chatting away with him. He knew I was deaf and knew I had flat batteries.  I also had the husband telling people his robot wife had powered down without the batteries, charming. But as more and more people were talking to me I quickly realised my lipreading stamina was about to expire, and quickly.

Also, the husband isn’t so great at using SSE (signing while he is speaking english), he can either only speak orally or use BSL. When he uses BSL he is literally using a different language as his voice is off and the grammar and structure of BSL is very different to english.  There were times when I had no clue what a conversation was about unless someone filled me in. Just like the old days…

Sure enough, the speeches started, and I couldn’t find the husband. I scoured the room for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Everyone was smiling and laughing with the speeches so I made sure I smiled and laughed at the same time, an old habit of mine coming back…

The father-in-law saw me looking for the husband, and signed “I feel sorry for you”. He signed the sorry bit and I lipread the rest. I was a bit puzzled, but then again, he is so used to me having a CI in all the time I’ve known him so in his eyes he felt I was missing out, and I hate to admit it, but I was. It had been so long since I wore hearing aids, and like I said, if I was at a deaf party it wouldn’t be an issue, but it was an issue being at a hearing party. I did feel like I was putting part of my personality away because I couldn’t follow at ease. I responded that I was fine, that he can sign, and I could lipread, and that was that.

I was getting annoyed with the husband though. He knew I was going to ‘fow’ (BSL for ‘I don’t understand’) the wedding speeches and he knows I love sentimental stuff, so I was getting irate with him for not being there when I really needed him. Isn’t this what marriage is meant to be about? Being there for each other in times of need? This was my time of need, where the heck was he!

The speeches had finished, and they announced the winner of the cake competition. People baked a cake and brought it in. My brother in law is a chef and made this amazing tower of chocolate, caramel and white chocolate profiteroles. He won, much to our delight, but the husband still wasn’t around to share it with us!

Just then, my mother in law said that he had gone to Tesco’s to get me batteries for the CI.

Oh.*rewind and delete all the cursing of the husband*

I love that he knows me well enough to know I just wanted the CI to work and to get on with it. He knows as well as I do if it was a deaf party, he wouldn’t need to go to Tesco’s. Somehow, I think if I married a hearing man, he probably would have just incorporated being an interpreter for the night, which is what I don’t really want. The husband remembers me with hearing aids and hearing parties, and he knows too well the difference between that and my CI. He knows I love mingling at parties, and am fiercely independent. All together, now, aww. I will make sure I make him some dinner this week as a good wife…

The next morning at a family dinner (hungover, really hungover. I felt better when I saw the brother-in-law’s girlfriend who looked as rough as I did, how many Jaegerbombs did we do?!) I reminded the father in law what he said the night before.  He looked at me with a contorted look and said he didn’t mean it like that, but he could see I was really quiet as the evening had progressed. And to be fair, he was right. I always read/hear about hearing people saying stuff to patronise deaf people, but sometimes I think we need to take a step back, and try to see it from their point of view.

It’s too easy to get offended and defensive, but it doesn’t always mean we’re right. He knows me too well to know what I’m like as a person, and I was quieter than usual that night, so I know now what he meant, even if I didn’t quite the night before.  He was referring to the idea that without my CI, my lively personality is almost powered down for the night as well, especially around hearing people. As much as I hate to admit it, I do rely on the CI in a hearing world.  Saying that, I know some of my Deaf friends will feel reel at this and feel sorry for me that I rely on my CI so much!

He ended the conversation saying the pub was so noisy last night he was struggling to follow conversations anyway, so he was nearly in the same boat as me.

On that note though, I really must brush up on my lipreading skills. And plan a nice dinner for that Tesco walking husband of mine…

Christmas, a time for…

Every year, I have gone home to N Ireland for Christmas. My reasoning for doing this year on year without fail (apart from that hijacked proposal on our holiday to Egypt, which I am still not complaining about…) is because I don’t get to head home much. People think it’s so easy to just book a flight via ryanair/easyjet and hop on and be home in an hour. Unfortunately, it’s not the case. I have to book a late flight because of school, but not so late so that I can’t not catch up with the nocturnal members of my family, and I have to book an early afternoon flight back Sunday so that I can get ready for school on Monday. It technically becomes a dayer trip home if you think about it.

