Recent Events

Lots of stuff's been going on this month and as a consequence of busy-ness combined with laziness, I have sadly neglected the whole blogging thing. Like anyone cares, I know. But for those few who do, be prepared for excitement galore.

A little while back, an old friend just happened to have a convention to attend in Raleigh. Some may remember Cherie from such places as Family Search... It was nice getting to see her again, and spending the day with her and her husband, Dennis. We went on an educational tour of Yates Mill, this old historical place on the outskirts of Raleigh, as suggested by Cherie. One would think that having lived in this area for almost ten years that I'd have some clue as to what kinds of things there are to do and see. Oh, well. I am boring. And lazy. So I think Cherie knows more about places of interest in Raleigh than I do, probably the history, too. Although I know a little more now, thanks to this loquacious old lady at a historical society booth. We got to listen to a bluegrass band play "Salty Dog." Ben was surprised that I knew of that song and could actually sing some of the lyrics, but anyone who knows my dad and his penchant for the "Andy Griffith Show" wouldn't be. Henry played some games and came in second place in a sack race (there was one other kid in the race) and won a ribbon. Since there were a million ribbons and only a few kids, Henry asked for and received a blue and a green one, too.

Ben and Henry at Yates Mill:



Monday was the Spanish Branch's annual Memorial Day picnic at Harris Lake Park. We all had lots of fun, ate some good Hispanic food, and got plenty of sun. Henry had a blast engaging in non-stop water gun warfare, Ben got to play some beach volley ball, and I got to sit and relax. Plus I only found one tick on me when I got home, so that was good.

Tuesday Henry and his Joy School classmates graduated. We were supposed to have the graduation party at the park, but right when we walked out the door it started raining. So everybody came over to our place instead. Henry was excited to move past Joy School and is looking forward to going to kindergarten this August. Yeah, Henry.



Wednesday I folded a giant mountain of laundry. Sorry, no before and after photo. It would be far too shocking.

Thursday Henry and I went to the zoo. We rode down with our neighbor and her little boy, plus one of her friends and her little boy. We had to make an emergency pit stop at the Wal-Mart in Siler City for a bathroom break. Henry didn't want to go in so we waited in the car. Then about thirty seconds later he decided he wanted to use the bathroom after all. On the way in we ran into my father-in-law. Henry looked at him and said, "I know you!" One should hope so, although I guess meeting people you know out of context throws everybody for a loop. The zoo was lots of fun and we got to ride the shuttle bus back to our parking lot, which Henry and the boys really enjoyed. Then I got a huge headache, but after chugging three quarters of a Mt. Dew the caffeine did it's job and I didn't throw up. Yeah!



And today we went to the library and I found a new suit for Henry on sale for fifteen bucks. Not as cheap as his old suit ($10), but this one came with a shirt and tie. I had to threaten him with death to get him to try it on. And yes, he looks very cute in it. Even when he pulls a silly face.

Another Random Sampler

A while back while we were on an outing, a little bird got inside the house. Ben had left the upstairs bathroom window open, which is currently sans screen. When we got home he was disturbed by what he assumed was something the cat had done on his computer desk. Of course, a few seconds later the bird made his/her presence known by flapping around the computer room in a panic, and hid behind some junk on the top of the bookshelf. Dori, of course, was delighted, albeit a little frustrated because she'd been unable to get her claws on the bird. Ben, however, was not delighted, as there were several deposits of bird poop on his computer. Ben asked me for help in evicting the bird, wondering aloud if we'd have to rig a sheet or something to scare it out. I told him to open the window, so Ben pulled up the blinds and opened the window about two inches. The bird didn't wait for him to get it open any further and promptly swooped down at the window, smacking right into the glass. Then after a moment it collected it's addled brains and hopped out of the window and out of our lives.

Look closely behind the carousel music box.


I believe this is a Carolina Wren. I also believe he did a fair amount of dusting while he was up there because there are usually more cobwebs adorning the knick knacks.

