Tag Archives: Smiles

Happiness is when the tooth fairy takes her dementia meds

This is worth at least $5

Continuing with the dental theme, Tres just lost another tooth (proudly displayed above).  I can’t keep up with this kid.  He laughs out teeth.  He sneezes out teeth.  He coughs out teeth.  Ok, not really but they are dropping faster than my aging skin.  And these baby pearls come with a high price tag.

Remember when .25 cents was the going rate and anything above was a massive bonus?  Today kids expect green backs…paper…dollars (plural!)  I learned of this fact by evesdropping listening to a ball field conversation where a few kids were discussing their tooth fairy earnings….earnings that could be claimed on a 1040EZ!!

But this tooth fairy’s kids are happy for whatever they find under their pillow because this tooth fairy is incompetent.  The incompetence grew worse with each child and sadly, Tres didn’t stand a numerical chance.  She often forgets about the tooth and day after day her kids awake to the [now stinkin’] tooth under their pillow.  So when the tooth is finally replaced with whatever she can scrounge up, elation is the emotion in this house.  The dejected “She didn’t come again…my tooth is still here…I think she has dementia!!!” is replaced with “I got a quarter!!!!!!! She came!!!!! She took my tooth!!!!!  Whoo-hoo she must have taken her dementia meds!!!”

We also do other things like attempt to capture the developmental moment…..

Holding a tooth penny and refusing to show the missing teeth

I won't smile.

Not gonna happen...my teeth are "private parts!"

I could claim mad genius.  I could say that it was the tooth anti-inflation master plan all along.  And when they blame me for ruining the reputation of the imaginary characters of their youth I just may.  But for once my disorganized, forgetful ways paid off.

I am not super mom.  I am not the organized, crafty type.  I am not Martha Stewart.  I am imperfectly human.  I dig in dirt without gloves and get dirt under my finger nails.  I make a mess, daily.  I live, laugh and love hard….

…and I forget about the teeth under my kid’s pillows.

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From feeder fish to fun

My last post dislodged some thoughts.  I seem to experience mental constipation a little too frequently and memories/thoughts that are not routinely used are tightly compressed.  Blogging is my mental laxative.

And my most recent explosive blow involves trips to the dentist.  Remember those?  Am I the only one who experienced a cardiac standstill at the mere mention of the word?  The dentist struck terror in my heart.  I shook.  I prayed for deliverance.  I grew pale and clammy.  I went into shock (they just didn’t know that it was shock back then).

I didn’t always react like that.  During my first trip to the dentist, I was like a feeder fish in a tank of piranhas.  Back in the day we ate what we wanted.  We brushed our teeth when we wanted.  Dental hygiene wasn’t a big deal to us until the teen years.  Parents weren’t total freaks like we are now.  So it was no surprise that I had my share of cavities.

During my first dental visit, I smiled an innocent smile (bearing the evidence of the chocolate Hershey bar I had moments before ) totally unaware of the horror that awaited.  I climbed into the big, weird-looking chair that reclined sending my spit to conveniently pool in the back of my throat cutting off my air supply.  If the lack of oxygen and bronchospasms didn’t do me in, then the dental machinery (high power cheek and tongue sucker, drills, pic axs, high pressure water hose, mirror too large for my mouth, needles, fluoride inserts, big, ungloved dental fingers) did the trick.  Many times my mouth looked like the Edward Sissor Hands of the dental world.

After the mouth rape I was lead to the receptionist’s desk where a large, red fluffy box filled with cheap bling lived and stood in unbelief as my beloved Mother scheduled another appointment to return to this house of horrors.  The receptionist flashed me her pearly whites and informed me I could pick out a piece of cheap plastic.  Imagine how my poor brother felt.  Because they only offered rings, he either had to man-up and forgo a prize or connect with his inner pretty princess.  I guess that was their attempt to make the dentist’s office seem fun.  We just traumatized you but here….have a ring that will turn your finger green or break within 24hrs!

Today my kids have a very different experience with the Dentist.  He is one of their favorite people.  We brush.  We floss.  We practice excellent oral hygiene and as a result they have had almost no (my sugar loving girl had one) cavities.

But we can’t take all of the credit.  The Dentist office is a very different place today.  It is….more….child friendly.  Gone are the big, scary experiences and machinery.  Today we have “Mr. Thirsty,” a.k.a. the high power sucker, “Mr. Squirts” a.k.a. the jet stream water hose and “Mr. Tickles” a.k.a THE DRILL.  I don’t think that the name “Mr. Tickles” adequately captures the sheer experience of the drill.  But hey, if my kids are under the impression that he tickles then who am I to inform them that his tickle will electrocute their brain, travel down their spine and curl their toes.  Mr. Tickles it is.

