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!

Whoopie

Henry went to a birthday party today. He had a terrific time and behaved himself and didn't blurt out what the present was or anything. Inside his gift bag was a little whoopie cushion. Henry thought it was hilarious. All the way home in the car, for the next five hours after we got home, Henry simulated various flatulent sounds. This evening I had to sit on it before he'd let me trim his hair. Ah, the sacrifices we make to ensure our kids look half way decent.

Another Day

Today was book club, hosted by me. The book was Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. Since it's a huge thousand and something page tome, we only read the first two sections and are saving the last section for next month. In the book the main protagonist gets a mysterious cigarette imprinted with a dollar sign that's the best smoke ever, etc., so I made some of those "Neiman-Marcos" cookies and with a melted chocolate bar in a plastic ziplock bag I squirted dollar signs on them. I should have taken a picture, because they actually turned out decent, but alas, I neglected to before the locust plague of kids descended and devoured everything in sight. Ben will be sad. Oh, well. We had a long discussion that took up the entire two hours. Next month should be interesting when we wrap it up.

Last night I go the bill that is not a bill from the hospital for my surgery. Why is it that me lying in a bed for a few hours costs three times more than the services provided by a skilled anesthesiologist? I guess the world will never know.

Snow Day

Last night it started snowing around midnight. I was happy because I told Henry when he went to bed that the weatherman said their might be snow. Henry's only seen one snow in his life and he was only two so he doesn't remember it at all, and there was just enough accumulated on the deck to make a snowman. This morning Henry was very excited and I managed to get some ovaltine and a slice of bread in him before we had to go out to play. Ben stayed home from work and so we all went to the neighbors, who happen to have sleds and a steep driveway. It was one of those snows that are useless for making snowmen and snowballs and stuff, but Henry had a lot of fun. I was just happy to be feeling well enough to go outside and play. I refrained from sledding since the holes in my gut aren't quite healed, and flipping over into slush in the middle of the street didn't seem like a happy way to end a sled ride. Back home I made a snow angel and decided when it was time to get up that one was enough.

I thought it was pretty funny that the governor decided to call a state of emergency for the snow. It's not like there was an ice storm or anything. I guess she felt obligated to incite the bread/milk panic to help bolster the economy.

My Moment to Whine

Last Thursday I went in for what I like to call adventures in general anesthesia and waking up with three tiny holes in my gut. The procedure was to supposedly surgically correct what my doctor deduced that kind of could be the reason why I suck at getting pregnant; i.e., unblock or remove my right fallopian tube. Generally I'm not one to be squeamish and don't usually have any trouble watching those graphic discovery channel shows, except when it has anything to do with burns, which I find horrifically nauseating. Of course when it comes to me being the subject of the needle pokes I have no problem just so long as I look away while the poking commences, that way I don't flinch and cause a whole new series of needle jabs. I don't like the dental hygienist tampering with my mouth much, either, because there's always the slim chance she'll screw up somehow and shave off half my gums with one of her sharp scraper thingies. General anesthesia is not my favorite, basically because every time I wake up from it it sucks. I'm completely useless for several hours afterward and there's usually something pressing like being extremely thirsty or crazy pain or something and I can't do anything about it except sound completely undignified.

My wonderful sister Maggie took a day off work to assist me and my wonderful neighbor took Henry for the day, so there was nothing to worry about except something happening to me and Maggie being unable to reach my neighbor, something happening to Henry and my neighbor being unable reach Maggie, having an overdraft fee in case there wasn't enough money in my account to pay the huge prepayment, and a million other things you only think about five minutes before you're scheduled to be operated on. I was slightly nervous, as indicated by a heart rate that kept pace with that of a field mouse, and the anesthesiologist asked me if I'd like a shot that'd make me feel like I'd had a cocktail. I'd just finished telling her I didn't use alcohol, so there's no telling what a cocktail would do to me. Picture the results: me, dancing atop the gurney, whooping and swinging my hospital gown around my head. Not really, just me the same as before without the racing heart. Then there was the fun game of let's poke veins until we finally get one suitable for an intravenous line. Woo hoo!

One minute I'm breathing into a mask as directed and the next somebody's asking me to rate my pain. Rate my pain? Ten if it made me feel like screaming down to one if it barely hurts. I don't know; it just hurts. Okay, if it was ten I'd be screaming and they'd know it already, and obviously there was enough pain such that I was irritated enough to not play their stupid numeric rating game, so they just hit me with morphine until I said I was fine and went back to sleep.

