You Say It's Your Birthday?
I knew on February 1st, that the day was more than “Rabbit, Rabbit.” The day began African American History Month, National Children’s Dental Health Month, Return Your Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month, and Sweet Potato Month. Did you also know that the 7th through the 13th is Dump Your Significant Jerk Week and Jell-O Week? And, today is World Cancer Day, tomorrow is Bubble Gum Day, and on the 14th, it is not only Valentine’s Day but also National Condom Day. I kid you not; check out happenin’ February here.
Anyway, in my house, there were two birthdays this month. Nathan would be 17 on the 12th, and Iz would be 17, err, um, I mean, 7 on the 24th. Lately, it was hard telling who was the teenager.
For Iz, February meant only Valentine’s Day, her birthday, and the Father-Daughter Dance. She would probably say, “Happy Birthday” to Nathan on the day, but as far as she was concerned, Nathan's birthday was just a celebration obstacle in the path of her ultimate celebration.
Even though her birthday was two weeks away, February 1st began the countdown to her birthday. It was evident this morning when we were doing her math homework. When finished, I told her not to forget to put her name and the date on the top.
I watched as she wrote “Isabelle” and then “February 24.” I said, “Iz, it’s not the 24th.” She giggled, and then she said, “Ooops. That's my birthday.” Instead, those four words sounded more like “Silly me. You do know that is my birthday, Mom, right? I will be expecting several parties and lots of presents. Did you get my memo? It was written on the nice writing paper you told me not to use with a permanent black marker. Oh, I’m not supposed to use the permanent markers either, am I?! But, you won’t be mad, because it is my birthday...all month!”
I laughed. Last year, Iz could not wait to be six. This year, it seemed that seven years old didn't matter. February had become Celebrate Iz’s Birthday for a Month Month. Yesterday, there was talk of a party to plan the party, a friend party, a family party, and then a party on the actual birthday.
We were in full-fledged PPP mode; that’s Planning, PR, and Presents. We had to plan to get invitations, who to invite, what we would eat, what games we’d play, and when to go shopping for a new outfit, which was a given; you always need a new birthday suit for your original birthday suit!
Then there was the PR, which Iz handles nicely all on her own. When we were at Macy’s yesterday (no, I haven’t boycotted them…yet!), I bought a pair of gloves. I put them down on the counter, but not before Iz, plunked half her body on it.
The sales associate said to Iz, “Hi. What’s your name?” Iz said, “Isabelle!” She said, “That’s a lovely name.” Iz faux bashfully said, “Thank you.” Then Iz added, “It’s my birthday on the 24th!”
When we went to her favorite restaurant last night, Iz was greeted by our waitress, who we knew well. Anita asked Iz, “How are you doing, Isabelle?” Iz said, “It’s my birthday soon.” Anita exclaimed, “Wow, really? When is it?” Iz said, “The 24th.” I’m surprised Iz didn’t hand her a card, which noted the URL to her birthday website; on it, I was sure there was a link to her Toys ‘R Us birthday present registry!
Presents could really be considered part of planning; however, when you’re almost seven years old, presents deserve their own category. So far, Iz had asked for the pajamas for her American Girl doll, Julie, and for Julie’s bed. I was sure that there were more presents on her list; however, it seemed that presents had taken a backseat to the parties this year.
Of course, I then did the birthday math. Three parties multiplied by an average of five gifts per party equals lots of presents. Well, it’s only the 4th, so I’m sure she’ll rally and provide 13 more present suggestions by the 12th!
Children look up to and learn good things from their parents most of the time; however, for the past few years, I have found myself learning so many good things from Iz. I applaud her for being confident enough to feel she deserves such celebration and not just on her birthday; she lives her life expecting devotion, respect, and adoration, not just from her girlfriends, but from everyone in her life every day. You go, Girl! ♥
Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Even If It Makes Me Crazy
When Iz got home tonight, she was greeted by her new Barbie doll. Five minutes after opening her doll, excitement went into over excitement. She then called her Dad and left a message to tell him about her new doll.
I listened to her as she left the voice mail message; however, toward the end, she started to get a ‘tude, and I then said, “Iz, stop the sassy talk.” She clicked the “End” button on my phone and said “Well, that’s the way God made me, Mother!” I said, “Isabelle Georges, that’s not the way we speak here.” She said, “Mom, I think that flu shot made me crazy.” Ah, the insanity defense! (Good thing I watch Law & Order!)
Just then, I had to wonder whether she received a shot of inactivated viral strains or a month’s dose of caffeine. Five minutes later I heard, “Look, Mom!” I walked down the hallway, and she had a 4-cup cardboard holder in her hand. She began to shove it up her shirt, and as she did, she said, “Mommy, look! I can pretend I have breasts.” Eeeek!
Yesterday, I wanted my old son to be young again, and today, I wished my “grown-up” daughter would stay young forever. ♥
She Took Her Love for to Gaze Awhile
At 10:30 this morning, I headed off to the town I grew up in. It was time to visit the dentist for my bi-annual cleaning. I dislike (I restrained myself from using “hate,” and somewhere my Mom is smiling because of that) having my teeth cleaned.
This intense dislike (not “hatred,” Mom!) began when I developed a few areas on my teeth that had some exposed root. Unless the hygienist was really gentle and used the correct toothpaste when polishing, I sat in the chair for 30 minutes wishing I was having open-heart surgery instead, because then, at least, I’d be unconscious!
I arrived at 11:05am for my 11am appointment. I hit traffic. Okay, big fat lie, but I think my urgency to get to my appointment directly correlated to how much I liked having my teeth cleaned. Usually, before my ass can hit the waiting room chair, a hygienist comes down the hallway and asks me, “Jean?”
Today, I had the good fortune to wait. I perused my dentist’s rack o’ magazines. They were a tad better than the selection my primary care doctor offered but not by much. Hmm, read “Fly Rod and Reel” magazine or sit here and stare at the clock, noting that it is now 11:15am? I chose the latter.
Just then, a hygienist, who I had never seen before, came down the hallway. My ears perked up, thinking she might call my name. I saw her begin to speak and she then turned her head toward the receptionist and said, “You didn’t buzz me!” The receptionist apologized.
The hygienist then saw me, and said, “I’m sorry. It’ll just be a few minutes. The dentist came up behind her. He apologized to me, too. I said, “No problem.” Really, where else did I have to go this morning?!
The dentist went back down the hallway. The hygienist turned around and walked back down the hallway looking none too please. In the back of my head, I thought, “I hope her anger and being behind schedule is not taken out on my teeth.”
At 11:30, the same hygienist came out and said, “Jean?” I got up and followed her down the hallway. She brought me into an exam room and told me to take a seat. I could tell she was a bit irked. Just then, I wished I brought Iz’s teddy bear and a Ouija board with me; I needed a stuffed animal and my Mommy!
Once in the chair and reclined so far back, one would think I was ready for open heart surgery, the hygienist said, “He makes me so mad.” I assumed she meant the dentist. She said, “I was supposed to get buzzed. I didn’t. So, I took my time with my last patient. Now he’s all mad at me.” I said to myself, “Mumma!”
She then told me how much she disliked working for him. I sat up. Hell, I didn’t like him either. The only thing keeping me going to the practice, which he had bought from a dentist I had loved (Annie, you know him well), was the fact that I got a chance to visit my parents in the cemetery every six months.
The hygienist said, now that she had my full attention, “And, he embarrassed me in front of everyone earlier, just because I didn’t get buzzed.” Apparently, this had created some huge delay in the Tooth Timetable. Then she said, “I’m not one to take stuff from anyone. Sometimes he walks by me tapping his watch with his fingers. I ask him if his watch is broken!” She said as if saying it to the dentist, “Just tell me what you what to say to me; don’t pussyfoot around!”
I told her how much I loved the dentist who owned the practice before. I asked, “Did you know him?” She said she didn’t. I told her how the current dentist, kept mentioning a defect in my front tooth every time I went there. In some ways, I felt he peer-pressured me into fixing it.
There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth. My dentist ages ago, going back to high school, had put something in it to fill it, but it had yellowed over the years. My current dentist told me that if I bleached my teeth, he would put a veneer over it, and it would look much better. It had bothered me, but then again, most of the time, I think I was the only one who noticed.
So, back when I was working, I decided to fix it. After going through the whole process, I came out with these “Hollywood” white teeth, as my dentist called them, and a front tooth that didn’t bother me when I closely scrutinized it in my magnified mirror. The thing that bothered me was that when I left after the final veneer appointment, my dentist pointed to a business card on the front desk and said, “With those white teeth, you might like to consider a makeover.”
The card was for some Beauty Consultant in town. And, I know you have to be smart to be a doctor, but as we all know, smart doesn’t equal bedside manner. I said, “No, thank you.” I was so insulted and then made that I thought, “Ah, he’s pushing his mistress’s business!”
Anyway, I did not get to share that story with my hygienist; I only got to “There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth” before she started in on my dentist again. When she realized she was [fingers tapping on watch] very far behind, she said, “Open wide.”
I opened, and she exclaimed, “You have such nice teeth.” I responded, “That’s three and a half years of braces.” She said, “And, they’re so clean compared to what I’ve seen today. Oh, goodie.” Yes, she did say that. Well, she said, my teeth were nice, clean, and "Oh, goodie."
Before she started, I closed my mouth and said, “You do know I need the pumice*? The regular toothpaste bothers my roots.” She said she didn’t know that. The last hygienist I had six months ago was so wonderful. The new hygienist was nice, but at that point, I was wondering where the old hygienist, my teddy bear, and my Mumma were!
*The stuff is horrid. I could have probably saved my insurance $5 by bringing in sand from a trip to Crane Beach mixed with a little bit of Atlantic Ocean.
