Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Trying Hard Not To Stangle Her

I got a phone call yesterday from Birdie's teacher. I always cringe when I hear a message from the school because I'm anticipating that they are going to tell me that one of my children are hopeless and I should just go ahead and send them to carnie school.

Anyway, Ms. S told me that Birdie had SPAT in another kids face. Then, she lied and told the teacher that she had to use the bathroom and met her little friends in there instead where they spent 25 minutes chatting before the teachers found them. THEN...when the teacher told her that her punishment was to skip recess and do her school work instead, she refused and ended up in the principal's office.

My heart stopped. And it's a good thing she was still at CCD because I would have strangled her right then and there.

This isn't the kid I know. She doesn't behave this way at home because she knows that I will remove all of her limbs and sell them on ebay! I know she's testing but holy shit! She's not been raised this way and it astounds me that she even has it in her to behave this way.

We had a LONG talk when she got home from CCD and I told her I knew everything. We talked about lying and about spitting (she copped that she learned this from The Simpsons which she was not allowed to watch in the first place) and treating others with respect. We discussed hard work and accountability and self control. It's not like we haven't discussed these things before. Why does she act like she's never heard of it before?

She got a swat. And her TV, radio and computer privileges were revoked. Her Pokemon cards were confiscated. She is not allowed to attend the school Halloween costume parade and WILL NOT be trick or treating this Halloween. She also must apologize to the kid on the other end of her spit fest, her teacher and the principal and if she doesn't do it I will drive her to the kids house and she will have to apologize to him and his parents! Her little world came crashing down on her because I want her to understand that there are consequences for her actions.

I hate that she feels the need to test the boundaries so much. It scares me because Birdie is not one of those kids who will listen. When she was little and I told her to stay away from the stove because it would burn her, she insisted that she see what I was talking about and *sizzle*. Then, and only then was she like, "oh...that's what you were talking about."

Lord help us when she is a teenager!

Sunday, October 26, 2008

The Biggest One I Ever Saw

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I was taking a walk through our neighborhood the other day when I happened upon this leaf lying on the sidewalk.

I stared at it for a while and then walked past it but eventually went back to retrieve it because I wanted to take this little freak of nature home to show my family. I then took a picture of it to share it's freakishness with you, the internet. I placed it next to a quarter to show it's size. I learned that little trick on C.S.I. You know, where they place evidence next to a dollar to show it's size in proportion to something constant. Grissom would be so proud of me!

We "oohed" and "aaahed" over it for a while and decided that it must have blown in from a far, far away land where everything is three times as big as it is here on earth. And it must have fallen from a 1000 foot tree that was overlooking a 500 foot house which housed a 100 foot man that ate cookies that are just as tall as Howie, six feet four inches tall.

A Keen Fashion Sense


Just so you know, this chic fashion statement is all the rage in Paris. All you have to do is take last season's bathing suit and stick your head in one of the arm holes so that it fits snuggly along your face.

Then you work it, own it.

You laugh now, but you won't be laughing when you see Kate Moss wearing this on the cover of Vogue magazine.

Black Obama

1 comment:
Birdie: "Daddy, did you know that Black Obama is going to be the next president?"
Howie: "No baby, it's BARACK Obama."
Birdie: "That's what I said, Black Obama."
Howie: "B A R A C K"
Birdie: "B A R A C K"
Howie: "So, he's going to be the next president, huh?"
Birdie: "Yep. And I'm really happy because I LOVE Black Obama."

A Hairy Lip

1 comment:
It's been 9 months since Howie stopped smoking, a success story to say the least. I really don't think that he will ever go back to smoking. He's tried, but just couldn't do it anymore. Lucky for him, he's a person who is all about routine and since smoking is no longer part of his routine, it's not something that he fancies anymore.

But there is a problem. Instead of simply doing away with his nasty habit, he has replaced smoking with chewing. He used to chew a long time ago, but only in situations where he didn't have access to his cigarettes. Now he does it quite often and to be honest, it's even more disgusting than the smoking. Sure, his clothes don't smell but every time I go to kiss him I see brown flecks in his teeth. It's such a turn off so needless to say, he hasn't been getting much "play" lately.