Anyway, so every Christmas, I get excited about going home, mainly because it’s a PROPER Christmas when you’re home. Yes, I said it, Christmas anywhere else but home isn’t real. Even if you have bought a house in North London, it just isn’t real. Everyone knows that all the working professionals vacate London come Christmas day and spend it wherever their families are. Which backs up my opinion that Christmas in London isn’t Christmas! Plus, you’re more likely to encounter snow in N Ireland in London. Last year we were knee deep in snow, and we had amazing icicles hanging down from the overhanging roofs of the house which probably saved us a few bob on ice cubes until March.

Every Christmas, I get to see my friends from N Ireland and we have our traditional Boxing Day session. We usually get together at a friend’s parents for dinner, then head out. I always always enjoy them mainly because conversation and banter flows like we all only saw each other yesterday, but isn’t so. There’s always stories, secrets and scandals that come out from everyone, and then they’re all neatly tucked away until the following year.

Most of all, my husband absolutely loves coming over to my parents place for Christmas. Which further reaffirms my opinion and belief that Christmas in London isn’t REAL. One Christmas he stayed at home with his family (which of course, was enjoyable, but isn’t REAL cos it’s in London!). He missed all the craic, relaxed banter, food, atmosphere that you get with a REAL Christmas outside of London. Everyone is happy and enjoying Christmas outside of London I’m telling you.

This year, the husband asked me to stay in London for Christmas with his family for a change. I spluttered and gave all the reasons above to go home as so. I cannot possibly spend Christmas in London. Where in the small print when we got married said I had to spend Christmas in London where it isn’t REAL with his family? I would like to see said document right now… but his reasoning was valid – his elder brother was incarcerated and his family were in need of sticking together. Dammit, none of my reasons above were going to trump a ‘brother in prison’ card. Bullocks.

I went home late November for the weekend (dayer, as you’ll now understand) and told my family, I wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. My Mum was obviously understandable about it all, my sisters didn’t really say anything because they knew as much as I did, the ‘brother in prison’ card trumps all.

My sister on the quiet however, told me that Mum and everyone else wanted something different this Christmas, and that perhaps they could come over to London for Christmas. Where Christmas isn’t REAL if you’re in London, but they fancied something different. I told her to just book a flight and come on over, but she said Mum was too polite to ask. I encouraged (OK, sternly told her instructions) my sister to nudge Mum into organising it for all the family to come over.

I was working at school the following week when my Mum sent a text simply saying “We’re all coming to yours for Christmas!”. Then later on in the week it became, “Not sure if we are coming! Dad says he can’t get off work!” cue me frantically texting my Dad coercing him to organise time off. It isn’t like he has to ask his boss, because he IS the boss. That’s another story about my irish farming mentality approach to work and my Dad. Eventually, they had it all sorted, they were on the boat for 3pm Christmas Eve and were down in London just after midnight on Christmas Day. They were the last ones on the boat, because of my Dad’s typical leave-at-the-last-minute approach to everything. He was even late for his own wedding to Mum, so it has kind of set a precedent for their marriage.

We are very lucky that both sides of the family get on, considering how many horror stories we hear about the in-laws. We’re also quite lucky that both sides are hearing, so there is none of the communication issues that takes years to resolve (ie, deaf parents who communicate solely by BSL) before both families can feel comfortable and can converse comfortably. The husband and I will be the ‘deaf parents’ to our ‘very likely to be hearing’ children’s future in-laws so we know communication will be an issue then, but for now, it’s great that we can focus on practising good relationships in order to deal with it later on without the added burden.

Conversation late in the night turned to Westlife, and their retirement in 2012, and my Mum and I started talking about how their records wouldn’t sell so well if they did it in their proper irish accent. So cue us singing all their  songs, in particular, Lighthouse, in the proper irish accent. Try it, you’ll see a big difference. It really doesn’t sell so well!

My husband and I exchanged a look at one point throughout the whole evening and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.We had gotten to his house about 2pm and before we knew it, it was 11pm. A sign of a great day.