And for those of you craving a Henry story:

Saturday Henry gave a jubilant, "Whoo hoo!" Then he explained himself, "I said 'whoo hoo' because I didn't want to go to church."


And a photo of Henry and his cute cousin, Wesley:

Stupid Birds

Another bird smacked into our back window again. No corpse or anything, but I was getting sick of having to scrape feathers off the glass. Henry and I made a few scary silhouettes to keep them off.



Clockwise from top left: hungry raptor, vampire bat, starving kitty, and Henry's contributions: butterfly and boomerang.

I like the cat one the best since it's in attack mode. But you know that butterfly's pretty cool, too. Birds'll think it's a tasty snack up until that terrifying moment when they get right up on it and realize it's rabid! Ahhhh! We'll have birds dying of heart attacks left and right.

Okay, so I've really been a lazy slob lately. I blame it on the fact that last week we took off Thursday night and spent the weekend at my parents camping and having fun. Saturday while Mom and Dad were occupied at a blood drive, Ben and I loaded their old stove onto Dad's truck. It's one of those glass top deals with two ovens, so the thing felt like it weighed somewhere around three hundred pounds. Loading it involved using caveman mechanics (think ramp constructed from broken table leaf, piece of old barn wood), grunting, sweating, a little swearing (whoops, my bad-- I thought I was going to be crushed-- and Henry was nowhere within hearing range), and using our primitive brains to figure out the winch strap thingies. We managed to get it secured without too much trouble, got Henry in his booster seat and drove home. Henry was adamant that we were only going home to feed the cat and swap out stoves, that we had to go straight back to Papaw's afterward. We moved the old stove out first, which compared with the new one practically weighed nothing at all. Then I directed Ben as he backed the truck up to the front porch, signaled him to stop with upraised hands, yelled, "Stop. Stop! STOP!" and heard an audible snap when he tapped the porch rail with the tailgate. The rail was knocked a little loose, and there was a crack along the line where the bricks meet the concrete part of the porch, but the porch roof didn't collapse on me. Hurrah, I'm still alive.

So after a long weekend I went home and reaqcuainted my butt with my computer chair. Feels good to be back.

Easter Weekend

Saturday we all went to the Super Target in Apex to see about procuring a few items, namely some vegetables for Ben's moro rice, an Easter Egg dye kit, and some caulk. The veggies were a bust, so we moved on to the egg dye. The entire Easter section had been ransacked by vandals or Visigoths or something; maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but it seemed that all that was left was was half a bag of crushed candy eggs, some peeps a nauseating shade of fuchsia, and a dismembered rabbit carcass. I did, however, find some caulk, so we were able to at least get one thing taken care of. On the way out of the store Henry hung on to the blubber on my waist, singing, "Chubby, chubby, chubby fat."

Thanks a lot, kid. Way to boost my self-esteem.

We drove clear across Raleigh to go to this Hispanic grocery store. Ben found everything he needed and I was able to entertain Henry by telling him what all the dead things in the meat section were. Then we went home and I caulked up the holes in the siding on the back of the house while Ben made his rice. He made it with pigeon peas and aside from the pigeon peas, the rice was good.

Then I boiled up some eggs and Henry helped me dye them. I had about six tablespoons of vinegar left, so we were able to barely coat the bottoms of six bowls. Henry helped me stir food coloring into the vinegar and then ran off to watch TV while I carefully rationed the dye to drizzle over a dozen eggs.

Sunday was busy. Henry was happy because Nee-nee came to church and had fun with a "Barrel of Monkeys" she gave him. The quartet I loosely organized (which included Ben) got to sing their song "Te Necisito Si" (Spanish version of "I need the Every Hour"). Then I got to substitute for Henry's Sunday school class. As I've said before, his regular teachers have my admiration, adoration, and deep pity. There's usually eight or nine kids in his class, but since a bunch of families were out of town, there were only seven kids this time. Having previously witnessed the havoc wreaked by Henry and his two pals during Sharing Time I decided since I had two whole hours with them by myself I'd need a bribe to keep them in line. So I brought a bunch of little bags of M&M's and told the kids they'd get a treat if they were really good. It worked for the most part and I actually got through the lesson without too much trouble. Then I found out we're not supposed to give out food of any kind during Sunday school. Whoops. Then I had to herd all seven crazy kids to closing exercises, during which I had to sit between Henry and his buddies, then herd them all back, which was pretty much like trying to herd dandelion fluff during a hurricane. Wow, no wonder they have to have two adults to a class; one to teach and one to herd.

