I'm posting this photo because I can. Hee!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
My Life's So Freakin' Exciting I don't Know What to Do
Ben finally trimmed his beard. I think it was mostly because it was getting in his mouth while he was trying to sleep. He won't let me cut his hair yet, though. I have trimmed it around the ears and in back to help stave off the Chevy Chase look, but he wouldn't let me touch the top. I'm not horrible at cutting hair, but it definitely looks a lot better when I use the clippers. I begged him to go to a professional, for once, just this once, but he was satisfied with the crap job I did. I'm telling you, Ben hasn't been to a barber in over eight years. I honestly think that if something were to happen to me, say my arms fell off or I went quadriplegic or something, he would cut his own hair just to keep from going.
I used to go to the barber college in town because they only charged five bucks. The peon trainees all wear white and the supervisors wear black, so I always mentally refer to them as storm troopers and Darth Vader. They usually do okay, even though they take forever and I nearly ready to explode out of the chair by the time Darth Vader comes to make sure they did a decent job. But the last time I went the guy cut my hair crooked where the hair on the left side of my face was longer than that on my right. I pointed it out to Darth Vader after she approved the obviously botched job. She quickly snipped a few strands of hair until she was satisfied and still managed to not fix it. So I swore them off, never to return. Now I pay an extra six bucks for the privilege of not going insane whilst suppressing the urge to smack someone.
Today I woke up early and really really wanted to stay in bed. But it was my turn to teach joy school, so that meant I had to get all my crap together since I was lazy last night and didn't get finished with everything. It's not that big a deal, they're only three and four year olds, they don't know I suck at teaching. But then there's the whole guilt thing. I've been really lucky so far, as each time it was my turn to teach there was a field trip or we had to practice for the Christmas thingy, so I've always had at least one other parent there. Today was my first solo job. Six little kids all by myself. It went well and I didn't even have to bribe them with candy or anything.
Henry's been playing a lot of Lego Star Wars to the point where it's like pulling teeth getting him to stop. We're talking wrestling the controller from his sweaty little hands and carrying him bodily out of the room. While he's kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs. I'm very grateful that we've got the game machines in the spare room, which remains locked at all times when he's not in there playing games. I remembered a few days ago that I had some Legos in a box somewhere so I fetched them (a feat accomplished by quite a bit of rummaging through tons of jumbled boxes and crap crammed in the attic) and introduced them to Henry. He loved them at first sight and instead of me having to yank him off the Nintendo to eat dinner, I had to forcefully separate him from the Legos. This afternoon he bugged the crap out of me demanding that I help him build stuff, so I casually asked him if he'd like to play the game instead (I'm a horrible rotten mother) and he said no. Although I was thoroughly sick and tired of playing with Legos by that point, I recognized a miracle when I saw it, and figured I'd better sacrifice for the better good.
I used to go to the barber college in town because they only charged five bucks. The peon trainees all wear white and the supervisors wear black, so I always mentally refer to them as storm troopers and Darth Vader. They usually do okay, even though they take forever and I nearly ready to explode out of the chair by the time Darth Vader comes to make sure they did a decent job. But the last time I went the guy cut my hair crooked where the hair on the left side of my face was longer than that on my right. I pointed it out to Darth Vader after she approved the obviously botched job. She quickly snipped a few strands of hair until she was satisfied and still managed to not fix it. So I swore them off, never to return. Now I pay an extra six bucks for the privilege of not going insane whilst suppressing the urge to smack someone.
Today I woke up early and really really wanted to stay in bed. But it was my turn to teach joy school, so that meant I had to get all my crap together since I was lazy last night and didn't get finished with everything. It's not that big a deal, they're only three and four year olds, they don't know I suck at teaching. But then there's the whole guilt thing. I've been really lucky so far, as each time it was my turn to teach there was a field trip or we had to practice for the Christmas thingy, so I've always had at least one other parent there. Today was my first solo job. Six little kids all by myself. It went well and I didn't even have to bribe them with candy or anything.
