A Recipe for Cake

I think I've slept enough now to fill you in on Henry's birthday party, at least what I remember of it.

Where to begin?  I suppose I'll start with last Friday, which was Henry's birthday.  Friday went swimmingly, which, in hindsight, should've been a clue that things would take a turn for the worse come party day.  Henry spent his morning lounging in his new anywhere chair.  The chair is upholstered in Pottery Barn Kids madras plaid, & it matches the quilt, monogrammed pillow, & curtain panels in Henry's room.  He's thrilled with all the coordination.

In this pic I believe he was throwing his sippy cup at me:

This is Reagan with her anywhere chair, which she received on her first birthday.

The kids & I had a nice day at home Friday.  Henry took a long nap that morning, which meant I took a long shower & was able to put on clothes & dry my hair with only minimal interruption from Reagan, who asked me questions every five minutes about when exactly she was going to get to eat cake & open Henry's birthday gifts. 

Friday evening we all went to dinner at The Warehouse.  

Mother/son selfie fail:

A little sibling time during dessert.  And by sibling time, I mean Reagan leaving her chair to confiscate the new toy Henry's Grandmama brought him:

When Friday ended, quite literally, all the birthday loveliness vanished.  Around midnight, Henry started coughing.  It wasn't just any cough, either.  He was wheezy, & frankly sounded like he'd been smoking a pack a day for several years.  From approximately one o'clock until three o'clock Saturday morning, Henry & I wrestled in bed as I attempted to prop us both up in a position that would allow us to get some sleep, while also aiding in the cessation of Henry's cough.  I failed miserably; he continued to cough, & neither of us slept much at all.  At three o'clock, Trey got in the recliner with him, & I hooked up the nebulizer because I was worried about Henry's breathing.  The thing you want to be doing at three in the morning the day you're having lots of people over for a birthday party is digging in your bathroom drawers to find all the parts to the nebulizer.  Oh & also, somewhere in the middle of all this our dog, Sophie, who is not the spring chicken she once was, urinated in the middle of the kitchen floor, so I cleaned that up.  The only thing better than hooking up the nebulizer for your infant at three in the morning is sopping up a puddle of dog urine.        

Just as I was shutting down the nebulizer & about to flee to the bed for a few hours of sleep, I heard Reagan stirring.  By the time I'd aided her in her middle of the night bathroom quest, it was almost four in the morning.  I slept for about two hours before rising to prepare for a trip to the pediatrician's office, where we learned Henry had the croup.  I'd heard of the croup, but didn't understand that what it is, exactly, is this horrendous animal sounding cough.  Henry was prescribed some medicine, & thankfully no longer sounds like a future Marlboro Man.  

I returned home with Henry around nine Saturday morning, drank a little more coffee, or maybe a lot more coffee, & headed back to town to pick up his cake, some balloons, & other needed party items.  It's all a blur.  Miraculously, I made it home having forgotten nothing.

The cake:  

And the smash cake:

I found this plaid '1' candle because everything's better with a little plaid:

Ready to party.  Actually, Henry & I both needed a long, long nap . . . but sometimes you dig deep & push through because it would be weird to invite people over & then miss the whole shindig because you're curled up in the bed with the birthday boy.  

Reagan was less than thrilled with the carrots & cucumber I set out for her.  I wanted her number nice & low when I jacked her full of insulin in preparation for the cake & ice cream, which, in technical diabetic language, are known as a heaping ton of carbs.

Henry in his new ride.  Please note his sweater vest with a flourish of argyle & coordinating plaid shorts:

Henry didn't do much cake smashing.  He was so, so tired.

This is the box in which Henry's smash cake was enclosed.  If it's any indication of how tired I was, someone else pointed out to me that my last name is misspelled; I had not noticed.  I'd normally spot something like this a mile away.    

Saturday night after the kids were asleep I could have, & probably should have, gone to sleep myself.  However, I had yet to watch that week's episode of 24.  

I don't need to spell out what happened next . . . 

2 hours of sleep

1 sick birthday boy

1 incontinent dog

1 hour of Jack Bauer

1 cup of decaf

It all adds up to a huge helping of Henry's birthday cake.  I enjoyed it immensely, & it has not shown up on the scale (yet).