Christmas in London, or anywhere, is REAL because of family.

It also helps when your family come over from N Ireland, and when the friends in N Ireland are away to Spain so the annual Boxing Day session doesn’t happen so you’re not missing out on anything.

 

 

 

Dirty weekend away…

The husband and I decided we would go away for the weekend just before Christmas. Which actually meant, I scoured the internet for a good ol’ European town to visit, booked the cheapest Easyjet flights possible, a nice hotel and ensured we had everything we needed for the trip. I make this quite clear to my friends now, because last time I sorted out a holiday for us two was to Egypt during Christmas, only for him to propose to me (which of course, I am not complaining about) but everyone thought he was so thoughtful and romantic by organising a holiday to Egypt OVER Christmas just to propose to me! Technically, he hijacked our holiday with a proposal. But really, I’m not complaining…

 

People overrate these ‘dirty’ weekends away. It adds pressure to just do the ‘dirty’, and not much else!  The husband and I were really, just very happy to jump on a plane and go away somewhere relatively quiet and different to just spend some time together and switch off. We both work as teachers, and if you’re not familiar with deafness and the Christmas term, it is basically trying to keep up with a very noisy and very busy half term at 100mph. We obviously love our jobs, but like most deaf people working in a hearing world, we have to work twice as hard to listen, which often means we are burnt out by the end of the week, never mind the end of the half term.

As soon as we landed we hit the spa hotel, checked it out, had a nap (no joke, we were that tired!) and then hit the town for some much needed food. The first night was the best night. It felt like I was on a date with the husband, except we were totally relaxed, catching up properly, and cracking jokes (mostly me, followed by my cackling at my own joke) the rest of the stay was spent in the spa hotel, out in town exploring, eating and drinking. There was the gorgeous Christmas market on, where I bought the most comfortable woolly socks, ever. The shops were surprisingly good, we manged to scour a pair of boots for him, and a pair of jeans for me, for 120 euros altogether. Of course, we discovered that the spa hotel had a private VIP sauna room that you could hire… I guess we sneaked in a little bit of ‘dirty’ in the end!

It was very cold, but gave me all the more reasons to cuddle up and just talk. It reinforces my belief that communication is the key to most relationships surviving the distance. If you haven’t got communication I think everything just falls apart. I don’t know about other people, but I think deaf people know this more than most given how communication is such a crucial and important issue from the very beginning. Someone once told me that deaf people have the highest inter-racial (if that’s the right word) marriage rates ever. As in, compared to other people of the same race, deaf marry deaf more than any other people of the same race marrying each other. This includes for example a black deaf man marrying a white deaf woman, an asian deaf woman marrying a chinese deaf man and so on. I really must track this down. It doesn’t surprise me, if it is true, because communication is one of the true foundations of a good relationship.

I also must mention I got a bit pissed on the first night. After a fantastic meal, copious amounts of wine, and mulled wine from the Christmas market, it all came back up hours later. Damn it.  Incase you’re wondering where we went, it was to Tallinn, Estonia. Well worth a visit, and maybe one of the last remaining European cities where everything is reasonably priced (especially the spa resort- it came to about 300 euros for 3 nights including breakfast and 4 spa treatments between us!)

I must say, the husband was very surprised I booked Tallinn, and even asked me with doubt if I realised it was very cold. As in, it’s colder than home, N Ireland. He knows too well I hate the cold, but I said I liked to explore new places. Needless to say, it was fricking cold. Very cold! But not to the point where I wasn’t enjoying myself. And that spa resort helped

Surprisingly. Tallinn is the birthplace of Skype and are very forward in free wifi access all over the town. Why can’t London be like that? It seems to me Tallinn know how to get the simple things right. In London it seems like it has to go through hoop by obstacle through bureaucracy through loophole through dodgy business before it’s set up and not even working properly.

So, definitely going to book another weekend away sometime next summer, probably to Italy. We always look at the Easyjet magazine on our way back from a weekend away and decide where we’re going next. Italy is the target.

Now we’re back to near the end of January and we’re overworked again, but we have Estonian memories to hold onto until the next weekend away where we just ‘switch off’. I just wonder if we will be able to do this every weekend if we have kids….