The other night someone made mention that when you chew for a very long time you will eventually get a hairy lower inner lip. That was the most disgusting thing I ever heard. I asked Howie if he knew about this and he said "yes" although the shock in his eyes said otherwise. So today he came over to get some hugs and kisses from me as I was doing dishes and when I went to kiss him I smelled the familiar smell of chew:

Me: "Ew, are you chewing again. You know that's going to give you a hairy lip."
Howie: "I know, I know."
Me: "And then you will have to start shaving the inside and outside of your face."
Howie: "Shut up."
Me: "Or you could always go au naturale and let it droop out the side of your mouth."
Howie: *hysterical giggles*
Me: "Or you could always braid it."
Howie: "Nah, I'll just go gangster and stick a pick in it."

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Caught In The Act

Do you ever talk to yourself? I know that all of us (when we're standing at airport security) say things like, "shit, I left the big bomb at home, thank goodness I made sure to pack the small one." You know, normal talk that one has with one self. I'm not talking about THAT.

No, I mean seriously talk to yourself? I do. All the time. I have full length conversations with myself. Sometimes I pretend to talk to other people.

Stop laughing at me!

I recently devised a fantasy in my head where I was being interviewed by Oprah. She has me on her show for something spectacular like losing a gazillion pounds on a bacon and cream cheese diet. Anyway, she's interviewing me and I'm all blushed and grinning ear to ear that she would ACTUALLY HAVE ME ON HER SHOW! And "oh really, mean I changed your life and now you are going to buy me a new car and let me take Nate Berkus home to decorate my foyer? How could I ever repay you."

Cut to commercial.

I usually indulge my fantasy when I'm alone. Like when I'm using the bathroom or washing dishes but one day I decided to daydream while I was driving. I was sitting at a red light talking to myself and pretending to laugh at one of Oprah's jokes when I noticed that the man in the car next to me was staring at me.

*record scratch*

The felt the humiliation rush through me and I started to sweat. I had been caught in the act and I was ashamed and vulnerable. It wasn't like I'd never been caught doing things in a car. There was this one time when I was caught doing a stunning impression of Freddie Mercury singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" which was quite embarrassing but this was different. Maybe it was that singing isn't considered weird. Everyone does THAT in their car, right? Right? But talking to yourself while pretending you're on a talk show? Not so "normal". I imagined the man thinking to himself, "yeah, another one flew over the cuckoos nest!" That's what made it so humiliating, being caught in the middle of something so tawdry. Like that time when my mom caught my then boyfriend performing a very oral act on me in the back of his car. Yeah. Pretty mortifying.

I had to think fast to come up with some kind of explanation why I was sitting in traffic talking to myself like a lonely schizo trying to find her missing multiple personalities. I saw my cell phone in a cup holder and grabbed it up really quickly. I immediately put it up to my ear like, "hello...hello...imaginary person...can you hear me now?" Flushed with righteousness, I turned to my audience and shook my head while I pointed at my cell phone as if to say, "cell phones these days, sheesh!"

He smiled.

But I don't think he bought it.

When the light turned green and as I watched him speed away, I paused to wonder why it mattered to me what this man, a stranger, was thinking of me. It shouldn't matter. I was minding my business not hurting anyone. Sure, I looked like a complete idiot but this is America dammit! Being a complete idiot in public is our constitutional right!

Besides, it's not like I'm going to see him again, right? Right? At least until next week when I realize that he is actually my neighbor and now when I run past his house in the evenings he is going to rush his dogs into the house so that the crazy lady who speaks to herself in her car doesn't attack them in his yard and rip them open just so I can lick their kidneys.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Husband Venting (Update)

1 comment:
So I took some of your advice and decided to have a nice chat with Howie. I explained to him the situation and while I don't have the most helpful husband, I do have one that is willing to listen and try to make me happy.