Sunday offered no respite.  After church & lunch, I shuttled the kids home, changed their clothes, & had about twenty minutes to drink some coffee before handing Henry off to my mom so I could take Reagan to a birthday party for her friend Wendi.

Thus, this is what Monday looked like:

Before I leave you, I'll update my summer stats.  Despite Saturday evening's cake, I am still down five pounds (sometimes six!).  I have read The Fault in Our Stars, which I rant about here, if you missed it.  I have a date with myself later today to see the movie (it's a gift to Trey really, giving him a chance to spend some one on one time with his kids on this Father's Day weekend).  I am meandering through a reread of A Farewell to Arms, which is just delicious, as always.  I find a new favorite line every time I reread it.  Edie's continuing saga still sits at 9,100 words because I know better than to go near it when I'm as tired as I've been the past week; I can be a bit vicious & characters end up saying & doing things that they'd otherwise never consider.  I am thoroughly enjoying Michael Buble's To Be Loved album.  He sings a duet with Reese Witherspoon that is wonderful (it's No. 5 on the album).  Plus, no matter what song is playing, this picture below pops up on my iPhone, so there's really not a bad song on the album.

  

Both Diet Coke & cable remain on the banned list in our home.  To my knowledge, Trey has yet to drink any Diet Coke since giving it up cold turkey over a month ago.  I had a momentary cable crisis Tuesday night when I learned Eric Cantor lost his primary; I was craving a little Fox News, but I just reminded myself that even if we had cable, it's not like I'd be able to sit down with my decaf & watch.    

Is anyone else a little giddy about Cantor's loss . . . (is it politically incorrect to say Adios, Senor Cantor?  Even if the remaining dolts in DC don't want to admit it, we all know why he lost.  Amnesty's not cool, y'all.  Not cool.  I am looking at you, Paul Ryan!).  You go, Dave Brat!  Rock on with your PhD & your $150,000 campaign.  

This fall promises to be muy interesante.  Between mid-term elections & college football, if we're still a household without cable, a plateful of birthday cake is unlikely to placate me.  

AZ

Something with a Capital S

We partied hard Saturday in celebration of Henry's first birthday.  I partied about as hard as I could on two hours of sleep.  I've yet to upload pics, so you'll have to wait to read about my long Friday night & even longer Saturday.  I'm still in a bit of a sleep deprived fog from the weekend's events & am not yet prepared to blog it all out.  What must absolutely happen now so that I can move on with life & clear some space in my head is for me to share my thoughts on John Green's The Fault in Our Stars.  I won't leave you in suspense: I did not care for it.

It's all the rage right now in the world of YA literature (that's Young Adult for those of you who don't waste time on Goodreads reading hilarious book reviews, which you should consider doing, by the way, because it's awesome).  John Green has been churning out YA novels for a few years & now they're making their way to the big screen.  Me being a permanent resident in the world of YA literature, it was inevitable that I'd eventually sample some of Mr. Green's work, & having done so, I've decided not to board the John Green train.

For those who haven't read the book or seen the recently released film adaptation, The Fault in Our Stars covers a few months in the life of seventeen-year-old Hazel Grace Lancaster.  Hazel has cancer, as does her love interest in the novel, Augustus (Gus) Waters, whom she meets at a support group for kids with cancer.

It's not the cancer that's off-putting.  I was aware of the book's subject matter before I read it, so I was prepared to experience cancer through the eyes of a teenage girl.  I actually decided to read it because I wanted to see how Green crafts a love story between two cancer-striken teens.  I mean, that's a heavy essay prompt you handed yourself, Mr. Green.

Here come the gripes.  My biggest complaint with the novel is the way Green deals with what I'll call religiosity.  I didn't pick up the book expecting a story about two teens who love Jesus & face their untimely deaths bravely because they know they have a home in Heaven; were that the story Green tells, obviously Hollywood wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole.  I was, however, surprised at the extent to which Green, via his narrator Hazel, openly mocks religion, & I was also saddened by the grandiose manner in which Green spits on what was in its inception, I think, a beautiful opportunity to meld what are typically end-of-life concerns with the curious minds of teens.

