Got Floss?

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, and I'm sooo nervous, but not for the usual reasons people are afraid of the dentist. Not for legitimate reasons like being scared of a painful root canal or extraction.

No, my reasons are far more neurotic than that.


I'm scared...that I'll be found out...exposed as a fraud. Gulp!

You see, I haven't kept up with flossing, and I haven't worn my retainer like I'm supposed to every night, and I know that they will know, and I dread that terribly awkward moment when I'll be sitting in the chair and the hygienist will ask me if I've flossed (as if she didn't already know) and I mumble something unintelligible because I can't lie but I don't want to answer the question. Just the thought of it is already making me squirm in discomfort.

Besides the embarrassment of having your hygiene habits scrutinized, it can be a little intimidating to deflect questions while you are sitting in a chair elevated high off the ground with a flood light in your face and sharp objects being pointed at you. They want you to believe the chair is elevated so that it is easier to look into your mouth, but I believe the real reason is to make it harder for people to slide out of the chair and run away.

Frankly, it can feel like an interrogation.

On top of that, my daughter is coming with me. What will she think of me when she finds out I've been living a lie? Respect is a very delicate thing-hard to win, but easy to lose. She may never look at me the same way again. Six is a very, very impressionable age.

What if she never gets over the disappointment? What if this scars her for life?

I can picture it now...She's talking to her therapist about where our relationship went wrong, and this is the moment she will refer to as the defining moment where I shattered her faith in me.

How will I recover from this fall from grace?

Oh, things are not looking good. It's worse than I thought. Now I'm even more nervous.

I should probably be flossing right now, but I'm eating a chocolate bar instead to soothe my nerves. Come to think of it, I couldn't floss right now even if I wanted to. I'm out of floss, and to tell the truth, I don't remember when I ran out...did I ever have any to begin with?

I'm probably the only woman in the world right now who would rather have a pap smear. I do have soap and a washcloth, so I'm all set in that department.

I hope my dentist is not reading this. Just in case he is...

Note to self: stock up on floss.

Shades of Dirty

My two-year old son is finally talking and I am amazed at all of the new things that come out of his mouth, but I am not sure that even he understands everything that he is saying.

I was resting in bed the other day when he wandered into my bedroom to find me and jumped onto the bed with a cup full of cheerios. One fell onto the covers, and he immediately condemned it as ungodly filth that should not be touched, no, not even looked at:

"EEEWWW!"

"YUCKYYYYY!"

"DIRTY...Dat's a dirty cheerio, Mommy, DIRTY CHEERIO!"

My sense of pride over his ability to make good judgements about what to put in his mouth faded as instantly as it came. Just as quickly as he declared his disgust for the fallen cheerio, he snatched it up...and ate it. I was rather confused by the dramatic upheaval, and realized that he and I are just not on the same page as to what "dirty" actually means.

A Dream Deferred

                               Photo: Flikr/HOGNE

I never realized how unusual my children’s collection was until I had to dig something out of my trunk for a friend. As I dug through the mass of forgotten items I meant to put away long ago, she stared, puzzled, at the contents of my trunk.

“What, what is it?” I asked, as I could no longer ignore the look of curiosity on her face.

“Well…why do you have rocks in your trunk?”

“Oh...that...” I said awkwardly acknowledging the fact that not everyone has such a bizarre collection.

I guess it would make sense to have a random collection of rocks in my trunk if I was a geologist, but the real reason is that my children are huge rock fans. They like to collect them and decorate them with glittery nail polishes and colorful markers to commemorate, well, pretty much anything—a trip to the park, a stroll around the neighborhood, a hike through the woods, a walk through a parking lot. Like I said, anything.

A few outstanding ones will live the dream of being transformed from humble earth to glorified childhood memorabilia. But sadly, most never make it beyond the confines of the trunk to fulfill their rock dreams. So there they lay…waiting patiently in hopes that they too will have their glory day in the hot sun. I slammed the trunk door tightly shut and realized that today was not that day. Then, as I walked away from the vehicle and reflected on that thought, I felt a tinge of a sadness, not just for the lonely collection of rocks, but for myself, as I realized they are not the only ones with dreams deferred.

To all the dreamers with their dreams deferred…a glimmer of hope…

The Last Sanctuary

Every motherwoman needs her sanctuary; a place where she can escape the chaos and be alone with her thoughts. For me, that place is the shower. I find that by burying my head under the roaring shower head really drowns out all the background noise. The other day, my sanctuary was violated. While I was showering, two small children violently whipped the shower curtain open from both ends of the shower, instantly releasing all of the soothing warm air.

"Oh, no," I groaned to myself. "They found me."

"What are you doing, Mommy?"

"What are you doing!" I retorted, desperate to continue my shower. "You know you are not supposed to interrupt Mommy during her shower."

"Can we come in?"

"NO!" I shouted like a small child who's just been asked to relinquish their favorite toy. "This is Mommy's quiet time and.."

There was no point in finishing the sentence. Before I could even finish objecting, two naked little bodies jumped into the shower. How come it takes them forever to get dressed but only a blink of the eye for them to get undressed? My private retreat had now become a family waterpalooza adventure. My son played with the water settings while my daughter hogged the shower head. I imagined myself busting through the shower curtain like a football player and running out of the bathroom screaming in a melodramatic display of defiance, but the fact that I may draw unwanted attention from the neighbors quickly stopped me.

As I contemplated my exit strategy, my daughter entertained herself by playing hacky sack with "the girls". Words failed me. I gave her THE LOOK, which could only be interpreted as "on what planet is that acceptable?" She grinned shamelessly from ear to ear.

"Don't worry," she reassured me.

"When I get my own, I'll stop."

What?! I don't know which prospect I found more disturbing- the fact that I may be subjected to this cruel and unusual torture for years to come, or that some day she'll have her own?

Sigh. I stepped out of the shower, cold, wet, and defeated. "Great, there is no towel!" As I stumbled out of the bathroom in search of a dry towel,  I contemplated how much it would cost to get a bodyguard to stand outside my bathroom while I shower. If there are any bouncers who would like a small gig on the side, please contact me.