I have a life

I find that a lot of my energy gets put into deaf-related activities.  Interpreting is quite an exhaustive pastime.  I do love it, but at the back of every interpreter's mind, there is always the fear of burn-out.  (Or of one's hands and fingers finally seizing up, refusing to budge another inch, like the Tin-Man in Wizard of Oz.)
This week I've been away from the family.  I've been attending a writing conference--and when I'm not sitting in classes learning about the e-book revolution, I am holed up in my hotel room writing.
It is always nice to get away.
But I miss my kids.  I miss the noise--since the only sound coming from my hotel room is the clacking of a keyboard.
Tomorrow I go home.  Back to my life.  I am so glad I have a life to go back to.  Noises, chaos, dog barf and all.
There will be a backlog of things for me to interpret, and I cannot wait.
Perhaps that is why I've been typing so incessantly.  I've just been keeping my fingers loose.

Mother and Son Dynamics

Our relationship is a tempestuous one.  It, too, is loud.  While maybe not measured in decibels, our conversations, jokes, disagreements, teasing, and--I'll admit--especially our arguments, have been known to shake the rafters.


When a Deaf person is angry, his signs get bigger.  Faster, sharper.  Vigorous, even.  Knowing this, an observer can easily surmise that Ben's broad shoulders and well-defined upper arms are the result of some very vigorous conversations of late.


Ben is growing up.  He is pulling away.  He is eager to get out and experience independence.


And his mother is not eager for this to happen.


What mother ever is?


As is often the case, Ben's later teenage years have punctuated--and sadly, sometimes punctured--with fights between us.


"It's so interesting to watch you two argue in sign language," a friend said to me once--as if my parental struggles were a form of entertainment for her.


Little did she know that, while she was enjoying the "show," my heart was breaking a little at seeing the anger in my son's eyes.


And when a heart breaks, I don't care if you can hear or not--it's loud.    

An introduction...

Deaf individuals are loud--at least the one who lives in my house is loud.  

Is this because he is Deaf, or because he is a teenage boy?  

I don't know that it matters.  He lives life at full volume.  And most of the time, I love his constant noise.  

At least that way I know where he is.  

"It must be so nice," people who were finding out about Ben's deafness, and who were trying to put a positive spin on things used to say to me, "Your house must be so quiet."  

To which, I would honestly reply, "Not really."  

Inevitably an awkward beat or two would follow in which they were left to wonder what I had meant by "not really."  

Finally I would smile and say, "My house isn't quiet at all."