The support group Hazel & Gus attend meets in a church, & Green repeatedly uses this venue to take jabs at, well, Christians & Christianity, in my opinion.  Through her dialogue with both Gus & her father, the reader learns that Hazel has no use for religion, & when Gus tells her that he believes some sort of heaven exists, claiming that, "I believe in Something with a capital S," Hazel questions him & thinks to herself, "I'd always associated belief in heaven with, frankly, a kind of intellectual disengagement.  But Gus wasn't dumb."

When reading, I highlighted Hazel's statement about "intellectual disengagement" because finally Green has Hazel just come out & say it: she thinks people who believe in Heaven are dumb.  Given her next statement, that Gus, whom she loves & respects & believes to be "not dumb," believes in, "Something with a capital S," I was hopeful that Hazel might experience some growth during the remainder of the novel . . . but no.  No growth.  You would think a teenage girl who is dying of cancer, & who *** SPOILER *** watches helplessly as her boyfriend dies of cancer would do a little mental digging, a little thinking outside the box.  But no.

Green missed the boat here, in my humble opinion.  I finished reading & sat in my bed thinking, So what does she learn?  What does she take away from her time with Gus?  ANYTHING?!?  Apparently, not much.  Despite the innumerable conversations she shares with Gus, Hazel seemingly has not changed one iota when the novel concludes.  I wasn't expecting her to go down to her local church & ask to be baptized as she made the sign of the cross, but wow, for a character so ripe for deep thoughts about life & death, when the novel concludes, she is the same cynical teen the reader meets on page one.  Do I understand the cynicism?  Yes, of course, & at times, Hazel's acerbic wit is hilarious.  But I don't understand her utter rejection of the idea of the existence of a benevolent God & a Heaven (a place she might see Gus again); this, to me, is the most depressing part of the novel - - not the cancer!

My second gripe with the novel is Green's inclusion of what I found to be an odd (& yet integral) part of the plot.  Hazel is obsessed with a book she read (& reread & reread) titled An Imperial Affliction.  She has attempted to contact the novel's author in hopes of having a few questions she has about his work answered, but her fan mail has gone unanswered.  Peter Van Houten (the author she idolizes) is a recluse who hasn't written anything since his lauded novel, An Imperial Affliction.  Long story short, thanks to Gus, Hazel meets Van Houten, & he is a total jerk.  Prior to their meeting, while Hazel didn't believe in God, she very much believed in Peter Van Houten, & she has to let go of years of idolizing the man when she finally meets him.  Disappointing for Hazel, no doubt.  Again, a situation that screams, character growth! . . . deep thoughts about how men are simply men, & even the ones who write beautiful literature are sometimes deeply flawed . . . but no.  No deep thoughts.

My third & final gripe is Green's choice of a narrator.  I don't think he successfully voices a teenage girl, which isn't all that surprising considering he's a man.  He may've been a teenager once, but never a female teen dying of cancer, & in my opinion, the further removed an author is from the narrative voice they choose, the harder they have to work to make it authentic, & in many respects I think Hazel lacks authenticity.  I will say that I have not yet seen the movie.  I plan to, but I wanted to hash this all out before seeing the film because I suspect I may enjoy the film more than the book because films inevitably lose a good bit of the narrative voice that dominates a book, & while that often saddens me, in this case, I'd welcome it.

So why do I care?  Why should you care?  Are you aware of the box office numbers this movie pulled this past weekend?  Kids, young kids, are reading Green's work & seeing this movie.  Hazel's is a story that makes you think (if you're a thinker, that is, & I've found that most people who read also think).  What is bothersome to me is that Green doesn't leave the reader, many of whom are young, impressionable readers, much room to hope for anything better than a brief life on Earth that may or may not be cut short by cancer.  I had high hopes that Gus's belief in something with a capital S would shine brighter as the novel progresses, but that isn't the case.  Gus dies.  Hazel is steadfast in her belief that there is nothing beyond life (& death) on Earth.  Hazel is likely going to die.  The end.  Yes, they find each other & fall in love & there are moments in the development of their relationship that I find humorous & touching & mildly entertaining, but none of it is worth reading the book if that's the end - - the end of the book, or the end of it all.  

