Speech impediments and foreign language abilities

So this morning I had a rather large, ugly black carpenter ant crawl over my foot in the bathroom. After flicking it off and unceremoniously flushing him/her down the toilet, I thought back to one of my family's favorite Jack stories.

Jack is my younger, 13-year-old brother. He's the youngest in the family, but I am 8 years older than him and Mike is 6 years older. So this means that all of Jack's hilarious moments have been remembered and recalled many times.

Jack had a slight speech impediment as a little kid. So one day, he had to be around 2 or 3 years old, he was playing trucks in our den when he saw my Dad crouch down by the patio door with a box of weird traps. He butt scooted over, because at this point in Jack's life, this was how he got around if he didn't feel like getting up. He peered over my Dad's arms and chugged away on his binkie before taking it out of his mouth and looking around for me and my mom. We were both watching my Dad and Jack cracked a smile and remembered that Mom had asked my Dad to set up the ant traps earlier in the day. So Jack, displaying his wonderful memory, happily yells, "Mommy! Daddy's settin' up ant craps!" Well, Michael thought this was hilarious. He told everyone.

This story, however, pales in comparison to the great vanilla debate. My cousins were great fans of this story. Jack, still with his speech impediment, had trouble with his 1's. They sounded more like r's to the close listener. So VANILLA sounded much more like VANEERA. Well, Lauren, Steve, and Allison loved to imitate Jack and say VANEERA every chance they got. Jack was not impressed, mainly because they couldn't seem to say it right. So, when Mom asked who wanted some Vanilla ice-cream with their cake at one family party, all my cousins piped up that they would like some VANEERA. Jack was mad: "It's not VANIRA, it's VANEERA!" Yup. Apparently even a speech impediment has a correct pronunciation. Or he could have possibly been trying to really say Vanilla and just couldn't. Poor guy. Fast forward to about a month ago - June 2012. Lauren is on her honeymoon in Tahiti. I receive a picture and text from her. The picture is of Tahitian Vanilla beans, or, in Tahiti -Hira Vanira. As Lauren laughed, she said that Jack didn't have a speech impediment after all! He was speaking Tahitian! hahaha. It just added to the multilingualism in our family. Michael used to sing a Japanese version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town, but it somehow ended with a mais oui...French. Yeah. And then...I have one more story involving myself. Of course.

My Nonna and Poppa had a neighbor, Marie. She was very Italian. She was also very traditional in how she dressed and looked. Little scary to a young kid, especially a 2 or 3 year old, because her appearance was a little rough. She was the sweetest lady though. Always offered me some watermelon (maybe that's why I love it so much now!) and would sit at my Nonna's outdoor glass table and jabber in Italian. Well, I never enjoyed being left out of conversations. I still don't. So I walked on over and stared up at Marie as she spoke to Nonna. She looked down at me and I voiced my opinion in a great slew of "Babada Babada Babada Ba". Addie Italian! Poor Marie looked at my Nonna and asked, "What did she say?!" She must have thought I was really saying SOMETHING. But no. It was my way of joining in. Nonna and Aunt Ginny couldn't even explain to her what had happened because they were laughing so hard. When Aunt Ginny told us this story a few months ago, Mike was immediately reminded of Peter, in Family Guy, when he tries to speak Italian. Hmm...

I know this post kind of spider-legged out, but I hope it entertained a little. I just got to thinking while I got ready for work this morning and this seemed like a fitting post for today while I'm waiting for the massive thunderstorms to roll in. I'll put some pictures too. Make all my rambling a little worthwhile.

The baby bird under our dock a week ago. Jack brought me over with the paddle boat. 

 Otis sunset

 Jasper channeling Kujo while my mom shot him with a water gun. haha

Back to the happy boy

Klutz Kween

So, I haven't written in a while.
4th of July has come and gone. The fireworks over Otis Reservoir have also passed. It seems the big summer milestones are completed and it's the slow decline through the final few weeks until kids return to school and the fall colored denim jeans make their return to clothing stores.

I will not be among those people returning to school. After 16 plus years of going to Staples for school supplies or American Eagle for some new clothes, I just continue on with life as usual. Weird feeling.

