We Made It, But It Hurt

You know, really, our kids are pretty obedient. If James disobeys, it's usually because he either forgot what he was doing, or forgot that it was/wasn't in the rule book. Very, very seldom is it ever intentional. When John disobeys, it's usually because he didn't understand or got conflicting directions from each parent and he panics. He would gladly oblige, IF he could tell what he was supposed to do. Smidge - eh, he's three. And EmBaby may or may not inadvertently off herself by diving from the rooftop well before she gets the whole obedience thing down.

That said, there is one directive that will inevitably cause all four of my children to turn to plaster. Hollow, unthinking, unmoving plaster. The deadly directions? Seemingly simple:

"Eat up, kids. We have to go soon."

You can hear the brakes screeching all along their central nervous systems, and watch some little man pull down the shutters in their eyes. It doesn't matter HOW early we get them started, that phrase will guarantee that we complete a meal (or at least have to leave it partially-eaten because it's Time. To. Go.) amid a non-stop stream of panic and mayhem, with them moving in bad-dream-slow-motion and me bounding about shedding like I'm three months post-partum and suffering mange. Someday I will learn not to tell them to hurry. I'll just serve smaller portions and remain conspicuously quiet. By the door. With the keys and a stack of wet wipes.

SO.

We got there on time. 8:30. We left from Smidge's appointment after 11:00. He did so much work on that child, I could not believe it. I've never, ever seen a more productive dentist. Again, we left with all the promised work completed, and this time a little more, as well. Smidge has deep crevices in his molars (I was so relieved when the assistant heard me sigh as she started scraping and said, "Oh, no, these aren't your fault. There's nothing you can do about this." I could have cried!) So the dentist cleaned them out and sealed them up. Yay! Insurance won't pay for sealants on baby teeth, but if that'll save him from going through what John and James are going through, I'll pay for it in chickens and homemade moccasins, if I have to. WOOHOO! He did the first half of fixing Smidge's poor front teeth (which have the same problem John's did), and applied a gluey substance to them to keep them until his next appointment. He also filled two cavities. That's a lot of work for a little guy, but Smidge was so happy to be there, seeing Dr. Beitel, getting his teeth fixed, that he never uttered a sound.

We left, ate lunch, spent 30 minutes at one of those hideous "community sponsored projects" - you know, the wooden outdoor playgrounds that, judging from the utter lack of visual contact a parent has once her child disappears into the labrynth, were obviously designed by angry pedophiles. I hate those things. But the kids love them, and this one is fenced in with only one option for egress. (God help us if the thing catches fire - we'll all roast at the bottleneck in the gate.) And then, straight back to the dentist's office!

This time for John, who was not so enthusiastic. He's a bit cynical. He's heard all the feel-good rhetoric before. "This will get you all fixed up." (Yeah, any more fixing and he's going to need dentures.) "Just a little longer." (What is this, a road trip?) He was good, and patient, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. We were there from 1:00 until 3:30. Three teeth. Seven surfaces. On one of the teeth, the dentist muttered that this was "herodontics". I guess my RCA puppy look tipped him off that this would be a somewhat *new* term to me (and not a comforting one). He said in 99 out of 100 cases, he'd have put a crown on that one, but that John's been through so much already that he thinks he can make this work without putting him through more than absolutely necessary.

Of course, he also said since John's four front teeth are next in the queue to come out, our best bet is to leave them be and encourage him to ride his bike a lot this summer. You know, downhill. (I kid you not. He said if ever there's a time to live dangerously, speaking from a dental perspective, John's in the sweet spot.) I thought that was pretty cool. John wasn't as receptive to the idea of living dangerously for the summer.

And we headed home. All I wanted was to brew a pot of coffee, pee in a non-public toilet, and have a quiet evening at home.

But no. Ball practice tonight. I did sort of hope John wouldn't be up for it, but for some reason, God saw fit to give the child a whole lot of fortitude. I know he didn't get it from me. Anyway, Zorak's out of town today, and EmBaby is going to be SO mad when I have to wake her up to get to the field.

At least it's all a Good Productivity. Right?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy