The Plague Of Plaque

I hate going to the dentist.  Hate.  It.  It's a place where you voluntarily go to be demeaned and tortured, and sometimes even pay for the privilege.

"So, Nona, tell me about your flossing habits-- are you a regular flosser?"

I've attempted to stretch the truth on this subject before, but I have come to see the absolute futility of it.  So I answer truthfully-- perhaps too truthfully.

"Nope. I only floss once or twice a week.  Or if I've eaten chicken or popcorn in the last 24-hours."  I feel like I'm on the losing side of a confessional.

"Well, you should really floss every night."

"I know."  I shrug my shoulders as if to say, "So, what are you gonna do about it?"  But my smile is so sweet I catch her off guard.

I mean, I realize that ideally I should floss every night, but there's only one person I know who is that anally dedicated; my father.  That man is superhuman (and frankly, weird).

But my hygienist pays me back for my wayward oral health with a little torture device known as the "water flosser".  In short, this tool turns a benign stream of water into a sharp needle that emits a piercing supersonic shriek as it stabs the gums between your teeth over and over and over again.  I want to raise the white flag in surrender.

But I also realized something interesting during my brief stint in the dental chair this time.  Hygienists speak "Wide Open Mouth" fluently.  It is not an easy language to learn, I assure you.  I wonder if it's a required class in dental school?  Why else would they purposely try to create conversation with you while your mouth is stretched to maximum capacity with various implements shoved inside it?  It's amazing to me.

"Did you have a nice Christmas, Nona?"

"Uhh-huh, eh ah ary i."

"Oh, good! Do you have family in town?"

"Uhh-huh, ari an I ha our alies ere."

"That's so nice you both have family here.  Oops!  Looks like we have a bleeder there!  You might want to concentrate more on this area when brushing and flossing."

"O-keh."

"Good.  Tell me again how old your kids are."

"Uy i ele-en, L-eh i eigh."

"Oh my!  Eleven and eight?  They are growing up so fast!"

"Uhh-huh."

At this point I am silently willing her to stop talking to me.  I just know I'm going to gleek on her.  And that would be mortifying.

But the worst part of the whole ordeal (yes, even worse than the water flosser) is the fluoride rinse.  I'm practically gagging just thinking about it right now.  I would like to know how valuable it truly is to rinse with fluoride for 60 seconds twice a year.  Is it making such a significant difference in my oral health that I should feel obligated to subject myself to this sort of nauseating torture?  Someone, please tell me why I do this.

But the highlight of going to the dentist?  When it's all over and I realize I don't have to come back for another six months.  And guess what?  I haven't had a filling in ten years.  Take that, you sadist flossing-nazi hygienist!

Secret Ingredients

Happy New Year!  I've been thinking about what my resolutions will be, but nobody seems as excited about them as I am.  I suggested to hubby, "Why don't we go vegan for a year!  Doesn't that sound like fun?!"  No matter how much I tried to sugar coat it (or, more veganly, raw honey coat it) hubby was not biting.  I was prepared for this, however, and changed my tactic, "How about if only I go vegan for a year?"  My sister and brother-in-law shook their heads, giving hubby abject looks of sympathy.  I wasn't ready to give up, though.  "What if I go vegan on the weekdays, but eat like everyone else on weekends and special occasions?"  No love there, either.  "Okay!  How about if I'm just vegetarian on weekdays, and eat like everyone else on weekends and special occasions?"  Hubby rolled his eyes in exasperation.  So, where did things end up?  I have no idea!  But I do know one thing: as the cook goes, so goes everyone else.  Wahahahaaaa!

Here are some quotes to start the year off with a smile:

1. Me: (coming up behind LM and hugging him) "I love you!"
LM: "Uhhh, thanks, Mom.  You're making me nervous."

2. LM: (extremely excited about a friend coming over, going through his prep list) "Got dressed: check.  Got a movie: check.  Brushed my teeth: check.  Cleaned my room: raincheck."

3. LM: "Dora and Diego sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-T-U-V!"
(Would that be the Russian version, possibly?)

4. LM: (talking about marrying a girl someday) "First, I need to get sexy."
Me: "Oh, well, you don't need to worry about that right now.  That'll come later."
LM: "But Mom, I have to be sexy for my wife to have babies-- 'cause sex is the secret ingredient!"
Me: "Ooooookaaaaaay...."
(Quick!  Someone change the subject!)

The next four are quotes that my dad has collected during his time with the grandchildren and then sent to me.  I use them with his permission.

1. Popi: "Bopper, did you know that Nini was in Popi's kindergarten class?"
Bopper: "Was she your teacher?"
(Not sure how to take this... does she think Nini is that much older than me or that much smarter??)

2. Mister: "Popi, I have a secret."
Popi: "Well, can you tell me what it is?"
Mister: "I can tell you behind the door." (He proceeds to leave the room, close the door, and state the secret so I can't hear, then comes back in looking a little relieved.)
Popi: "Mister, can you whisper the secret in my ear?"
Mister: (coming close and looking like he is unsure if it's a good idea to reveal the information, but then whispers) "Popi, I don't like you a little bit."
Popi: "Why, Mister?"
Mister: "Because you told me not to climb over the couch." (Eee gads, that was yesterday!)

3. LM: "Popi, next time you go snorkeling in Hawaii, could you get me a shark tooth?  Actually, about 13.  I need one for everyone in my class."
(One or 13, it's about the same degree of difficulty....)

4. LM: "If you don't study in school you might grow up and have a smelly job-- like a fisherman.  But if I were a fisherman I'd just have lots of cologne on my boat.  I'd spray it everywhere."
(Sounds like it could still be a smelly job.)

That's it for now!  May you succeed in your goals this year (however clever you need to be to achieve them)!

Live-- From The Couch!

It's Christmas break!  Woohoo!  I'm still in my bathrobe!

Got some quotes for ya:

1. Ruby: (exasperated) "Why is my nose so shiny?!"
Me: "You're getting to the age where that happens."
Ruby: "What?!  You mean I'm getting to the age where my body parts are going to start getting shiny?!"
Me: "Uhhhhh--"
Ruby: "I'm going to need a sign that says, 'Caution, shiny body parts may cause permanent blindness'."
LM: "Don't worry, people won't notice your weird nose."
(Time to introduce Ruby to pressed powder....)

2. LM: "I told Mason that if he didn't work harder in school, he'd grow up to be a stinky fisherman!"
(Way to speak encouragement into people's lives, bud.  However, stinky fisherman oftentimes make very good livings....)

3. Hubby: (asleep-- and angry) "You'd better get thinkin'!"
(Must've been dreaming about one of his students.)

4. LM: "Mom, you're the best mom ever!"
Me: "Ahhh, thanks, bud!"
LM: "And Dad...he's close to the best dad."
(Er....)

5. LM: "Mom, come see...I'm redecorating my room!"
Me: (looking at some unauthorized artwork on his dresser, then scowling at him) "What's this?"
LM: (looking guilty and sheepish) "Uh, sorry Mom, that's not part of the tour."
(But it'll be part of the cleanup, right?)

6. Ruby: "You know how they say, 'holy infant so tender and mild'?"
Me: "Yeah?"
Ruby: "That makes me think of chicken."
(Gee thanks, Rube, now it will for the rest of us too.)

7. LM: (keeping me apprised of his progress on self-censoring his thoughts) "Mom, don't worry, I didn't call Robert fat today."
Me: (nervously) "Uhhh, that's good.  What...did you say?"
LM: "I said that if we had a humongous cake, Robert would definitely eat it."
(Yikes.)

8. LM: (looking at a picture of Ruby, then very casually stating) "Hey, Rube, you look hot there."
(Ruby was disgusted by this compliment.  Apparently we need to let LM know that, generally speaking, brothers do not call their sisters "hot" in any circumstance.)

9. LM: "Justin Beaver's pretty good...for a beaver."
(We've tried to correct LM, but it's impossible.)

10. LM: (looking at our dog fondly) "I really value this mutt."

That's it for now!  In case I don't post beforehand, merry Christmas!

A New Friend

Our church partners with an organization that matches elementary school children (from disadvantaged backgrounds) with an adult mentor.  When I heard that the school was in need of a mentor for a 2nd grade boy with Asperger's...well, it was irresistible!  I started today.

If you've met one Aspie, you've met...one Aspie.  They're all a little different, so I wasn't expecting this particular fella to be a carbon copy of my LM.  But there were so many similarities I felt an immediate connection to the kiddo.  (It's quite possible he'll be a great new source of quotes, in fact.)

For instance, when asked (per a questionnaire) whether he speaks a foreign language he replied definitively, "Yes."

"Oh?  Which one?"