They also have cool props to make the visit more fun.  Check out Tres, our youngest “Star.”

Cool shades to prevent the blinding from the oral interrogation light

Counting and checking:

No Edward Scissor Mouth here!

And lastly “polishing” a.k.a brushing!!

Polishing sounds so much more fun

Here is older bro, Dos getting ready for his turn.  Check out the face:

I'm next! Yay!

That face sums it up.

Prizes even a boy can enjoy!

Trips to the dentist have come a long way and so have the prizes!  Good-bye feeder fish, hello fun!!

I perfected my maniacal laugh thanks to Sears

After months and months of ark building rain, we have finally received a hefty dose of hot weather.  Spring was non-existent.  We went from 50’s to 90’s within days and most bodies convulsed at the extreme shift.

Not this body because this previous tar roof, baby oil drenched sun bather loves the heat.  The hotter the better!  You see, heat tolerance is my mutant power.  I may drip gallons of sweat that gross little gnats and other bugs get stuck and drown in but I can handle high temps like I was born in the jungle.  However, every mutant has an achilles heel and mine is that I like my sleep.  Somehow suffocating temps and sweat filled sheets tends to interfere with my rest and sanity.

When the thermometer reached mid 90’s you could hear the sound of A/C units coughing and sputtering from their winter slumber.  Instinctively, Mr. Pavlov and I headed for the thermostat to usher some cool climate into our hot box home.  But the “cool” blew out warm air.  We stopped and looked at each other with horror filled expressions as we said in perfectly blended harmony….

….”Sears never came!!!”  Ah Sears, stupid Sears.  Somehow we got roped into a price match from Sears that included a 10 year warranty replace/repair plan on the central A/C we purchased in 2002.  We should have trusted our screaming inner voices and stuck with the local heating and cooling company.  Two years ago our A/C unit began to leak cooling agent and the incredibly intelligent Sears repair men informed us that they would continue to add cooling agent until [insert big burly laugh] “AHAHHAAA-HERRR-HERR-HERR Your warranty runs out then your can pay to have it replaced.”

Um, AHAHHAAA-HERR-HERR….NO! We pushed the issue and after jumping through every imaginable hoop and hours of phone conversations, we were told the A/C would be taken care of and replaced.

Remember the little /repair listed in the warranty? Well it seems that someone, somewhere found the exact part that our A/C unit required and Sears decided to opt for the repair rather than the replace.  Sounds reasonable enough?

The “Part” took 9 MONTHS to come in!!  I think they dug it out of a land fill somewhere.  Sears decided to make us wait 9 months through the heat of summer because they found ‘The Part” in some remote corner of the globe.  Yes, we went without A/C the entire summer last year and after the second day of not sleeping due to suffocation and sweat drenched sheets, this heat walker got a little cranky.  I began to experience flash backs of my childhood days where cool cloths draped all over my body became necessary in order to sleep.  I got twitchy.  I called Sears daily and laughed a maniacal laugh when they informed me it would be a “few more weeks.”  I cried.  I threatened.  I sweated…buckets.  I regretted making fun of my dad for placing a ceiling fan in every room of their home.  I dug out the old school floor fans and tried to make the most of the injustice.  I slept outside for a few minutes until the mosquitos and their all you can eat buffet forced me indoors.

Old school A/C

Finally in December they came to our home with “the Part” and made the repairs to the A/C.  It was DECEMBER and due to the 10,000 feet of snow that buried the outdoor unit, they were unable to adequately charge it.  They were freezing and had frosted snot droplets on their nostrils.  I smiled but then became serious as questions regarding their job performance formed in my mind.  On a normal day I question the quality of their work and somehow I believe freezing temps and frost bite would render these men A/C repair impotent.  But before I could become too concerned, these highly dependable Sears employees said they were finished and would come back in April or May to fully charge the beast with the cooling agent.  They informed me that we were placed on the April/May schedule and they would automatically return.  I nodded and shut the door.

Enter MAY 29th and Mr. Pavlov and I stood staring at each other as beads of sweat formed in our crevices and our A/C blew tropical warm.  SURPRISE!!!!  Sears never came or we’d be feeling some Polar Bear happy temps.  I made the calls while squeezing my stress ball.  Somehow this highly dependable company with its well-trained employees “forgot” about our situation.

