One More Reason to Feel Older

Yesterday I took Henry over to the neighborhood school and got him registered for Kindergarten. He was very excited and, though I corrected him repeatedly, was mistakenly under the impression that I was going to drop him off. He was very chatty with the office staff and made sure everyone knew he was five and had gotten walkie talkies for his birthday. Part of the registration process was signing a contract that I would be a part of his education, i.e., read to him a certain amount of time every day, etc. There was also a line committing the kid to working hard, behaving, and all that. I had Henry sign that line, mostly as a joke to myself, reminiscing about my own early academic career. When I was done with the paperwork I told Henry it was time to go. He was so disappointed about not staying the whole day that he started crying, the poor little guy. After that we went to the "dragon" park where he got to play with a friend from down the street and one from his Sunday school class. What a fun day for Henry, aside from not actually starting school that day. Plus I got a laugh watching Henry run around like Dilbert in his highwater black pants with white socks and black sneakers.

This morning I gave Henry a hair cut. He did pretty good, didn't twist around and fidget too much, but I did nick the back of his neck with the clippers. He didn't notice though. Of almost ten years of cutting Ben's hair with them, and four for Henry, the blades are getting dull. I think it's time to replace the clippers, or at least find out how to sharpen or replace the blades. I still haven't gotten much better a cutting hair, mainly because Mr. Impatient and Son are always harping at me to hurry up and finish. Oh well.

Is Henry excited about going to school this fall? Oh yeah.

Valentine's Day

Or is it St. Valentine's Day? Whatever. Anyway, February 14th was fun. Henry had a bunch of friends over for a birthday party. The entertainment consisted of trashing Henry's room and decorating pizzas. This is the first year I neglected to get a picture of Henry's birthday cake. I guess it's a good thing, since I always make it myself and I'm not even close to the Walmart bakery's standards. Henry insisted upon a round strawberry cake with chocolate icing. The cake looked fine until I wrote on it with white icing, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY HENRY." Those well acquainted with me, or those who have at least seen my signature are aware of my atrocious handwriting. I made the HAPPY way too big, so I had to write BIRTHDAY underneath, except I left room to put the "5" candle and the four little candles, with a lopsided HENRY beneath that. There was plenty of white icing left so Ben suggested that I ice around the edges of the cake. I got one white line around the bottom when we both decided that I'd better stop there before things got really ugly. Henry didn't seem to notice how hideous it was. One of these days I'm sure he will want a professionally decorated cake and I'll tell him he can have either a cool present or a cool cake, but not both. Everyone had cake except for one kid who declared that she didn't like strawberry cake. Lucky for her I had some ice cream to go with the cake. Henry got some fun presents including a sticky Spiderman thing that's supposed to crawl down walls. That first day it stuck so well that I thought I peeled off some paint while ripping it off the wall. Then Ben chucked it at the wall in the stairwell, way up high near the ceiling. Henry wanted it back but he was out of luck. To give perspective:



Now you know why I will never repaint the stairwell.

That night we went to the church for a Valentine's dinner thing. We started out with a prayer and a hymn, "Amad A Otros" (that's "Love one another" for me and everyone else who speaks hardly any Spanish). Then all of a sudden the rave music came on, with disco lights and everything. Henry and all the little kids jumped up and started partying. It was a very interesting transition to say the least. After dinner the married women were herded out. Then we were brought back in and standing behind a sheet was a line of men identifiable only by a single foot in an anonymous black sock sticking out beneath the sheet. We were supposed to pick out our respective spouses. It was pretty easy for me, I walked right up to Ben's foot, a big one with the pinky toe about an inch shorter than the rest. I felt the toenail to be certain, as his pinky toenails stick up funny for some reason. After that they played couple's songs according to the husband's knowledge. Ben and I don't really have a song, but he remembered that we danced at our reception to that growing old together song from the Wedding Singer movie (it would have to be a song by Adam Sandler, oh well). So we had to go out and dance to our song in front of everyone, which I'm sure was an amusing sight, what with our huge height difference and visible evidence of the fact that we never dance (I had to remind Ben to turn or something because we were wearing a hole in the carpet). We went home at nine, which is pretty early for a Hispanic party, but the last thing I needed for church the next day was a kid with a sleep deprivation and a sugar hangover. When we got back the Spiderman had fallen down and was covered with carpet lint. He's not so sticky anymore.

Church was a nice experience for me, too. A guy from the branch who just got back from his mission in Japan gave a talk. I had a hard time following it because although he's American and speaks slow enough for me, his Spanish had a funky Japanese cadence to it, but I felt the spirit so it didn't matter.

And now, although Henry doesn't know it yet, today we're going to clean his room! Hahahahaha!

Five Years Ago

This was me five years ago. Well, four years and approximately 364 days ago, give or take a few days.



On February 10th, about ten p.m., after Ben and I wrapped up a game of Diablo II, I started having contractions. Then after some drugs, an epidural and 17 hours of labor the doctor suggested a c-section. I was very excited to meet Henry, but I was pretty beat, so I only got the hear him whine when they pulled him out of my warm severed guts before I zonked out. Then after I woke up and got some pain killers, I got to meet my little boy.