"Cat.  'Meow'," he demonstrated.  He wasn't kidding around.

"Great news!" I exclaimed, "I speak Cat, too!"  But we conversed in English the entire time, as we are both more fluent in our native tongue than that of the feline variety.

When I first met him he wouldn't look at me (familiar!) and when I asked him questions he didn't respond (familiar!), but as soon as we sat down and began building our robots out of K'nex, the floodgates opened (familiar!).  So I decided to probe him to find out if he was aware of his diagnosis.

"Hey, guess what?  I have a little boy just a year older than you-- he has Asperger's.  Have you...ever heard of that?"

He didn't even look up to acknowledge my question, he was too busy connecting his tiny building pieces together, but eventually he mumbled, "Nope."  He was completely uninterested in hearing more, and I know the futility of trying to press on regardless.  So, unfortunately, this is a subject we'll have to avoid.

When it was time for me to leave we took his lunch tray back to the cafeteria to return it.  We walked in and stood in a line of kids waiting to do the same thing.  Suddenly he stopped, shoved his tray in my hands and shouted, "I'm not returning it!"  His eyes wild and wide.

"You're not?" I asked, confused.  This is pretty routine stuff, after all, and most Aspies are big fans of routine.  He started to run off, leaving me standing there with his dirty tray.  I hastily threw it on the pile (knocking a small girl in the head in the process-- oops!) and rushed to catch up to the little guy.

"Why didn't you want to return your tray?"

"I'm scared!" he shouted at me, angry.

"You're scared of what?" I asked, determined to get to the bottom of this.

"The Kindergartners!"

I withheld my giggle and probed further.  "So...the Kindergartners are scary?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"I don't know them!"

Aha!  "So, you're scared of people you don't know?"

"Yes!"came the firm, yet calmer reply.  He was upset, marching back to his classroom in a major huff.  Those dang Kindergarters had really upset his routine.  Normally he doesn't encounter them at lunch, but being with me had changed his schedule.  Good to know....

"Thanks for hanging out with me today!  I know you really wanted a boy mentor," I offered as a parting statement, "so is it okay that I'm a girl instead?"

"You know...I was just thinking of a girl mentor.  I was thinking of you."  He didn't look at me.  If he had, I might have cried.

He stepped into his classroom and didn't look back.  I already adore him.

Head's Up!

I walked into Ruby's room tonight and found her lying in bed, giggling as she read a book.


"Watcha readin'?" I asked, moving toward the bed.  As I sat down beside her I noticed the Bible in her hands-- the object of all that cheerful amusement. I tried to recall any laugh-out-loud scriptures I'd read recently, but none came to mind.  Although, I suppose Song of Solomon offers some pretty quirky possibilities....  Meanwhile, Ruby's still chuckling, hardly paying any attention to me at all.

"Okay, what's so funny?" I asked, because at this point I was dying of curiosity.  I love a good laugh, after all.  Ruby pointed to 1 Samuel chapter 18 and I desperately racked my brain for any possible comedic relevance to this particular book.  I came up empty.  So Ruby began to read verse 25.

"Saul replied, “Say to David, ‘The king wants no other price for the bride than a hundred Philistine foreskins, to take revenge on his enemies.’” 


I smiled.  Aha!  Ruby looked up at me, eyes gleaming. "So, what did David do?  Just, like, fill up a basket with foreskins, hand it to Saul and say, 'So...is this enough foreskins for ya?'"

This made me start laughing, too.  Am I really talking about circumcision (on dead bodies, no less!) with my tween daughter?  I mean, if she and I were watching a movie where collecting foreskins was a major part of the plot, I'd probably turn it off.  I eyed the Bible in her hands-- yeah, definitely PG-13, that.

"You know, Rube, I have no idea how David went about presenting all those Philistine foreskins to Saul."  I shuddered at the thought of harvesting such a collection.  "Aren't you just glad it's not a requirement for marriage these days?"

Ruby imitated her father. "Okay, you can marry my daughter, but first I'll need 50 Swedish foreskins from you.  If you can't get 50, then a split of 25 Swedish and 25 Canadian will be fine."

We bust up laughing.

Soon after, I turned out the light and we said our goodnights.  1 Samuel 18:25....  Who knew?

No Shave November?

A friend told me I needed to post something on my blog.  I don't know what made me happier; that anyone still checks to see if I've posted, or that they actually want to read what I wrote.  Either way, it made me smile and I figured I'd better hop to!