Day three of 90 degree weather and we are becoming oddly comfortable with the suffocation and our wet sheets.

Sears said they will be here tomorrow.  Santa Claus is real and so is the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy….and I love my sleep deprived state!

Teetering the crazy line

I love to eat.  Eating is my passion and favorite pastime.  When I am in consumption mode (especially with foods that I particularly love) everything else becomes a blur which is why I was not on my A game this particular Friday night.

Late Friday (early Saturday AM) Mr. Pavlov and I took the kids to Eat-n-Park after attending a meeting.  They were claiming starvation and muscle wasting and it would be inhumane to deprive them of a meal – i.e. MY stomach was rumbling. 

Tres, who was barely awake to begin with but didn’t want to miss out on anything, fell asleep promptly after placing his cheeseburger and fries order.  He conveniently sprawled out across the oversized booth and utilized my lap as his personal pillow.

Our order arrived just in time because we were all about to join Tres and go horizontal.  The deep-fried onion rings were serenading me and I entered my food induced state of oblivion.  It was only me and the onion rings and maybe my garden burger from the moment they landed on our table.  My head was in the trough and I was happy.

I didn’t notice the group of young males stalking our table.  I was blissfully unaware of the frequent pass bys and testosterone filled grunts.  I had my onion rings. I was complete.

My beautiful daughter jolted me to her reality with this statement,

“Mom, that table of guys over there keeps staring this way and pointing.”

Then Mr. Pavlov, who was seated right next to her (we had a LARGE booth and he was in the middle of Uno and Dos) replied,

“The one keeps walking by like he stole something!”

Dos, also in awareness mode added,

“Yea, he seems twitchy!”

With fried onion ring crumbs hanging from my mouth I replied,

“Are they staring at you and walking by to see you?”  

Smiling, she glanced over her right shoulder to where an ancient couple was sitting dutifully cutting each other’s blueberry pancakes and replied “W e l l……” 

Wow.  How did I miss this?  I am always on it and my guydar remains in a constant and finely tuned state.  My daughter is a cutie and boys know it!  But before I could wipe away the onion ring crumbs from my mouth and ponder my failure we received visitors….

Two “scruffies” as Dos called them interrupted my our feeding frenzy. Clearing their throats they ventured:

“Excuse me….uh, er, well my friend over there…the one in the corner…well, ah, he wants us to give you this (handing my beautiful baby a folded piece of white paper).  He thinks you’re, um, cute.  It’s his…ah, number and um, well, he wants you to call him.”

The beauty, Uno, smiled and said one simple word…O K A Y.  Mr. Pavlov glared and echoed Uno’s OKAY only in a much more menacing tone.  I finally wiped away my crumb residue and entered the here and now as I watched them walk away giving each other high fives and fist pumping the air.  The “Corner Guy” remained standing in the corner stalking observing Uno and her response.  I believed it was the intimidating glares and peacock posturing of Mr. Pavlov that drove him from the corner and sent him back to his seat with his friends until…..

….we were getting ready to leave when the brazen little punk decided to approach our table himself!   With Mr. Pavlov standing and peacock posturing beside him, he apologized for the behavior of his friends and in front of her entire family, asked our beauty to call him.  Mr. Pavlov gave a nod, the type of nod that says “Boy, you better move while you have the chance” and said,

“Let’s go!”

Corner guy finally retreated without the committment from Uno he wanted.  I guess I was somewhat high on my recent ingestion and wasn’t thinking clearly.  Feeling all warm and fuzzy from the fried food I heard myself call after him,

“You have good taste!”

He smiled.

Uno chuckled and replied,

“Good one Mom, but at least you didn’t threaten him with statutory rape this time!

Now that I am clear in the head and have given the scenario some thought I must ask, can you believe the boldness?  Maybe I am old school but boys would never approach a young girl in the presence of her family especially with her father seated right beside her.  Am I old school?  Is this the progressive style of the youth today?  I don’t like it.  Do you?

The youth of today are bold and daring.  I think the genetically altered, steroid laced food we consume has pumped them up and left them…

…teetering the crazy line!

The Virus and The Bread

Whew, I’m back.  If I ever hint that I am thinking about getting another puppy, hit me….hard.  My friend’s dog, The Virus (Mr. Pavlov’s affectionate nick name) was a trip and turned our home upside down for a while.  Toys that managed to survive the puppy stages of our (now mellow) Lab, were destroyed within seconds after meeting The Virus. 

