I Was a Teenage Dentist

            Times are hard now, and all we hear is talk about “The Great Recession”, debt ceilings, and the nation’s credit score – apparently the only financing the US qualifies for now is a loan for a 1987 Yugo with no A/C.  Our memories are short, however.  There was another recession in the early 1980s with high unemployment and soaring inflation.  It was during this difficult time, although very young, that I began pursuing alternative methods of frugality to help my family – beginning with minor oral surgery.

            It all began with my younger sister Sarah, who was a preschooler at the time.  She’d developed a large abscess right above her front top teeth.  You know the kind – infected bubbles of putrid pus that seem to pulsate with a life of their – OK, I’ll stop.  Our mother instructed me to get Sarah dressed for a trip to the dentist.  This should have been easy enough, but she (Sarah, not Mom) was an extremely opinionated little heifer and we usually clashed quite violently over wardrobe choices.  Well, now that I think about it that does describe our mother as well. 

            I wanted to dress Sarah in one of the cute, preppy little outfits that were so popular at the time; she wanted to wear a bathing suit, rain boots, and a tutu that had seen much better days.  I wanted to brush and curl her hair and put some adorable little frou-frous in it; she was more into the Rastafarian look that year and refused to allow anyone to touch her head.

            As I eyed Sarah, who was baring her diseased little gums and fanatically clutching a ragged tutu from a dance recital our oldest sister had performed in before I was even born, it struck me.  I was bigger than she was.  At ten I was pretty much full grown, and as a child Sarah was not much heftier than a wet stick.  I calmly laid out the outfit I’d selected, ignoring her growls.  If I could catch her, I was home free.

            “Not wearin’ that!” Sarah screeched vehemently, her clutch on the old tulle nearly shredding it.  She stuck her tongue out at me for good measure.  She had few defense mechanisms against her older siblings, but those she had she was lethal with.  I knew I had to avoid two things; the long, skinny toes that would grip any human limb they could reach, pinching and twisting like a maniacal little lemur, and the tongue.   Sarah would build up as much saliva in her mouth as she could, then slurp her opponent in the most particularly icky place she could think of (generally the ears or face) until spit oozed down your skin and you let go of her.  Navy SEALs have been subjected to this very method of combat, and it has made many a hard man cringe and squeal in disgust.

            I lunged for her, weaving as she dodged around the bed.  I could see her cheek muscles contracting as she slammed her salivary glands into overdrive.  Snarled strands of stringy brown hair danced before me, and I literally seized my opportunity.  I threw Sarah bodily onto the bed and constrained her by sitting on her head.

            Oh, it was a fight, let me tell you.  After struggling mightily to force her into her pants, I got a good solid hold of her wrists with one hand to prevent escape as I grabbed for her shirt with the other.  Her little mouth was open in a furious scream, and I noticed a lovely mess of blood and pus where the abscess had been.  I recoiled with only one thought.

Oh crap.

“Mom!  MOOMMMMMMMM!” the little fiend began to howl, twisting and spitting like something out of an exorcism movie.  How was I going to explain this?  I counted Sarah’s teeth as well as I could without a priest and holy water to make sure nothing else was missing, and then shoved her out the door with an order to go rinse out her big fat screaming mouth.

            I had a bit of a time trying to convince my mother that I’d really done her a favor.  Why pay a dentist to do what I had done for free?  I have to wonder now if my mother hid her face behind a dishtowel because she was trying to mask her hysterical laughter after trying to berate me with a straight face.  I know I would never be able to keep it together if one of my children performed dental work on their siblings by sitting on them.

Always Happy To See You

My twenty-one month old son, Jordan, is a very happy and outgoing boy.  He has the “joie de vive” (joy of life) that most children his age exude.  He never fails to bring smiles to even the grumpiest of faces.  Jordie is just so excited to experience life that he can’t seem to contain himself.

            Take church, for example.  Jordan begins his rounds soon after the service begins.  He makes his way up and down the aisle, stopping at each pew to shake hands, smile and wave to those he can’t get to.  You can almost see the ripple of delight spreading over the congregation.  If he notices someone missing, he points to the empty spot and babbles urgently, as if to ask why that friend isn’t present.  Once he hears music, he races back to our family, opens a hymnal and begins caterwauling at the top of his lungs.  When the song is over, he snaps the book, shouts “All done!” and cheers loudly, much to the entertainment of our music director.  He then resumes his rounds, sometimes offering his greetings two or three times to each pew.

            Jordan is also extremely exuberant in other public situations. At dinner last night, he burst into the restaurant shouting, “EAT! EAT!” to the surprise of both the servers and diners.  He immediately ran to an empty table and yelled “Sit down!” to his grandmother and me.  He didn’t quite understand why we had to wait when there were lots of empty tables.  OK…neither did I.