Henry's been playing a lot of Lego Star Wars to the point where it's like pulling teeth getting him to stop. We're talking wrestling the controller from his sweaty little hands and carrying him bodily out of the room. While he's kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs. I'm very grateful that we've got the game machines in the spare room, which remains locked at all times when he's not in there playing games. I remembered a few days ago that I had some Legos in a box somewhere so I fetched them (a feat accomplished by quite a bit of rummaging through tons of jumbled boxes and crap crammed in the attic) and introduced them to Henry. He loved them at first sight and instead of me having to yank him off the Nintendo to eat dinner, I had to forcefully separate him from the Legos. This afternoon he bugged the crap out of me demanding that I help him build stuff, so I casually asked him if he'd like to play the game instead (I'm a horrible rotten mother) and he said no. Although I was thoroughly sick and tired of playing with Legos by that point, I recognized a miracle when I saw it, and figured I'd better sacrifice for the better good.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Henry's Birthday
Henry turned four today. I'd been coaching him for a week now and was gratified this morning when after I asked him how old he was, he was able to respond correctly. Now if I could just get him to hold a crayon for more that two seconds I'd have him writing his name in no time.
There was a Valentine's Day play group at church this morning. Henry ate two frosting crusted cookies studded with various candies and sprinkles. Being the pig that I am, I was unable to resist eating one myself. Then when we got home, I confiscated the cookies and candy from his Valentines bag, knowing he'd eat them all given half a chance. I made his birthday cake and of course he had to sample the cake batter, and yes, I did, too. Then I had to ice the cake and Henry had a lick or two, and yet again, I indulged myself. After the momentous candle extinguishing ceremony we all had some cake. Now Henry's playing video games and I'm sitting here trying to think about not barfing.
Certain video games, for some reason, nauseate me. I like the picture to be as steady as possible. I used to play a lot of video games back in high school and was astonished one day when playing Wolfenstine made me sick as a dog. If it's in first person perspective it only take a minute or so before I have to walk away. I can't even watch home movies for more than five minutes at a stretch or I'll be so sick... Ugh. Henry got three games for his birthday. Two "Monkey Ball" games and "Lego Star Wars." Of course he had to play them as soon as he ripped off the wrapping paper. And I had to watch/participate. It's not so bad, the first twenty minutes or so, but then there's a fast paced racing part whereupon my brain and stomach immediately conspired against me and I had to hand the controller over to Ben and extricate myself from the room. It doesn't help that I've already hit my sugar saturation point. Even hearing the stupid video game music makes me want to hurl.
Ben says this weakness is one of my few flaws. I see it as a simple solution to what would otherwise be a lifetime of playing first person perspective shooting games with him.
There was a Valentine's Day play group at church this morning. Henry ate two frosting crusted cookies studded with various candies and sprinkles. Being the pig that I am, I was unable to resist eating one myself. Then when we got home, I confiscated the cookies and candy from his Valentines bag, knowing he'd eat them all given half a chance. I made his birthday cake and of course he had to sample the cake batter, and yes, I did, too. Then I had to ice the cake and Henry had a lick or two, and yet again, I indulged myself. After the momentous candle extinguishing ceremony we all had some cake. Now Henry's playing video games and I'm sitting here trying to think about not barfing.
Certain video games, for some reason, nauseate me. I like the picture to be as steady as possible. I used to play a lot of video games back in high school and was astonished one day when playing Wolfenstine made me sick as a dog. If it's in first person perspective it only take a minute or so before I have to walk away. I can't even watch home movies for more than five minutes at a stretch or I'll be so sick... Ugh. Henry got three games for his birthday. Two "Monkey Ball" games and "Lego Star Wars." Of course he had to play them as soon as he ripped off the wrapping paper. And I had to watch/participate. It's not so bad, the first twenty minutes or so, but then there's a fast paced racing part whereupon my brain and stomach immediately conspired against me and I had to hand the controller over to Ben and extricate myself from the room. It doesn't help that I've already hit my sugar saturation point. Even hearing the stupid video game music makes me want to hurl.
Ben says this weakness is one of my few flaws. I see it as a simple solution to what would otherwise be a lifetime of playing first person perspective shooting games with him.
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