Side note: this Green Mountain Keurig coffee is terrible. It tastes like sweetened battery acid. That's going down the drain later.

Anyways, I guess what I want to write about today is something that happened over the weekend. Some may find it humorous, others may think its stupid. I don't care. I feel like writing. And this is what the topic for today is. Klutziness

So this past weekend, I was at Paul's and I had to use the bathroom. We dropped my brother off down at the beach and were gonna go back down, but I was NOT using the port-o-potty, or, even worse, the woods. So instead of waking my whole family up with the garage door, Paul was running home and said I could go there. Great. Problem solved. Used the bathroom, grabbed a water, and we sat and chit chatted for a few before I realized how late it was and needed to head home. So he walked me to the door, deciding he was just gonna stay home. I said goodbye and was walking to my car. Don't you think my ankle gives out on me as I'm trying to make it down the ONE STEP there is?!?! I heard a crack like a twig and go tumbling into the vinyl siding of the house, giving my right knee a lovely black and blue to sport for the next few days as well. Paul either heard or saw me fall through the glass on the door and cam running back outside. I think he thought I hit my head. Nope. Just couldn't stand on my left ankle. And it freaking HURT dude. So he carried me inside and put ice on it. He was freaking out just a little bit. Said I scared him. I thought he'd know me better by now. I trip over my own two feet at least 10 times A DAY. I'm also accident prone. A klutz. It amazes me I can run 8-10 miles without crashing and burning, but I get home and manage to fall up the stairs or trip over the edge of the carpet.

I was able to drive myself back home after putting it up for a little bit with ice. I told my mom in the morning and she called me a ding a ling, just as she herself slid and fell down the first couple stairs in Otis. Yeah. I see where I get it from.

Can we just flash back to when I had my wisdom teeth pulled? They gave me medication to knock out a 350 pound man. I believe I was around 105 pounds at this time. Yeah. So I get home from my surgery, all loopy, completely unaware of the blood pouring out of my butchered gums. I'm serious. This stuff was great. I didn't feel anything. Don't remember certain things. But when it wore off and I took more with my night bowl of oatmeal, I was in for trouble. First of all, my family blames me, but obviously I was in a drug induced stupor. Do not give me oatmeal when you know the pieces might get stuck in an empty socket! So an oat swims its way through my mouth and gets a vice grip on that socket. I'm not even thinking, go back with my tongue to remove it, start sweating, and then everything goes back. Michael says I sounded like a dying animal. Mom says I hit my head on the kitchen table. I woke up and thought I just took a nap and asked why they put me on the kitchen floor. They're both shaking and my body is all sweaty. So they sit me in a chair, only to have me conk out again. Ambulance shows up by this point and a rather large woman hefts me into her arms and tosses me in the back of the truck. Not a fun night. IVs are not my favorite thing in the world. I tried biting the nurse when she put it in my arm.

And the next day...I felt human again. That was all a dream right? Nope. I managed to have a procedure that is relatively routine turn into a medical disaster.

If I learned anything, it's that I am accident prone. I usually have the worst happen in many situations. I was the band aid queen when I was little. I christened our newly paved driveway as I propelled from my bicycle, skinning both knees and elbows. I fell up the stairs and somehow landed squarely on the only sharp object, gouging a scar into my knee. And let's not forget being tossed off Sprinkles and breaking my arm when I was 7. Or sliding down a hill on loose acorns during X-Country. OR wearing a loose sweatshirt and getting picked up by the wind during practice. Yeah. Murphy, thanks for your law. I'm pretty sure you should add my name to some part of it.

Disclaimer: I still attempt stupid things every day. These past events have ceased to hinder me. I just make sure I have a large stock of band-aids or gauze on hand.

Sorry for the lame post today. I don't really have much else to say. I don't think anyone cares about my work days at the office, or how I went for a run in Otis the other day and swallowed about 20 gnats (ew).

I might be going to see Savages tonight. It has Selma's Hayeks in it as my dad would say. Maybe I'll write about the movie tomorrow. It won't be as good as Ted. I couldn't stop laughing during that one. We'll see.