He finally said, "just tell me exactly what you want me to do." He put me on the spot and I wasn't prepared so I blurted out "the laundry." The look of surprise and utter terror on his face was priceless! He agreed to do the laundry for one week and then slowly start to do more things around the house.

He finished about 6 loads on Saturday and another 5 or 6 on Sunday (the the help of Mamaw). I didn't care, so long as it got done and it's doing so didn't involve me! I have to tell you, his washing, drying, folding and putting away the clothes gave me the most intense pleasure a man has ever offered me! Just thinking about it makes me quiver :-)

This morning he attempted to iron. *snort* He's never really done that before but in his quest to prove himself useful, he was willing to try. Within seconds of beginning I heard him screaming more profanity than contained in an explicit rap record. He had burned his new pants. His favorite new pants. I tried hard to seem like I felt bad for him but every molecule in my body was struggling to contain my laughter! He ended up not going to work today, opting to WAH (work at home). Because he "didn't have anything to wear."

Thanks for all of your advice! He's been very helpful and while I know it won't last because his enthusiasm will wear out, I know that he will be much more helpful overall and at the very least, a lot more appreciative of everything I do around here!

Shark Teeth

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The other day while Birdie was screaming yet again for another completely earth-shattering reason, like her brother was looking at her for too long, I noticed something suspicious in her mouth.

I asked her to open wide while I tried to stick my head in her mouth to inspect. What I saw horrified me. It was a gigantic permanent tooth coming in right behind one of her baby teeth. And before I could think rationally I started to scream and pound my fists on the ground saying, "I KNEW I shouldn't have used that "Finding Nemo" toothpaste with a picture of a shark on the tube!"

In this picture you can see the "shark tooth" peeking out. You can also see the cap she necessitated after all that crack she smoked.

She says it doesn't hurt which makes me feel better but I was on the phone to her dentist faster than a fat girl is voted off "America's Next Top Model." After they told me to put down the brown paper bag and speak into the phone, they explained that what Birdie has is perfectly normal and they see it all the time. They call it "shark teeth" and they happen when the roots of the baby teeth are tough. The permanent tooth will push the baby tooth out and then move into it's place which is so bizzarrro, isn't it? For a moment I was having daydreams about her traveling the country in a circus freak show. "Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, come one, come all, to see SHARK GIRL!"

They also told me that we should keep wiggling the baby tooth. "But it's in there like it's under 12 feet of concrete", I say. "Just keep wiggling", they say. "It doesn't wiggle, it's solid." "Just keep wiggling."

I told her to open up and I pushed on the tooth. Nothing. Then I grabbed it and tried to wiggle it back and forth. Nothing. I was just about to give up when all of a sudden the damn thing wiggled loose! It's still in there pretty good but I can tell that if she keeps playing with it, it'll come out on it's own and she won't require an extraction. Which is a good thing because the last time we were at the dentist with Birdie I had to promise to buy her a baby unicorn that would sprinkle magic pixie dust all over her and shit white chocolate. It was so traumatic (for me) that I would have paid for someone to attach one of those bubble gum scented gas masks to my face and let me die a sweet and "dude, this is some good shit" death.

For now it's a novelty that the tooth is wiggly but I kind of dread the day that the thing falls out because Birdie is as squeamish as they come. The other day the cat scratched her and left a pink mark on her arm and she told me she was going to "bleed to death." Is it wrong to tell her that she better not go drama queen on me because all of the noise will cause the tooth fairy to get a splitting headache that can only be cured by 10 straight shots of tequila? And we all know how unreliable that damn tooth fairy can be when she's shit faced drunk!

Husband Venting

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Howie has really been on my nerves lately. I love the man, but damn...he can drive me batshit.

So, the main problem is our division of labor. Right now it's about 95% to 5%.