Sleeptalking

My husband sleeptalks. And sleepwalks. I knew this for a long period of time before we got married. We had numerous occasions, where I would wake up looking like I had drunk whiskey in a dodgy bar with some fellas from a redneck town in America talking about how bitching life is, then had tried to walk my way home but fall over and drag myself through a bushes, only to be captured by the police for trespassing a neighbour’s property and eventually be released at 6am. And he would look at me having what looks like the best sleep of his life and go “jesus, what time did you get to bed at?”

If only he knew. What I don’t always understand is, and am actually quite grateful for, is he uses sign language in his sleeptalking to me. I’m deaf, so he could be speaking the other 50percent of the time and I would be blissfully unaware. But he’s deaf as well, and has been pretty much oral for most of his life. In fact, we are pretty much oral with each other (get your minds out of the dirty gutters you) and use very little sign language except when we have our hearing aids / CIs out. That always psychologically interests me. We’re both very comfortable with our deaf identities before you ask, as fluent BSL users.

There was one time when I woke up, in our bed. Stark cold. Absolutely freezing. I slowly realised there was no duvet, and no husband. If there’s one way to piss me off, it’s the cold. Coming from N Ireland, I should be used to it but I swear the girls in my family are just as bad so I’m sure its some hereditary disease we don’t know about yet. Anyway, I walked into the spare room to check if he was there. Nope. Bathroom? Maybe in the bath, running cold water on himself? That might make me feel better I suppose. Nope. Walked downstairs, to an empty kitchen, dining room, and in a glimmer of hope, what looked like a human being on the sofa was actually my favourite furry blanket, nope. Then it occured to me the only place he could be was in the single bedroom, where our roommate sleeps. Uh-oh.

Before you get filthy and deeply disturbing thoughts, she was away that weekend.

I saw him sitting on the bed with the duvet wrapped around him, so feeling the utmost sympathy I switched the bright lights on.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Umm…. I’m sleeping here….”

“Fine…. Gimme the duvet!” *snatches duvet off him and storms out of room turning bright light off*

I dived back into bed, and could feel the vibrations of him walking about, clearly disoriented but as soon as I was warm again I drifted off to sleep, in about 30 seconds. I know, I’m too nice, I waited 20 seconds too long.

Anyway, there’s been so many, but one of the recent one has to be when I came up to bed later than him during the Christmas holidays and turned the TV on in the bedroom which clearly ‘stirred’ something in him.

*pulls duvet back to get into bed*

“What are you doing! This is Mum and Dad’s bed!”

“Wow, let’s just have sex in it”

“No…… no! Grow up!”

And this is a man who doesn’t say no to sex in anything or whenever. I must remind him tomorrow of his moral virtues, looking like, you know……

and that’s all for now…

We need to talk…

The husband hasn’t been happy this week. He texted on Friday morning to say that, and he would talk to me about it later.

I spent the whole day racking my brains. Couldn’t really focus on work with the idea my ‘husband wants to talk to me tonight’. My imagination was running with the wild at 1,000mph, with visions of him serving up divorce papers.

It all came to a head on Friday night. I left my work mates at the pub around 5.30pm with the message “if I don’t go home now, I’ll be in the doghouse / I’m going on a date with the husband”. I thought by getting home in good time before he does, doing a little ‘housekeeping’ (ie, clean dirty dishes / put a load in of the mountain of clothes we have) before he got home might put me in good favour, perhaps give him one less reason to be mad with me…

I offered to ring the kebab shop to order our usual chicken shish and chips (and don’t forget the tarasamalata) and he could pick it up on his way home. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it” was his reply. Fine. Fine. I’ll crack open a red, and pour a glass.

Only that I was pouring a bit too much. By the time he came home, I gave him a little cuddle and a howsayourdaya talk (see, I’m affectionate) then suggested we eat in the dining room. “Too cold, might as well eat in bedroom”. Ok. Now let me explain before we sound like Wanye and Waynetta Slob – our living room TV is bust. OK, yeah, we are Wayne and Waynetta Slob.

Ate the dinner. Spoke a little about what was on his mind. Work, family….. Every thing but ME. “WHAT HAVE I DONE ?!” I screamed in my head. He’s playing with my head he is…

“Wait”, he says. Takes out his phone. I’m exasperated. He’d rather look at his phone than talk to me, charming. “no”, he can see the look on my face, “I’ve got a list here of what I want to talk to you about”

WHAT?!? A LIST ?!? Alright love!! A bit tipsy, and I’m already mentally stacking up my defence arguments… I’ve been ill Monday and Tuesday, went back to school Wednesday and whacked myself out, Thursday was mental because one of my kids hasn’t stopped crying since the week before and its stressing my team out, and Friday I spent the morning with this crying kid and the afternoon with an occupational psychologist about another one of my kids! Bring it on, I say…

“You made soup this week. You know I don’t like your spicy carrot and lentil soup. You don’t think about me.” he says.

“Uh?” I had prepared a better response than this.

“You said you were going to make dinner for me when I got in at least twice a week, but you don’t…”

At this point he realised how hard I was laughing and crying and couldn’t resist in laughing as well.

“OK babes, I’ll try to be a bit more housewife for you”.

And to think it was something more serious…

and that’s all for now…

Good thing about being ill…

When you wake up in the morning, and your throat feels like sandpaper, with your glands up like Mount Kilamanjaro, you just know you need to call in sick. Tonsilitus is back, and I’m going to beat this bitch. In my profession, it’s better we stay at home so that we don’t spread it to children and other teachers. Doesn’t stop you feeling very guilty though!

Spent all day feeling sorry for myself and drowning myself in dequacaine tablets (these are very strong throat tablets which numb the pain) , painkillers and lots of sleep and water. I’m hesistant to ring the doctor and get onto antibiotics straight away because my mother and sister suffer tonsilitus as well and Mum has had hers taken out because she became resistant to antibiotics and she wishes she never took them out because she still gets very sore throats!! So I decided I would try to ‘foresee’ them coming up and ease off the worst of it. Instead of battling through it and just making myself 100 times worse.

So, its nice after a crap day of being ill that the husband brings home more dequacaine and coca cola bottles (I love these) to make me feel better. He throws them on the duvet while I look like death.

He still grunts and goes “alright?” as if I’ve spent the whole day lounging about………

All I wanted was…

The husband’s 30th was looming. As far as planning and preparations go, I like to plan well in advance, especially if it includes travelling. So in May, I invited all his friends (and some of mine!) to York for the weekend in October. Yes, 5 months in advance. I’d even booked a restaurant for Saturday night, planned a Viking museum and Brewery visit during the day, pub crawl and nightclubs for the evening. It was all planned out, meticulously. He would be so happy with this, I would win ‘Wife of the Year’ and so on…

It was even nicer when the restaurant, Delrios, emailed back to confirm the booking, and to let me know it was my cousin! I told the husband about this, and his response? “You Lavertys, you’re just everywhere aren’t you”. Charming. It was decided we would stay the Sunday night in York and spend time with them catching up. All in all, a nice perfect weekend to celebrate my husband’s 30th, surrounded by good friends, good food, and good fun!

To top it off, towards the York weekend, Mum texted me to say she couldn’t take up the hotel voucher before its expiry date in November, so I told her to book it for the following Tuesday, Ollie’s actual birthday, after the York weekend, and I would take him out there for the night. Included a 3 course dinner and breakfast, he certainly wouldn’t complain. Also, we picked up our new Audi that morning… I could definitely feel someone, somewhere, was writing my nomination in for ‘Wife of the Universe’ at this point…

The weekend in York was had, and the hotel trip made in the Audi, and the husband was happy…. or so I thought.

We were lying in bed when I could see something was on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You forgot my birthday”

“What? I know I woke up that morning and didn’t say happy birthday straightaway but I did remember, like an hour later”

“You didn’t even get me a card until the next day”

“Hmm? Sorry, but I did organise a weekend in York, and the hotel trip for your actual birthday, and I sorted the Audi so it was ready for your birthday…”

“But it would have been nice to get a card.”

There goes my nomination for ‘Wife of the Galaxy’ in the bin… all he wanted was a f**king card!