He only weighted nine and a half pounds at the time. If I had to pick him up at that weight now I could probably huck him all the way up to the stratosphere.

Here are a few Henry Firsts: His first solid meal:



His first beach trip:



His first race to catch Daddy:



First Christmas:



First birthday:



First attempt at yard work:



Yeah, Henry! Way to reach the big 5!

Money and Being Sneaky

Yesterday Henry got some birthday money from Grandma Ruby and Papa Tilley: a check (which Ben put in Henry's college account) and a dollar bill. Henry was very excited about the dollar. He's been sitting on a few dollars in his train bank for a while now, asking me from time to time to spend it on a Lego set. Well, with the acquisition of the dollar bill, he finally had enough to actually get something. So last night Henry and I went over to the Target to learn a valuable lesson about money. I had to pick up birthday gifts for my dad and my niece Zejda, so I figured it'd be enough of a distraction with Henry buying his Legos that I could sneak in his birthday gift as well. Feigning heat stroke, I took my coat off and laid it over the shopping cart and then when Henry wasn't looking, I chucked a Lego set under my coat. Yes, I do realize this is how some people shop lift. But I was birthday shopping. In front of the birthday boy. At the register Henry busted out his wallet and I helped him count out the money. He was more interested in the Lego set than paying for it; in the ecstasy of the moment he would've handed out all his cash and left his wallet behind, to boot. Then I said, "Henry look at that!" and while Henry was looking away I had the cashier quickly scan and bag the Legos. I felt so awesome. I know I could have easily purchased his gift after he went to bed that night, but this meant I could stay home and be lazy. Also, I kind liked the risk factor, and being sneaky, which is usually more Henry's forte.

Now I just have to go back and exchange the gift I bought for Zejda, who I found out last night is just like me, except instead of G.I. Joe really likes animals. So bye bye pink ballerina Barbie!

"Stop Complaining!"

The above quotation was uttered by my son while assembling a Lego kit with his grandma Nee-Nee. Right away two things were apparent to me, one, that Nee-Nee sure was having a tough time with that Lego set, and two, I've spent a fair amount of time telling Henry not to complain, because, you know, a four year old boy never whines about anything, ever. And then there's the third thing that came to mind, about me not telling myself to stop complaining enough to where, like Henry, I can see when it's counterproductive and give it a rest. That being said, oh my gosh I can't believe how much life sucks-- just kidding. Everything is cool. Honestly. Though not everything is as cool as I'd like. But still...

Talked to the doctor who performed my surgery last Friday. This was after I wasn't angry anymore, after that night when I was really ticked off and not understanding why stupid things seem to be fond of happening to me, then I just threw it all up in the air and said, "Heavenly Father, I trust you." So I wasn't angry when I went in for the post-op discussion, just curious about what would be said and a little nervous because I didn't know what I'd say. So it turns out it was pointless for me to be upset about my guts being largely untampered with, as my case of (wait for it) salpingitis isthmica nodosa is such that surgery is counter indicative. Which pretty much boils down to I might get pregnant again naturally, or I may not. Honestly it was disappointing to hear that, especially since I have no idea when/if I had a pelvic infection that caused the problem, and from fruitless experience over the past four years suggests that the may not is a lot more probable that the might. Yeah, there's lots of stuff I can easily find cause to complain about, but what I've really found that it's like when Henry asks me a thousand times "Why?" and I finally have to answer an exasperated, "Because." Because, that's why. So that's my ultimate take on the matter: no matter how disappointing, it isn't cruel or unfair, it just is. And I guess I'm cool with that.

Then we move on to the stake Relief Society Enrichment thing I didn't want to go to. I hate going to these things because they always have a meal afterward where you're supposed to mingle and socialize and there's always such a big crowd of people I don't know that I slowly start to freak out. It's uncomfortable, but not to the point where I feel like I need meds to deal with it. If I'm with someone I know I can usually fake my way through it, but the last time I went I rode with some neighbors I wasn't well acquainted with and I awkwardly kept things together, but when it came time to go to the next meeting I flaked out at the last minute and stayed home. Saturday morning I got up and went, and then realizing when I got there that the meeting was going to be in the chapel, felt nice and stupid for wearing jeans. But, as I sat down inconspicuously in the back, I saw my mission pal, Kyna, so I snagged a seat beside her. The meeting was so awesome that I'd have to have kicked my own butt if I'd missed it. The lunch wasn't so bad until Kyna had to duck out early. I stayed put at the table full of strangers, albeit nice ones, trying to fake my way through it; I even came back after a trip to the restroom. One of them commented on my awkward silence, "You must think we're nuts," or something like that, and I wanted very much to reply, "Nope, my mouth's just glued shut with terror... Help! I'm being slowly crippled by social anxiety!" You better believe I ducked out as soon as people started getting up to leave.

I can look at this as either a success or failure. A success because I got what I needed out of the meeting, because I didn't bolt as soon as Kyna got up to leave, that I came back from the bathroom, that I smiled and tried to make eye contact with people, that I lasted as long as I could. A failure-- well, screw that. I'm the Queen of Awesomeness!