I do the following:
1. Cook (healthy home-made meals)
2. Clean the house (for a bunch of pigs)
3. Take care of the kids
4. Do laundry (4 loads a day, plus ironing)
5. Shop (and stay on budget)
6. Pay the bills (on time)
7. Take care of the animals (pills twice a day)
8. Am responsible for all child and pet appointments
9. Mow the lawn (plus landscaping)
10. Take care of the car and truck
11. Take out the garbage
12. Run all errands, mail all birthday cards
13. Take care of Mamaw's shopping and bills
14. Go to all school functions/teacher conferences
15. Run all carpools (twice per week)
16. Take care of home repairs

He does the following:
1. Goes to work
2. Locks the house at night

Now, I will be the first to say that hey, I'm a stay at home mom and obviously my responsibilities are to take care of the house and children. Noted. But he is a grown ass man who can't pick out his own clothes in the morning without consultation. He will not pick a plate up from the table. He will not put his clothes in the hamper. Is it too much to ask that he take care of himself? I have my hands slightly occupied with three screaming children, a hypothyroid dog and an insane cat. Can he not do something?

Last weekend we went to our town fair and I was holding Bear and had Birdie by the hand. He was responsible for Bubba and when Bubba threw a fit and went running through a crowd of hundreds Howie stood there looking at me like, "well...aren't you going to run after him?" I actually had to say to him, "go get him" before he knew what to do. It's like someone dropped him on the planet of parenthood one day and he has no clue what language we speak here!

It wasn't always this way. He used to help me more when it was just Birdie but each successive child brought less and less participation. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Honestly, I don't expect much from him. If he would help me for 1 hour in the evenings, perhaps put the kids to bed (WITHOUT WHINING) I would be happy. Besides, he only gets about an hour a day with the kids (he comes home at 5:30 and they go to bed around 6:45) so you would think that it wouldn't be too much of a bother for him to want to spend time with them without grumbling.

Yes, I understand that he's tired. I understand that he works all day and has a stressful job. I appreciate everything he does! Honestly. I don't expect him to scrub floors or clean the basement but I just want him to consistently contribute a little.

He says he does help but I give you this analogy: It's the equivalent of him driving to the dump, throwing a gum wrapper onto the pile and saying, "yo...there you go. That should help you out...not having to worry about that gum wrapper and all. That should make your job a lot easier!"

Urgh. Why do I feel guilty even asking for his help even though I'm completely exhausted! I have another terrible sinus infection that makes me want to blow my head off! Yet there is no rest for the weary. I need to get up and pack, dress, feed and board 2 kids on the bus. Change feed and occupy a third while he sleeps!?!

What do you guys think is a fair division of labor for a family with a stay at home mom? I would go back to work if I didn't think that then I'd have a full time job PLUS everything I already do. Am I asking too much? And yes, you can totally accuse me of creating this monster. That time when I was in the hospital after giving birth to our third baby and he asked me to check out a day early so I could do laundry...yeah, I should have totally told him to kiss my ass!

Friday, October 10, 2008

Memo To Kids: September 2008

To: The Three Musketeers
From: The Boss
Re: How many times do I have to tell you...

The magician at our town family day made Birdie a pink balloon cat. I like this cat because it doesn't chew on my toes or rub his ass in my face like our real cat does.

Birdie: September has gone into full swing and your schedule is hectic. You started dance class again and began your first year of CCD (religious ed classes). This year you will only be taking jazz class because if you did more than one, you would have to put me in a tiny room with padded walls by the end of the year. We did manage to get into a four-way carpool which means I only have to load all four of you giggly, squeaky little girls into my mini-van once a month. I did the first carpool and the screeching that came from the back of our car was such that part of my soul died. It's funny really how your conversations have changed from last year. Then, it was all about Barbies and cartoons. Now you all discuss diaphragms and foreign policy. I can't believe you guys have matured in just few short months!

I also can't believe how much homework you get on a daily basis. It's common for you to have at least 30 minutes of homework per night and sometimes even more. You guys have spelling tests every week and before you get your weekly words the teacher gives you a pre-test. You ace them every time and because of that, you teacher has been assigning you "challenge words". Words like crocodile, September and rainbow. The packets of homework include crossword puzzles, sentence dictation, writing practice and much more. Add that to the math homework and you and I are sitting at the dinner table until 9pm! Could you please dumb it up next week so we can both get a break? I need to seriously have a talk with your teacher because she is such a buzz kill to my happy hour!