One time during our dog sitting, I left our daughter with The Virus while I ran an errand.  She texted me A LOT during my brief time away.  The child has over 3,000 texts a month but seldom sends any my way.  I am text deprived and become a little too excited when I receive one.  If I had a tail it would wag uncontrollably and I just might slobber at the sound of a text.  When her number popped up on my phone I was about to wag and slobber but I knew something was up.  The first one read “When are you coming home?” 

I had just left.  She never requests me to return so soon.  Thankfully I wasn’t driving when the text came through.  I don’t text and drive – I’m old school and not that coordinated.  Texting aside, my phone really isn’t that car safe considering  it is all touch screen and I can’t “feel” the numbers when I attempt to dial.  I embody Helen Keller as I guess the location of the numbers and have been known to dial many wrong numbers.  It is most embarrassing at times especially when, after hearing a brief hello, I immediately begin the conversation with something like “Hey sexy, what time will you be home tonight?”  Awkward.

 After the initial  satisfaction of receiving a text from my cool girl dissipated, I replied, “I’m barely gone – why is everything ok?”

Her: “Yea, he’s just crazy. Come home soon!”

I was about to tell her to crate him when I got distracted by the bread that was on sale for .99cents.  We go through loaves and loaves of bread each week so .99cents was excitable.  It doesn’t take much to excite me people but you know you’re borderline pathetic when you palpitate over the price of bread.

Another text came through and before I could mount any excitement – which is actually a good thing because the endorphins from .99cent bread and a text would probably kill me on the spot – I noticed the single word “MOM!”

Then in rapid fire an avalanche of texts bombarded my technically advanced phone causing it to glitch and freeze momentarily.  Pictures followed.  My heart missed several beats.  My fingers cramped.  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.  I couldn’t keep up with queen text and I needed more bread!

The texts read “He dug up your potted plant to get a hidden toy lizard. Dirt is everywhere!” Wow, the toy lizard?  He saw it?  Tres, our youngest, buried that sucker a few years ago and no one ventured to remove it….until now.  The picture that followed contained the lizard and a pile of dirt all over my floor.  I wish I had the photos to post but in my haste, I deleted them.

“He ripped open a ton of stuffed animals, their stuffing is all over the floor and he is raping another.”  Stuffed animals?  I thought I had put those in places where he couldn’t reach.  Raping?  It was these next few pictures that caused my armpits to spring forth fountains of living water.

“He chewed the corner off of your woodwork.”  Really? The entire corner?  I had never had a dog chew off my woodwork corners…until now.

“He destroyed a baseball hat.”  I hope it wasn’t this year’s baseball hat!  I am cheap enough to make my dear son wear a mangled hat if it is at all functional. The photo quickly followed and it resembled the left overs from a flesh-eating beast .  It was ripped apart and had several teeth marks indentations. Near one of the indentations I made out the marking “2005″ Ahhh, I exhaled – until this time I had been unknowingly holding my breath.  It was a ball cap from our older son’s Dos, 2005 baseball season.  Younger Tres had been wearing the cap and left it in an accessible place for doggie teeth and death.

“He chewed the leashes.”  All of them?  Now how were we going to walk these furry beasts? I’d venture to say that our fatty helped him destroy the key item that made her physical activity possible.

“He shredded some of the boy’s toys.”  Hopefully it was the cheap, plastic McDonalds type!  The photos confirmed that most of the debris was from el’cheapo toys.  I never had a dog help with cleaning out toys…until now.

“He snacked on the bathroom garbage and you know what’s in that can!” Oh noooooo, that garbage can contains the remnants of Mother Nature’s monthly gift.  I bet he dined on my carpet.  He did.  I had the photos to prove it.

“He ripped apart my Abercrombie flipflops…we need to go shopping!” Hmmm, as traumatized, palpitating and sweaty as I was, I smelled an opportunistic rat.  By this time I was caught up in the sequential texts.  I waited for the photo.  I even began to talk to my phone.  Show me the photo, show me the photo.  I waited.  People took my bread.  I waited.  People asked me to hand them some bread (I was defensively blocking the bread shelf). I waited.  The bread supply dwindled.  I waited.  No photo.  No photo.  No photo….ever.

Texting paused, my mental faculties returned and seizing the moment, I texted “CRATE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Then, I scarfed up more bread and bolted for home.  

All was in order.  The tornado pathway of destruction?  Cleaned.  The virus?  Peacefully sleeping in his crate.  My daughter?  Looking haggard.  Taking a deep breath she said “I didn’t know a dog could tear it up so much – until now.  But you can reward me with shopping.” 

I gave her a loaf of bread.

