Back in September, I remember writing about how I was going to relax and enjoy Seth's senior year, and that it was going to pass slowly, very s-l-o-w-l-y.
Yeah, that was a lie. It didn't happen that way at all. Fall was a whirlwind as Seth, along with 200 other music and theatre students at Hillcrest, prepared for the presentation of Les Miserables in November. It was amazing, but we barely saw Seth during those weeks, as they rehearsed nearly every day.
As that show closed, Seth had just a week off for Thanksgiving before the Vocal Ensemble Christmas concerts began. This talented group of 32 students performed all over the valley, often doing four performances in the same day. I followed them around to a few gigs, and every one was lovely. Beautiful music and fun choreography.
Quite honestly, I have no idea what happened to January and February; they just sort of disappeared. Near the end of February, I attended my last ever parent-teacher conference. It was so sad. I really love parent-teacher conferences. Then March arrived, and another "last," Seth's (and my) last prom! Again, so sad, but way to go out in style....I mean just look at these pictures:
Isn't Becca's dress beautiful?! Of course, this brought back all the feels, all the memories of the other kids' proms, like this one.
Reports are they had a super fun day and evening, with a yummy breakfast that another mom from their group prepared, an escape house, dinner at Olive Garden, and of course, the dance itself.
This morning, I went through yet another "last," the last time nurturing one of my babies through wisdom teeth removal. Now you make be shaking your head and thinking, "This is just not a big deal, Terrianne," but you'll have to trust me. It is. All five of my kids were briefly put to sleep with general anesthesia for the removal of their wisdom teeth, and I had the privilege of taking care of each of them post-oral surgery. By this point in life, sometimes it's easy to feel like your kids don't really need you anymore, or at least not very much. They are quite independent. In Seth's case, he is very independent and hardly asks for anything other than the car and (occasionally) money, when he's been too busy with choir stuff to work.
But when they get their wisdom teeth removed, they need their moms. They really need us. And it's so great. Seth drove us down to Provo this morning. He wasn't scared, not even anxious that I could tell. I was, a little, even though it was my fifth time. We met with the oral surgeon, who was just wonderful. He talked with us for about 10 minutes and answered our questions, reassuring us that he removes wisdom teeth from between 20-35 patients daily. Then I was out of there, and Seth's eight-minute surgery began and ended, just like that. Before I knew it, they were wheeling him out to my car in a wheelchair. He was so funny and adorable.
I took him right across the street to JCWs to get him a milkshake. Haha, trying to get him to tell me what kind he wanted was the only challenge. I read him all the flavors that didn't contain seeds or chunks, but he kept losing focus. Finally, I said "Seth, sweetie, you have to tell me which flavor you want," to which he replied "vanilla's good."
Done.
We parked in a space outside JCWs, and I fed him spoonfuls of the vanilla shake, laced with Ibuprofin. Gotta get on top of that pain before it even starts.
We hopped on the freeway, and he asked me where the milkshake came from.
Me: Seth, I got you this milkshake from JCWs. Remember, I read you all the flavors and asked you what you wanted.
Seth: No, I don't remember that at all. You're making that up. And I wouldn't have chosen vanilla.
Bahahaha.
We've spent the afternoon at home, resting. He's watching March Madness; I'm keeping track of his medication schedule, replacing his ice packs, and giving him jello and yogurt and apple sauce and pudding. I just love taking care of him. How many more opportunities will I have to do that? No idea.
At one point, a cute girl stopped by with a dish of Cold Stone cotton candy ice cream. He popped right up and spent 20 minutes chatting with her, but I could tell he was tired and hurting.
She left. I gave him more medicine, and we're back to this:
So these "lasts" are kinda killing me. But I'll take this one and appreciate it. The doctor told me I will need to wake him every three hours through the night to give him pain medicine. "Pretend you have a newborn baby again," he said.
But I don't. And every "last" is hard. It's hard, guys.
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