Something has happened to you in first grade. It's a maturity, a growing up that is so much more substantial than growing up you've done. I find myself talking to you in ways less like a bossy mom but more like a best friend. The other day you walked into the room and said, "who are going to vote for mom" and you did it in a way unlike a child who was confused about politics but more like a young person genuinely interested in where I stand on global warming and same sex marriage. I had to stop myself before asking you if you wanted to play the Sarah Palin drinking game. My point is that I'm seeing a glimpse of you becoming a young little woman and while I still am your mother and you better do what I say, I have a feeling that our relationship is about to take a drastic change. A change that includes mutual interests in TV, books and humor and I'm looking forward to that special time. I am going to try to soak it up as much as possible before you turn thirteen and start to hate me because that's what all teenage girls do. They shave their legs, wear questionable clothes and make-up and hate their mothers.

The dirt bike kid. This is the one and only time that this boy will sit on a motorcycle. He is not allowed to ride any such vehicle until he is 40 and even then I will give him shit about it.

Bubba: You made huge strides in the pooping department this month. Ever since the beginning of potty training you refused to poop in the toilet, preferring instead of take a deuce in your diaper moments before we get you up in the morning. But the other day, it was very clear that you really needed to poop. You ran around in obvious discomfort with your hand covering your butt hole in a pathetic attempt to keep the poop in but on this day your efforts would prove futile. I sat you on the potty for 45 minutes while you screamed bloody murder and tried to remind myself that I was doing the right thing and that it would be slightly illegal for me to strangle you. You finally went and the next time you had to go it only took 30 minutes of persuasion. By the third time you started to go on your own and I declared myself victorious.

But while you are completely trained at home, you steadfastly refuse to pee at school. The last two weeks, I've had to go to school every day to take you to the potty and while I don't mind helping you get comfortable with taking a leak in a public building, it's getting kind of old. I would like to not have to drive to your school twice a day. At first, it was clear that you were nervous about peeing in a new pot but now I'm kind of feeling like it's your way of controlling me and your teachers and I'm starting to worry that I will still be going to your school when you are in junior high because you refuse to go on your own.

The principal, teachers and even social worker at the school have all been very concerned. They wanted to schedule meetings and outline a plan of action. I told them that they should make like a Frankie Goes To Hollywood tune and "RELAX".

Recently, you've been singing constantly. It's the sweetest thing way you sing "row, row, row your boat...gently down the stream. If you see an alligator, don't forget to scream.. AAAAAHHHHH!" And then of course your sisters follow suit and the screaming is so intense that my eardrums explode.

Bear out to lunch with Mamaw and I. She was a perfect lady. She only belched one time and when she announced that "I POOPED" she did so in a way that only half (not all) of the restaurant heard her.

Bear: You and I have been really enjoying our time together now that Birdie and Bubba are in school all day. There is rarely a day when we are not dressed and out of the house by 9am. It's become such a routine that on those rare days when we have nowhere to go, you pace the house like a caged animal and by 9:15 you begin chanting a never-ending song of "I go, lets go, I go, we go, it's go, bear go, we go, I go, go, go, go." And when I tell you that, "no honey, we are staying home today." You throw yourself on the ground and start pounding your head on the hard-wood floors pausing only long enough to notice a fallen goldfish cracker, gobble it up and then resume your hysterics.

This month also brought the advent of a major attachment to a luvy toy: your teddy bear. You are the first and only Steeler child to love teddy bears. The other two liked Elmo, Bob The Builder and Dora but never took to real teddy bears. Not you, it's all about your bear, a fluffy little brown companion that goes everywhere from the park to the bathtub with you. You cuddle with him, you try to feed him your breakfast, you push him around in a baby stroller and even try to do his hair. If anyone so much as breathes in the direction of your bear or happens to be looking in his general direction you get all psycho jealous! You give a look that says, "don't even think about it, I will gut you and then bake your liver in my easy bake oven." You know...relationships are about trust and to my knowledge, Teddy has never given you any reason to believe that he would be unfaithful. Give him some breathing room, woman!