I woke up after a nap and several ridiculous attempts to clear my head by shaking it. As I've said before, I am pathetic when coming out of it. Then when I was lucid enough, Maggie went over what the doctor told her. First off, he did not unclog my tube, neither did he remove it, but he did cut out some scar tissue. She showed me some cool photos of my innards. She said that the doctor told her I hadn't signed a consent form for him to do the tube procedure. What the crap?! I'd signed no less than two different consent forms and had explained what I was in for to at least three different people. I can imagine the scene in the O.R.: me, lying unconscious, looking vulnerable yet somehow attractive with a big plastic pipe sticking out of my mouth, the doctor poking holes in me, filling my abdomen with CO2, watching the dye mark my tube, readying his surgical tools... Then he hesitates. "Wait a sec, everybody! Where's that consent form? What? It's missing? Well, damn. Guess I'd better close her up." Five minutes later he goes out and buys a yacht.

Well, I suppose it wasn't exactly like that. But still. I paid good money for a procedure that was not done. Not only was it not done, that which was done will probably have a zero percent chance of improving my fertility, and I still had to go through the whole pain of waiting nearly four days for the stupid gas in my guts to dissipate. And let me tell you how much fun that was. Imagine a huge ball of pressure crammed right up in your diaphragm, so you can't breathe, plus it hurts like hell, and your shoulders hurt for no reason, and when you sit or stand it hurts more, and when you burp it hurts even more. The only thing that didn't hurt was the stupid little incisions. So no, I'm not looking forward to another laparoscopy, ever. And yes, I'm unhappy. And I'm glad I have a week to heal and cool off before I chat with the doctor.

Stupid doctor made me share my feelings...

Oh, and in case you were wondering, here's my belly button, and my bloated gut. It'd be naughty to show the other two bandages...

I Ain't Stupid

The other day as I was herding Henry to the car, he told me something about how the old man called the sheep poop. I whirled around and snapped at an unsuspecting Ben, "You let him watch 'Billy Madison,' didn't you?"

"Oh, I didn't think you'd find out." Or something like that.

Come on, give me a break. Henry repeats everything he sees; how could I not find out?

At least Ben tricked him into believing it was sheep.

Henry's Quote of the Day

"A good corn dog never quits."

I wish I knew what that meant.

A Family Legacy

Yesterday while I was helping Mom with Christmas preparations she uttered an exasperated, "Golly day!" I smiled, because that's a phrase that before I met my friend Brittany in high school had never been said before in my family. Now Mom says it, I say it, Maggie says it, and even Ben says it. It caused me to think about the other things I've picked up from friends over the years. It took me a good five years or so to quit calling everybody honey thanks to my mission pal, Aniesa. Then after her recent visit I was at it again. I called Dad honey, Ben's friend Edward honey, and who knows who else. Then Mom said crap and I asked her about that one. I thought I'd picked it up from a childhood friend because I remember Mom harping on me for saying it in front of her. Mom corrected that misconception, telling me she'd said it for years. Not only that, but Grandma had been particularly fond of saying it, to the point that her yearbook quote was, "Oh, crap!"

Ah, crap, a family tradition for three generations. If Grandma were still around I'd give her a big hug.

Henry's Incredible Lego Haul

Yes, he got his precious "A-boat" and a few other Lego sets as well. He wanted to take some to Papaw's house, but Ben said no and told him that there were rats there who liked to eat legos. I'm not sure if Henry really believed it, but at any rate the legos stayed home. I pretty much forgot about Ben's little lie until Henry opened his present from Grandma and Papaw and wanted to assemble his legos. Ben wanted to wait until we got home so nothing would accidentally get left behind. Henry countered with, "There are no rats in here!"

For Your Viewing Pleasure

Too bad the video cut off Henry's awesome comeback: "No, it's not!"

Here It Is: The Christmas Card Blog

Okay, people, due to extreme sloth this year, this year's Christmas Card is online. It probably would have been better to go get a portrait made and all, but when you've been procrastinating like I have lately... Anyway, here it is:

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Love, The Tilleys

And the exciting 2008 Update on everything that's been going on, etc:

This year's been pretty much the same as last year. We're still in the Spanish branch at church, still driving the same old car, doing the same old routine. Ben's been working hard at his job as a computer programmer, and playing video games and hanging out with his family in his free time. The annual beard is back, but this year he's decided to keep it neat so wifey doesn't have much to complain about. Sarah's still doing the stay-at-home mom thing, keeping Henry alive and entertained. She's going on her fourth year as an assistant den leader in cub scouts, plus somehow got roped into being the choir director at church-- this should end well. She's also stayed busy teaching Joy School to Henry and his friends. Henry's growing up fast, learning his ABC's and 123's. He's gotten good at writing his name and is looking forward to turning five this February and starting kindergarten next fall. He's completely devoted to all things boy now, which includes shunning the "girl" aisle in the toy store, although it's still okay to play with his girlfriends. Henry has officially become a Lego addict and has declared that he shall work for Lego Star Wars when he grows up. Dori the cat is as fat as ever, despite having had eleven teeth extracted. She likes to eat bugs and knock Legos under the tv cabinet, throw up her cat food, and snuggle in warm laps. It's been a great year and we're looking forward to another great one.

Love you all!