            Once seated, Jordie took one look at the children’s menu, pointed to the pictures of the food and again screeched “EAT!”  He then promptly balled the menu up and threw it at his unsuspecting brother, bouncing it off his head.  When the server brought his lemonade, he pointed to the kitchen where saw food coming from and again shouted “EAT!”  Nothing his grandmother and I could say or do could quash his enthusiasm.

            Every time a server passed, they were greeted with a jubilant “HI!” and a two-handed wave.  If they were carrying food, they received thunderous applause and cheers of “YAAYYY!!”  It didn’t seem to matter that the food was going to another table – he was just happy that somebody, somewhere got to eat.  By the time our dinner arrived, all the servers gathered around for the presentation of Jordan’s chicken strips.  He was unusually quiet for a moment, then broke into a huge smile and yelled “Tet oo!”

(Thank you).

            When we came in, the servers were harried and just a tad aggravated.  When we left, they were smiling broadly, laughing and waving.  I’m not saying that Jordan is some sort of eternal ray of sunshine spreading giggles in his path (sorry – I had a Rainbow Brite flashback there).  What I am saying is this – next time you see an exuberant toddler chirping and flapping over his latest discovery, let some of that joie de vive rub off on you.  Take a look from a little one’s perspective and enjoy a few moments of innocent joy.

           

End of summer....

Jared and I have just finished reading the original verion of "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll.  It was a challenge for Jared, but he really enjoyed it...although he did tell me more than once that the author was a nutjob (haha - if he only knew).

I'm not a big fan of poetry, but I really, really loved the poem at the end, and I thought you all would too.  Before you go, "Whatever!" and stop reading here, give it a shot.  It's a great piece about the end of summer and the end of childhood.  A nice finish, I think, to Jared's babyhood.

Untitled, by Lewis Carroll

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear -

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn  frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me phantom-wise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in the golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?

Jared Says...

I asked Jared to put a load of clothes in the washing machine for the first time tonight.  He came out with a grin and said, "Mommy, I put the clothes in and put lots of green sauce on top!"  I managed to keep a smile on my face and reminded myself that he was trying to help.  I went to investigate and discovered that green sauce = laundry detergent. The clothes are going to be really, really clean.

Random thought while unloading the dishwasher...

I used to worry because my silverware is an unmatched hodgepodge.  Tonight it hit me...if you're going to compare your silverware with everyone else's, I don't want you to come over to my house anyway.

Dima Says...

Jordan broke our mop recently (don’t ask how – I don’t), and our floors and feet have been suffering.  I bought a Swiffer WetJet, and Captain Cheapo wanted to know why I would buy a $22 baby wipe on a stick with squirty cleaner jets vs. buying a $3 mop.  I told him that the chances of someone in the house other than him actually cleaning the floors now is much, much higher since the boys think the squirty wipe on a stick is great fun.  He thought about this for a moment and complimented me on my smart purchasing decision.  He’s learning.

Karma

I taught kindergarten for seven years.  In those seven years I went through seven first days of school.  They were all pretty much the same – the stress and tension of getting through without losing anyone, while remembering that this one was allergic to chocolate milk, finding out whose parent decided at the last minute to switch the child from bus rider to car rider, and eventually falling into bed at 5PM totally exhausted.  In the frenzied blur of those memories, I always remembered mothers anxiously hovering over their child as they waited for the bell to ring, taking pictures, whispering last minute instructions and warnings.  I remember that many cried as if the child were leaving on a plane and never returning.  My head would shake in disbelief, and I would chuckle in derision at how ludicrous these mother-helicopters were.  The child was five years old, for Pete’s sake…what, do you think I’m going to lose your precious baby?  I know you only met me briefly at orientation, but I have a teaching certificate!  I know what I’m doing, and your child is no different from the two hundred or so other kindergarteners that I’ve taught.  Suck it up, lady…he’ll be fine!

Karma, however, has come full circle to bite me in the butt.  My firstborn, my sweet baboo, my precious Jared will be going to k-k-kindergarten in just a few short weeks.  I am tearing up even as I type this.  Forgive me now, baby boy, because I am going to cry such a river that you’re going to have to kayak to lunch.  You’re only five years old, for Pete’s sake.  Only five short years ago I was swaddling you tight and kissing your thick black hair that smelled so new.  I will only meet your teacher briefly at orientation.  So what if she has a teaching certificate?  Does that certify her to have common sense, to have compassion, and to get you to the right place at the end of the day?  You’re so different from all the other children she’s ever taught…you’re brilliant, funny, loving, and gifted in so many ways.  Will she recognize that your sense of humor is a gift, and that your sarcasm is your coping mechanism?  Will she recognize that you aren’t trying to mount a hostile takeover of her classroom and depose her, but that the majority of your life has been spent in a preschool being raised by your family of teachers?  Will she understand that you only wish to help her, and that you are more than qualified to take the class if she needs to make a quick trip to the restroom?

I can only hope and trust.  I will be waiting impatiently with all the other kindergarten mothers at 2:30 that first day, straining my eyes to see a familiar, chubby little face beaming at me.  He will make it through, and so will I.  Maybe.