I also think that you are very soon ready to potty train. As soon as there is any action down in your diaper you say, "I poop". So, the "are they ready to potty train" people say that kids are ready if...

1. They don't like feeling dirty. (You say, "eww, stinky poop". Check)
2. They can tell you they are filthy. (the other day when we were in a restaurant, you announced very loud and clear.."I POOPED" so that everyone could hear you. Check.
3. They can undress themselves. (You are naked every morning when I go to get you. Check)

I think you are just about ready and I can't wait. I can only imagine what life would be like without diapers. I'm guessing that it will be akin to a life without tampons, a very glorious life indeed. When that day comes I am going to celebrate by ceremoniously burning any remaining diapers in the middle of my driveway. And then I will send Huggies an email and tell them that the Steeler family is officially out of the diaper buying business and they will have to find some other way to pay for that house in Aspen or that penthouse in New York City.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

A Girls Night Out

Howie went out of town this week. He went to Washington, as in the state of Washington across the country from Connecticut. He left me in charge of three kids, a cat, a dog, a mother-in-law, two carpools and a really temperamental home alarm system.

I survived. Barely. But when he got home last night I was in desperate need of a break so I decided to attend the monthly mom's night out with the M.O.M.S. club. It was ethnic night and I figured it would be a great excuse to get out of the house, eat buffet style and have a large glass of wine.

Howie was only home for about an hour when I was like, "yeah, it's nice to see you, welcome home, here are the kids, good luck with that, BYE!" I headed out, sushi in tow and arrived at the party at around 7:45pm. Little did I know that the next 4 hours would be a throw back to my college years. A carefree, loud, raunchy gathering of chicks slurping down heavily alcoholic margaritas and talking about things that would make a sailor blush. We talked, we giggled, we laughed hysterically within seconds of peeing our pants. We sang, we danced, we learned personal details of each other's kissing histories.

At one point, when I had met my margarita quota and felt like I had ingested enough salt to retain the Connecticut river in my ankles, I decided that I should start drinking water. And drink I did. Five glasses full and instead of making me feel hydrated and sober, I felt nauseous and dizzy. I was fine for a while but then.....*record scratch* I KNEW I was going to lose it. I went outside to get some "fresh air", thinking that would make me feel better but instead all the water in my belly just swished around as I moved and I could feel that blow chunks feeling creep it's way up my chest.

To show my courtesy for our host, I decided not to vomit in her yard and went across the street to desecrate her neighbor's grass instead. All it took was a slip of a guacamole scented burp and I was hurling. I haven't done that since my freshman year in college when my stupid roommate convinced me that I should do a beer bong...upside down.

I went back inside and since the hurling made me feel fantastic, I had two more glasses of wine. Because I'm thick that way and am not a good learner. The 33 year old mom in me said, "STOP WOMAN, WHILE YOU HAVE A SHRED OF DIGNITY". But the 13 year old boy in me was like, "Dude, lets do it again and see if this time you can vomit your liver!"

All in all, it was a surprise. I wasn't surprised that I had fun, those women are great. I was surprised at HOW MUCH fun I had. I haven't laughed that much in a really long time. I haven't been that drunkenly silly in a VERY long time and I haven't hurled in a strangers yard in years. I believe I was due! I felt like I got to know a lot of those moms a lot better and am really glad I got that opportunity because they are fantastic!

For those of you who were there and are now lurking through my blog to see if I would tell your deepest, darkest drunken secrets...I know you are pleased. Your secrets are safe with me. Not so much because I have a strong moral code of sisterly loyalty. It's more like I was too drunk to remember much of anything. Lucky for you!

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

What Happened To His Eyes!!