Henry Vs. Christmas

Henry's had his eye on a certain Lego product for a while now: a speedboat with an A printed across its noble prow (or whatever you call that part). He's determined he must have it, his precious "A-boat", and spent several minutes salivating over it in the toy aisle with me while Ben snuck off to covertly buy Henry's presents. He is, of course, getting this for Christmas. What kid wouldn't want a Lego set that comes with a cool speedboat, a damsel in distress, her daring rescuer, an evil genius ala Jaws from the James Bond movies, and sharks with frickin' lasers attached to their heads. The other day Henry decided that he must have the "A-boat" right away without delay. I explained that Christmas was coming really soon and that he'd have to wait and see if Santa brought him what he wanted. Henry by virtue of being a kid, decided this waiting stuff was for the birds. So ensued an hour-long debate, Henry pro Get the Lego set Now, me on the opposing side. An approximation of how it went down:

Henry: Mom, I'm stuck on the A-boat.

Me: That's great, Henry. But you have to wait until Christmas.

Henry: Hey, I got it! How about we buy it!

Me: (Suppressing laughter because he's so dang cute) We're not going to the store today. You'll have to wait until Christmas.

Henry: I hate Christmas! Christmas blows!

Me: Seriously, you can't say blows. You say that again and I'm banning the Simpsons. (I've already banned Family Guy.)

Henry: Okay. Sorry. I hate Christmas!

Me: You don't hate Christmas, you hate waiting for Christmas so you can get your Legos.

Henry: Mom, you've got one choice (holding up two fingers). I get the A-boat or you get in trouble!

Me: Sustained Laughter.

And so on.

Henry has decided the worst thing in the world to get for Christmas is socks and underwear. I keep threatening to get him some if he doesn't stop whining about the A-boat; that usually shuts him up. It's nice to have a verbal weapon other than the threat of time out or spanking.

While Ben was napping the other day I whispered to Henry, "What should we get Daddy for Christmas?"

Henry whispered back, "Underwear!"

Because Everyone Needs Closure

Yes, the bird carcass has vacated the tree. It's neither hanging upside down from the branch, nor is it festering on the ground beneath the branch, so we can assume one of two things: something ate it (blechhh!) or it flew its zombie self south for the winter. I'm going for the zombie angle myself.

Wonders Never Cease

Yesterday while I was busily occupied with something other than housework, Henry told me he cleaned his room. I received this information with little doubt as to the truth of his statement; I knew he believed he cleaned his room but I was under the impression that it was "clean" according to Henry, i.e., he'd picked up a few things or made his bed. So I got up and followed him to his room that I might give positive reinforcement to a voluntary, unprompted act of cleanliness.

His room was clean. I was floored.

Check it out:



High five, buddy!

My Butt Has Finally Thawed

Today, being Monday, was park day, so Henry and I dutifully walked to the park. Apparently everyone else in the world thought it was too cold to be out. The park was deserted, so we walked the greenway and went over the highway to the other "dragon" park. I was really surprised because this one was desolate as well. I honestly didn't think it was that cold, except for my ears. We played a while and Henry had his snack and I decided since we were so close we'd walk over to the grocery store across the street and buy a bag of oranges. So we did, stopping first at a toy store. On the way home, walking on the trail beneath the power lines, Henry munched M&M's and went into million-question mode.

"Mom, why are trees green?"

I explained about chlorophyll as efficiently as I could.

"Mom, I love you."

"I love you, too."

Then it was fifteen other questions, I'd answer and Henry would tell me he loved me.

I guess he was prepping me for when we got home and it was time to clean his room and he decided he was going to be lazy. That's what he always says when I tell him to clean up: "But Mom, I'm lazy. I want to be a slob."

Gee, wonder where he got that from.

Anyway, it occurred to me that perhaps it had been a bit nippy to be out when I noticed four hours later when Ben got home that my butt was still cold from our outdoor excursion.

On a side note, tonight we did a little Christmas shopping at a certain electronics store Ben loves. As we were lining up to make our purchases, Henry was standing in the aisle staring at something on a display when an employee came strolling along looking everywhere but four-year-old level and slammed right into him. It was a sight to behold, what with the tall, skinny guy practically doing a cartwheel as he tripped over Henry, then grabbing him as he fell in what I can only assume was a defensive move to keep Henry from hitting his head on the floor. Henry was okay and I might have laughed (it looked hilarious to me) but the guy hurt his finger so I didn't.

Are Y'all Serious?

Since there have been actual requests of a photographic evidence:



And:



Yes, these photos were taken this morning. After yesterday's failed attempt to disentangle the bird from the branch. Vigorous shaking of the tree branch whipped the bird all over the place and sent feathers flying, but had no effect on the cold dead claw. We even resorted to two rakes. I was quite literally hanging off of the metal garden rake hooked onto the branch trying to bend it enough to where Ben could get within whacking range. Note in the first photo the scarring just visible on the branch near the bird. Ben broke several tines off the plastic rake trying to knock the carcass off. Whack and shake as we might, the bird insists upon rotting in the open air.