Convo.

Lots of talk.  Always lots of talk around this place.  Some of it cranky, some of it loving, some of it run-of-the-mill, some of it fabulous.  Like yesterday afternoon, when Henry and I had this discussion.

Henry: So, Mom, when I get older and when I get married.  Well, maybe I'll get married - you never know, right?
Me:  That's right.  You don't have to get married.  It's your choice.
Henry: Yeah, mom, I know.  Anyway, when I get married or older - whatever - then I think I'd like to stay living here in this house with you guys.
Me: Well, you sure can.  You can always stay here. But I think you'll probably change your mind when you're a little bit older.  You might want to move away from us.  But you could always come visit here - whenever you wanted and I'd always make you whatever you wanted to eat.
Henry: Why would you make me something to eat?
Me: Because that's what mom's do.
Henry: Oh, okay.  Whatever. So, anyway, I might not change my mind and I might want to stay here.  Okay?
Me: Absolutely.
Henry: And my kids might want to stay here too.  Okay?
Me: Okay.
Henry: Can I watch TV now?
Me: Yes.

The end.

Sunny Days.

They're rare. Especially this summer. And we love em', man.

Monkeys

Sometimes it's best to heal up...well...up a tree.

Hella Wella.

Things are looking up.

Feet are out from underneath covers.

Pirates are out searching for treasure.

What a difference a day makes.

Crazy Straws.

When we brought Henry home from the hospital in mid-March 2005, he started to snore.  And our hippie pediatrician (whom I love) said, "this fella has generous tonsils, but he looks great - totally normal." 

Fast forward six years to a family trip to the Oregon coast.  It was glorious.  Minus the fact we were all in the same hotel room.  And Henry was snoring.  And occasionally, he did a bit more than snoring.  The technical folks apparently call it apnea.

So, as long as we're moving quickly, we'll fast forward an additional seven months, five additional doctors appointments, two professional opinions and much soul-searching - and Henry got himself (and Blue Dog) ready to have his tonsils taken at out at Children's Hospital in Bellevue.  The absolute best medical facility around.

First, they give "lovies" a medical ID bracelet along with the patient.



Second, they have a Wii in the waiting room.

Third, the ceilings are covered in constellations lit in various colors.

Fourth, kids get to pick which flavor the mask will be that helps them take a nap for their surgery.

Henry chose bubble gum.

10 minutes of fairly heart-wrenching time with the radiologist, watching my fella fall asleep, 25 minutes of surgery, after which the kindest, probably oldest, surgeon came to tell us what a great guy Henry is and how terribly large his tonsils actually were (and how much airway restriction there was going on), and an hour of recovery with our drugged, tired, sore, fantastic boy - and we were on our way home.

It's been a mess of a couple days since then. Two days where my boy didn't really talk, got sick (on his sister), barely drank anything, barely took his medicine.  Was barely recognizable. That is, until I bought some crazy straws. 

And then the tide turned.

Watching Gatorade and apple juice flow up a straw like that can kick anesthetia right in the ass.  And make room for laughing, for asking for things from the store when we leave, for teasing a younger sister.  The fella we know and love. 

I'm glad for this experience though, as tired as I am right now- and as rotten as it was up-front. I'm glad - super glad - to have a healthy child.  Grateful and glad.  How lucky is that?  A good friend once said it's like catching lightning in a bottle.  Having a healthy child.

And I'm glad for those crazy straws. 

They should come with a perscription.

3rds and 4ths

DRS and I took a little trip to Walla Walla this weekend. 

Got in the car, drove to EaWa, dropped the kids off with mom and dad, continued driving on through the wheat fields, drank wine, ate good food, shopped...it was big fun.

But a few days away from those stinks makes me miss them.

Okay, maybe one more day away would've been okay, but you didn't hear that from me.

In any event, being away from them reminded me of some recent celebrating...involving some kick arse numbers. 

First, there was the third.  If you see what I'm saying.

3 is a magic number, so there better be some damn good presents.

And there better be a damn good party.

So that you're just tuckered out by the end of the day.

Because you'll have to get up a day or two later and do some more celebrating.

For the fourth. 

I love me some magic numbers.