Minor is one of those rare breeds of cats that have NO EYES! It's sad really. We have plans to get him a seeing eye dog as soon as we can find one that won't eat him!

I couldn't help but take this picture because he was sound asleep standing up and was starting to sway from side to side. When I took this picture he opened his eyes and was all, "what...I was meditating and just about to find my zen when I was rudely interrupted by the sound of that mother fucking camera clicking." He gets so moody when I get in the way of his "me" time.

I think he's still mad at me because I made the appointment for him to get his balls cut off. It's happening next Wednesday. Every time he hears the word "neutered" he tucks his balls between his legs and runs away.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

I See

1 comment:

When I asked her to pose for this picture I said, "look over here." She replied, "you do know that I'm blind, right. That I can't see or look over anywhere."

"Okay then, just turn your face towards the sound of my sultry voice", I said. "You're a real smart-ass, Licha. A real smart-ass!"

Why My Children Are Awake at 5:45 am

Birdie: *singing loudly* "This OLD man, he played ONE, he played nickknack on my...
Me: *whispering* "Please keep your voice down."
Birdie: "thumb with a knicknack paddy wack, give a dog a...
Me: "I mean it, you are going to wake up everyone in the house."
Birdie: *shouting* "Okay mom, I'll be quiet so I don't wake up everyone in the house because I want to be a good girl and I don't want to get in trouble, okay?"
Me: *cracking my knuckles* "Shhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

If you live anywhere in the vicinity of the east coast you probably heard her this morning and that is why all three of my children are awake at 5:45am.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The Dentist

1 comment:
I went to the dentist this morning for a routine cleaning. I didn't want to go. In fact, I tried to make excuses like Howie can't stay home with Bear, it's raining outside, there are people starving in 3rd world countries and how could I have time to do something so mundane as get my teeth cleaned when there are people out there dying!!

Speaking of rain, why is it that anytime I have an appointment it rains? Gotta take the animals to the vet? Rain. Gotta get my eyes checked? Rain. Gotta see the dentist? Rain. For the sake of your planning purposes, I would like to inform you that I have an appointment on October 15th. So it will be raining and you may as well plan and pack accordingly.

Anyway, I mustered up the energy to see the dentist. The hygienist cleaned my teeth and scraped my teeth until it felt like I was being given electric shock treatments. That's just the worst part of getting my teeth cleaned. That and my tongue. I never seem to know what to do with my tongue when I'm at the dentist. There I am with my mouth wide open and the lady is poking and scraping at my teeth and my tongue has no idea what to do. It starts flailing around like a wild animal. I try to keep it on the opposite end of where the hygienist is working but it always goes back like a nosy little bugger. I swear, my tongue has A.D.D. and tries to stay out of the way but is distracted by the sight of a shiny metal instrument and has to go inspect. It's a good thing that it's attached to the back of my throat because if it weren't, we would be walking down the street when all of a sudden it would be all, "oooh...look, ballons" and start running after said balloons and get run over by a beer truck.

Well, the good news is that my teeth look good. The bad news is that I have a grinding problem. I don't realize I do it but I absolutely don't put it past myself. I think back on all those times that I've caught the kids doing things like writing on the walls with permanent markers or trying to stick their fingers in the dog's butt hole and I distinctly remember a moment when I might have ground my teeth for a few seconds before I chopped off their hands and made minced child meat casserole!

Yes, that is a possibility. The other possibility is that I'm doing it in my sleep and that makes me feel totally helpless. How do I stop from doing something when I'm completely unaware of myself. I'm totally abusing myself in my sleep! I used to have a cousin who would "abuse" himself in his sleep. Now I'm feeling guilty for all those times I teased him by calling him the "jacky jerkoff". After all, he didn't even know he was doing it! At least he wasn't whittling his teeth down to powder and eventually have to drink his macaroni and cheese through a straw.

Now I know what's causing the jaw pain and headaches. It's me, crushing down on my poor teeth in the middle of the night. No doubt while I'm dreaming of my children tongue kissing each other.