Looking up sustains life

During the craziness of life I have found that when I keep my mind and thoughts positive things look better and lives are spared. 

Like today, when the dog took a Goliath size dump right in front of the door I wanted to practice my blood-letting skills on her but instead, I took a deep breath and said “at least it’s on the ceramic tile.” 

This outlook saved her life….and the fact that we are dog sitting a rambunctious 1yr old lab who wouldn’t let her do her business outside.  He is a nut, a beautiful nut.  His color is fox red and is personality is fiery!  Our poor, fat, mellowed 5yr old lab experiences daily harassment and physical activity rape.  With her eyes she pleads for salvation and questions whether his presence in our abode is permanent. 

Although I believe a dog should physically combust before releasing any waste material in MY home, I gave her a one time pass.  She will live to die another day! 

 

Ours is the fat white one visually pleading for salvation in the background!

 

Help me...I must rest...must get air!!

Because usually the scene looks like this – ALL day long:

Play with me...pant, pant...play with me!

 I try to talk to our fatty in the spirit of looking up and viewing thing positively.  I explain that all of the exercise she is receiving is a good thing and will allow her to table surf for many more years.  Then I throw her a piece of food.

Oh yea, incase I forgot to mention her most recent conquest was an entire mixed berry pie, a loaf of bread and a batch of bananas all of which were consumed in under two minutes.  Really.  I turned my back for two minutes and that’s when she preformed her perfected air assault, paw maneuver causing (in one swoop) those three items to fall from their secured spot on the counter and into her enormous gastric holding area.

She chose to dine on the mixed berry pie on the solo carpeted living space we have.  It figures that the last piece of carpet left in our home was the feasting spot of my homemade, organic mixed berry pie that didn’t even touch my taste buds!  But I got to experience the heart warming joy of cleaning up the residue….look how close she was to dining on wood….grrr.

The mixed berry mess

 

It is still present but now faded.  I have scrubbed.  And scrubbed.  I thought about taking her far away from home and dog dumping her butt and I smiled.   When I realized that I would be the only one smiling, I decided to engage in some positive thoughts and secretly wished she developed an upset stomach or diarrhea – outside.  It helped and again, her life was spared at the thought of her gut spasming and cramping.  Looking up, it really works.

Now…how do I get this stain out of the carpet?????

Thankfulness is three minutes and a reset button

I have been busy.  Life has been suffocating.  That’s playing it conservatively with my adjectives. 

Today in the car I took in a deep breath and asked the kids to shut it for at least 10 minutes.  I don’t do that.  I rarely demand silence and if I do they never listen.  They are verbal creatures who were born conjugating verbs. The worst discipline I could deliver is to take away their right of speech which, is why they never allow it to happen.

Thankfully,  I am the master at dissociating.  I hear the squeals.  I feel the vibration of their wails but I am happy because I mentally teleport myself to a sunny place filled with waves, salty air and lots of humus.  I would remain there longer if I could but humus makes me drool.  The splashing of the drool on my lap is my check back to reality.  If my mouth is dried out from last night’s Tylenol PM then one of my trio breaks into my mental mirage to ask “Mom, why do you have that unstable smile on your face?”

Today my mind was full.  I couldn’t transport to humus island.  I couldn’t think.  I couldn’t drool.  I could only hear the high pitch voices and sibling teasing.  I think they saw the crazy in my eyes.  I think they knew that if they didn’t zip it then bad things would happen.  For the first time EVER, they were quiet.  No one moved.  Breathing (with the exception of mine) was kept to a near pass out minimum. 

I inhaled and prayed and exhaled and prayed.  Peace came and it was great.  I  felt like we were bathing in an eternity of silence.  I looked at the clock expecting the passing of a good 10-15 minutes.  I’m not good at predicting time.  I die a daily death on my elliptical and a minute always feels like 10.  But this time, in the car, THREE minutes had passed.  Three minutes of silent bliss.  Three minutes to allow me to decompress.  I am thankful for those three simple minutes. 

I thought about torturing my verbal addicts for another 7 minutes of silence.  I smiled a stable, calculating smile at the thought.  Then I released them from their verbal prison.  They emerged cautiously and carefully.  Our situation had been reset and I think I just discovered a new reset button.

The three minute reset button is still working several hours later.  I just happened to glance over my shoulder while typing and saw this chillaxin’ sight:

I'm too chill for the stress pill Mom

 I supressed my laughter while carefully moving in for a closer look. I discovered this waiting for me:

You can't camera sneak on me mom...I'm ready for you!

  I’ll take another three minutes please……