Much of popular YA literature deals with supernatural elements (Harry Potter, Twilight) or the ever-popular apocalyptic scenarios, such as The Hunger Games & the Divergent series.  Green's novels, to my knowledge, deal with neither; there are no vampires, & no country formerly known as The United States that is now run by a ruthless government out to cause problems for young teens involved in dramatic love triangles.  Thus, Green's writing offers young adults a realistic read, or at least significantly more realistic than a sparkly vampire who can read people's thoughts & scale tall buildings or a world in which teens are sent to fight to the death in an arena.  Unfortunately, many teens know someone their age who suffers with, or died from, cancer.  Or their parent, or grandparent, or sibling, or preacher, or teacher suffers with, or died from, cancer.  I wish Green offered Hazel, & thus his readers, a smidge more hope, or at least, at least!, strayed from openly mocking those who believe in God, & believe He offers Heaven to those who seek Him.

I believe in something with a capital S; I think that belief is in fact written on the hearts of all men by the God who created them, & it's irritating to me when someone with a pen (or a word processor) subtly ebbs away at the pull toward their Creator that tugs on men's conscience.  I am not advocating a book burning, & in fact, I encourage you to read The Fault in Our Stars if you've not done so as I'd love to know what you think.  Were it not a YA novel, I don't think I'd be so bothered.  Young adults are so impressionable; they need Gus's narrative voice, not Hazel's.  They need to be encouraged to think deeply about good & evil, life & death, & about the existence & true nature of something with a capital S.      

AZ

Henry's Year in Review

Today is Henry's first birthday.

This is the four of us circa a year ago; I think this was taken four days before he was born.  In terms of my weight loss goals, I currently weigh approximately forty-five pounds less than I do in this photo, & as a bonus, I can paint my toenails without making loud, loud noises.   

I am tempted to regale you with the story of Henry's birth, but I won't.  Granted, it is a short story since Henry entered the world hastily, but that story is here, for those who'd like to read it.

I will now bombard you with pictures.

Henry was born at 2:32 in the morning on June 6, 2013.  My plan was to space my kids two & a half years apart.  My original due date with Henry was June 13, 2013.  Do you know what happened on June 13, 2013, aside from Henry turning one week old?  Reagan hit the two & a half mark.  That's what I call family planning.   

And the countdown to one year . . . 

I ran into a bit of a dilemma with month eleven (in addition to the scrapes & bruises on his face for much of month eleven).  There is only one '1' in the number puzzle that has, until now, served me so well this year.  These pictures were taken during his eleventh month, & I know this for a fact because they are stored in my iPhone after the ten month photos were taken.  

This is Reagan at one year:

I know, I know.  My kids are cute.

Beyond birthday news, I've lost four-ish pounds.  Depending on what time of day I weigh, it is sometimes accurate to say I've lost five pounds.  I may have to revise after tomorrow's birthday shindig, however.  I have read The Fault in Our Stars; I'll hold my tongue, for now.  I don't want to sully this post about Henry's first year with what I have to say (please know that I am about to explode).  And in this tribute to Bridget Jones's Diary, I'll also add that the sequel now sits at 9,100 words.  

As long as I am knee deep in my accomplishments, on Wednesday of this week I downloaded a lot of Michael Buble's music to my iTunes, & I am now officially following him on Twitter.  Yes, I am on Twitter.  I was surprised to learn that I've actually been on Twitter since March of 2009, according to Twitter.  My handle (I think that's the correct term, handle) is @ajzeigler.  I have yet to tweet anything . . . but give me another five years, & I may have something to say.  I guess I stay away because if anyone tweets anything newsworthy, well, it's in the news, & also because Twitter's severe word restrictions make me recoil.  I mean I didn't start writing this blog because I thrive on word restrictions.   

  

I shall return with all you ever wanted to know about Henry's first birthday party.

Happy Birthday, Henry.  I love you.

AZ

Enough