The biggest news?  Hubby is currently attempting a mustache.  Please use all your powers of persuasion to discourage this activity next time you cross his path.  Because, of course, I have to continue to tell him he's hot and sexy, but seriously people, there is nothing remotely hot or sexy about a Victorianesque 'stache.  I beg you, help a girl out!

In other news, I have some quotes for you.  It's a small list, but it's all I got.

LM: "Mom, you don't need to worry-- you have a fully trained ninja in the family."
(Well, I hadn't been worried, but now...I might be.)

LM: (as relayed to me by his teacher) "Mrs. B, can I talk to you?"
Mrs. B: "Sure, what's up?"
LM: "You shouldn't be very hard on me if I misbehave today-- I have tight underwear on."
(He has a point there....)

LM: "Mom, I wish you would move your big butt!"
Me: "That's not very nice."
LM: (softening his tone) "Well, it is big, and it is a butt, so...."
(Aspies...so literal.)

Hubby: (asleep)  "...it became kind of punchy and...overwhelming."
(One teeny-tiny sleep-talking quote here or there won't hurt-- right?)

LM: (watching a movie with me) "Did he just say a cuss word?"
Me: "No, 'damsel' just means girl."
LM: "Oh!  So how do you say boy in cuss words?"
(Dam...oh, nevermind.)

Me: (yelling to the basement where hubby was) "Did you already feed the dog?"
Hubby: "Yes!"
Me: "She's trying to convince me otherwise."
Hubby: "Well, tell her I said no!"
Me: (looking down at the dog) "Ummm, he said no."
(She still wasn't buying it.)

I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving!  Thanks for reading!  :)

Party Pooper

I'm only sharing this story because I've heard my son retell it twice already, and the way he tells it...well, let's just say that I have some splainin' to do.

I was in the bathroom.  (Don't all good stories start out this way?)  Anyway, I was in the bathroom, and it's rather integral that I tell you I was engaged in the business of #2.  Sorry-- just try not to picture it.  (Although, I do make a lovely figure on the pot.)

So there I was, finishing up, when I heard a yell coming from the living room.  It was Ruby, and I knew something was seriously amiss.  She had a breathless quality to her tone that indicated a certain amount of franticness.  

"Mom?  Mom?!  MOM!"

I poked my head out of the bathroom door and answered, hoping that I could easily solve the problem and get back to the business at hand.

"What's wrong with Carson?  What's wrong with her?!" Ruby gasped.

Oh, gosh.  The dog.  Did she keel over or something?  I couldn't see a dang thing, stuck on the john and all.

"What's she doing?" I asked, still calm.  One thing you should know about me is I'm an under-reactor in trauma situations.  I would almost say that I'm the perfect person to have with you in an emergency except for the fact that the very definition of under-reacting is evidence to the contrary.

"I don't know what she's doing!  I can't find her!" Ruby yells back, voice cracking.  LM begins to bawl.

Oooookaaaaaay.  At this point I'm at a loss.  Clearly my children are in a state of real crisis, but they are unable to tell me what is happening-- in fact, they are unable to even tell me IF anything is happening at all.  

"If you can't see her, how do you know something is wrong with her?" I holler out the door.  By now the kids are both gasping for air they're bawling so hard.  I'm beginning to realize my time in the bathroom will be cut unfortunately short.

"I heard her yelping!" comes the shrieking reply.

Well, this I can work with.  This is evidence!  Evidence that something indeed is wrong!  I hopped off the throne and jumped into action-- pants pooled around my ankles.  I searched all of the dog's known hangouts.  Meanwhile, the kids are in helpless, blathering heaps on the living room floor, sure that their beloved pet is dying in some hidden corner of the house.  I finally find the dog.  She's rolling on LM's bedroom carpet downstairs.  She's wagging her tail, having a grand ol' time, oblivious to the commotion upstairs.  

I went back upstairs to finish my business.

Why tell you all this?  Because my son is probably going to share with you that his mother went on a partially clothed doghunt sans proper wiping.  How do I know he'll say this?  Because he's already informed two of his little friends and his father.  But I DID wipe-- I did!  Don't believe that kid!  Remember, he was the one who was insisting our idiot dog was croaking when in fact she was having a heyday down on the berber.  Clearly he gets his facts confused.  

And, I washed my hands, too.  I'm a wiper and a washer.

Stupid dog....