After I got the festering boiled egg stink out of the house by opening the windows, after we'd eaten dinner, and all the craziness was over and calm had settled at the Tilley household, Henry said, "The Easter Bunny isn't real."

Ben then asked him how he got all the stuff in his Easter basket.

Henry replied that it just appeared.

How?

"The wizard from Lord of the Rings."

Seriously, people.

I Need to Find a Pair of Boy's Size 11 White Dress Shoes

And a gray suit and red bow tie. Henry found out that somewhere in the attic I had packed away my old concert band bow tie. Henry literally bugged me for days to go find it for him so he could dress up like Pee Wee Herman. I kid you not. So last week I braved the mess and started digging through the big box full of shoe boxes which contain various souvenirs saved from my pre-marriage life. It took me a while but I found the bow tie. I honestly can't remember why I saved it, or even how I remembered that I still had it. Nevertheless, there it was. Henry was all excited and wanted to put it on right away. The next day and the day following he wanted to wear it everywhere but I made him wait until he actually had to dress up; i.e., for church. I'm uncertain as to how or why, but he went all day at church without taking it off. I'm not sure if he was feeling extra cool wearing it, or if he simply couldn't figure out how to get it off. At any rate he looked really cute, despite the fact that he forgot a belt and his pants kept slipping and showing off his Spider-man underpants.

I keep thinking one day he'll be all grown up and I'll have run out of things in the attic for him to play with. What a bittersweet day that will be.

Another Test in Patience

Ok, it was supposed to be an eye exam, but Henry finds all kinds of ways to get me riled up. Plus it was four p.m., a time when he really should have been at home making me crazy instead of at the optometrist's. They really ought to come up with something over the counter for moms who're going through the "what's this what's that why why why" phase of five year old boys. I know, they've already got something and it's called booze, but I'm a non-drinker, so there goes that. The million question marathon started early this morning and I got a two hour break while Henry was at joy school, then it started again when I picked him up, quieted a little so he could cram in some lunch, cranked back up when we went to the store, then went into full blast at the optometrist's office.

I believe with all my heart that Henry flunked the vision test at the pediatrician's simply by being Henry. He's like a honey bee, buzzing from one thing to the next, and if the thing he's presented with isn't full of sweet, sweet nectar, he's not giving it the time of day. He plays along at first and then my son, Henry, whose vision is sharp enough to tell me that the B.J.'s sign had a broken b, that Wal-mart was the store with the star on it, tells the chick with the eye chart that everything is fuzzy. Of course, it's fuzzy. Fuzzy means your eyes are bad and you need glasses, which Henry wants desperately. Being a little liar, albeit a cute one, he's also bouncing all over the place, looking everywhere but where he's told. I have to hold his head still so they can used the machine to see how his eyes are focusing, but that was hardly helpful since he kept looking away every time she tried to run the test. Then the optometrist does her thing and I'm thinking to myself what a huge waste of time the trip was. Not a bit surprised when she says he doesn't need glasses.

Henry was disappointed, though. At the the check out counter he whined and insisted that his eyes were bad and he needed glasses, so the clerk gave him some of those plastic rolled-up disposable sunglasses for when you get your eyes dilated. That helped a little. Then another office lady asked him who his favorite basketball team was and because he knows his Dad hates Carolina (Ben's a NC State fan, which by definition means you have to hate UNC), said North Carolina was his favorite. The office lady gave him a little blue basketball.

"Oh, Henry. You're going to make Daddy mad when he sees that."

Henry grins with evil delight.

When we get home he races inside with the ball. "Dad! Look!"

Green Eggs and Shots

Yesterday it was my turn for Joy School again. Since I did a hash job on Tuesday and forgot to do the Green Eggs and Ham story, I threw it in with the other stuff about the joy of trust, etc. Beforehand I warned Henry that we were going to be making green eggs and ham for our Joy School snack. He thought that was pretty cool, but he was dead certain that he hated green eggs and ham and would not be personally sampling any of it. The kids gathered around and watched as I scrambled some eggs with green food coloring and cooked them along with a piece of ham. The ham was one of those little Canadian bacon pieces, but I didn't put any dye on it. Something about green meat makes me shudder, even if it is only dyed. I had to put cheese on the eggs to get Henry to eat any. He insisted that he wasn't touching the ham. For some reason he was convinced that ham was one of the millions of things he hates and will never eat. Not even in a box with a fox on a train in the rain. I served him some anyway, a third of a piece of the little Canadian bacon. I cut a tiny piece off of that and had him try it. It was pretty funny watching his face, because it was obvious he was trying to think up something negative to say as he put it in his mouth (a miracle that he did it, if you ask me) and when he tasted it, a look of pleased surprise, and a slightly guilty amusement because he knew that I knew he'd been plotting to weasel out of eating the rest of it. Then without further ado he popped the rest of the ham in his mouth and ate his green eggs and cheese. Yeah! One more thing Mr. Picky will eat.

Today Henry had his annual visit to the doctor. It being his five year check up, he had four vaccinations waiting for him. Since Henry hasn't had a shot in so long I explained the process, why we have shots and all that. Then I told him the good news: after getting shots you get a treat. Henry decided that he wanted bubble gum. I think I was more nervous about him getting shots than he was, remembering myself getting those shots in the leg when I was a little kid, so I from time to time reminded him of his awaiting treat to keep him positive. I didn't really have to worry about that. He was very chatty with the nurse and doctor and told him all about being five and having "a lot of Legos" and holding a closed fist, "That's zero. Zero is nothing." He had his vision and hearing tested, and while his hearing is fine, I'm going to have to take him to the optometrist to have his vision rechecked because everything on one line was "too little" which means he may have inherited Ben's eyes, even if they are brown like mine and not blue like Ben's. Then Henry got two shots in each leg. Poor guy, he was trying so hard to be tough. Lucky for him the nurse was a pro and had all four shots done in less than two seconds, so all he had time for was a few tears. Then we went to the grocery store and hooked him up with a four-pack of gum, one pack for each shot. On the car ride home he had to sample every flavor, so I had to clean up some sampled gum when we got home. Too bad vegetables don't come wrapped up like candy.

Tonight on the way to grab some dinner at Dairy Queen we passed by Henry's future school.

"Look, Dad! There's my school!"

This is Why I Love North Carolina

Monday we had some more snow. Ben stayed home and we played. The snow wasn't as deep as last time, and it was terrible for making snowmen, but Henry was excited anyway. Henry and I walked to the "dragon" park with some neighbors while Ben stayed home and caught up on some video games. At the park Henry and his friend flirted with some teenage girls and had a big snowball fight. About two hours later Ben called to make sure were were still alive, so we headed back home for lunch and hot chocolate.

The snow lingered for a few days, but then we had a nice warm front come through. I was very grateful for the free heat after freezing at the beginning of the week and opened up all the windows to warm up the house. Today it got up 75 inside. Yesterday we went to Shelly Lake and played. Henry brought along his boomerang and we took turns throwing it but never really got it to fly like it's supposed to; I guess there was too much wind. Towards the end of our walk I ended up carrying Henry's hat, sunglasses and boomerang, and Ben ended up carrying Henry. Then Henry got mad and me because I forgot to bring him a bottle of water, and wanted to know why all the water fountains were turned off. I told him it was because it was still winter time.

"No, it's not!" he said.

I had to remind him that even though it was currently 80 degrees out, it did snow on Monday.

Ah, southern living. There'll probably be an ice storm next week, just in time to kill all the daffodils.

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.