And, then she started to clean my teeth. A nice woman does not necessarily mean a gentle touch. She was very rough, and I think I still have the fingernail marks in both my forearms from holding onto them both so tightly. And, I hadn’t tasted that much blood in my mouth since I had my wisdom teeth out!
At one point, she said, “Oh, you are getting a lot of build up behind the back molars.” She took her instrument of pain out of my mouth. It was covered with some bloody muck. At that point, I wanted to say, “Look, I don’t like to see anything that comes out of my mouth, except for a tootsie roll or blow pop when I need to check how far away I am from the chewy center!” But, I didn’t.
After the cleaning, I was supposed to get a fluoride treatment. I declined. The hygienist very nicely suggested, knowing I was unemployed, that I just buy a fluoride rinse and use it every day. Her suggestion in no way made up for my pain, but it was something nevertheless.
And, I didn’t want to tell her, but it wasn’t that I couldn’t afford the $30 for the fluoride; it was that I needed to get the hell out of there! Do not stop for fluoride treatment. Pass it. Go to favorite Thai restaurant for Pad Thai and a glass of wine to celebrate surviving this brutal cleaning!
Once liberated, err, I mean, once at the restaurant, I pulled out my notebook. I ordered my Pad Thai and a glass of wine. In about 20 minutes, the restaurant was filled, almost to capacity, with about 30 people. I thought, “Whoa. Where did all these people come from?”
Just then, I thought, “Oh, yeah. It’s Thursday, a big go-out-to-lunch day for those who are employed.” I felt a bit odd sitting there. I then had to ask myself why I felt so odd. Was it because I used to be one of them?
After a few minutes, I knew it was something else. I felt like a ghost, perhaps the Ghost of Layoffs Yet to Come, sitting there silently observing the employed; however, just then I felt like I had a secret. One that only I knew. When they left, they went back to their place of employment and walked in the doors of work. When I left, I went to get Nathan and Iz, and I walked in fields of gold. ♥
I knew on February 1st, that the day was more than “Rabbit, Rabbit.” The day began African American History Month, National Children’s Dental Health Month, Return Your Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month, and Sweet Potato Month. Did you also know that the 7th through the 13th is Dump Your Significant Jerk Week and Jell-O Week? And, today is World Cancer Day, tomorrow is Bubble Gum Day, and on the 14th, it is not only Valentine’s Day but also National Condom Day. I kid you not; check out happenin’ February here.
Anyway, in my house, there were two birthdays this month. Nathan would be 17 on the 12th, and Iz would be 17, err, um, I mean, 7 on the 24th. Lately, it was hard telling who was the teenager.
For Iz, February meant only Valentine’s Day, her birthday, and the Father-Daughter Dance. She would probably say, “Happy Birthday” to Nathan on the day, but as far as she was concerned, Nathan's birthday was just a celebration obstacle in the path of her ultimate celebration.
Even though her birthday was two weeks away, February 1st began the countdown to her birthday. It was evident this morning when we were doing her math homework. When finished, I told her not to forget to put her name and the date on the top.
I watched as she wrote “Isabelle” and then “February 24.” I said, “Iz, it’s not the 24th.” She giggled, and then she said, “Ooops. That's my birthday.” Instead, those four words sounded more like “Silly me. You do know that is my birthday, Mom, right? I will be expecting several parties and lots of presents. Did you get my memo? It was written on the nice writing paper you told me not to use with a permanent black marker. Oh, I’m not supposed to use the permanent markers either, am I?! But, you won’t be mad, because it is my birthday...all month!”
I laughed. Last year, Iz could not wait to be six. This year, it seemed that seven years old didn't matter. February had become Celebrate Iz’s Birthday for a Month Month. Yesterday, there was talk of a party to plan the party, a friend party, a family party, and then a party on the actual birthday.
We were in full-fledged PPP mode; that’s Planning, PR, and Presents. We had to plan to get invitations, who to invite, what we would eat, what games we’d play, and when to go shopping for a new outfit, which was a given; you always need a new birthday suit for your original birthday suit!
Then there was the PR, which Iz handles nicely all on her own. When we were at Macy’s yesterday (no, I haven’t boycotted them…yet!), I bought a pair of gloves. I put them down on the counter, but not before Iz, plunked half her body on it.
The sales associate said to Iz, “Hi. What’s your name?” Iz said, “Isabelle!” She said, “That’s a lovely name.” Iz faux bashfully said, “Thank you.” Then Iz added, “It’s my birthday on the 24th!”
When we went to her favorite restaurant last night, Iz was greeted by our waitress, who we knew well. Anita asked Iz, “How are you doing, Isabelle?” Iz said, “It’s my birthday soon.” Anita exclaimed, “Wow, really? When is it?” Iz said, “The 24th.” I’m surprised Iz didn’t hand her a card, which noted the URL to her birthday website; on it, I was sure there was a link to her Toys ‘R Us birthday present registry!
Presents could really be considered part of planning; however, when you’re almost seven years old, presents deserve their own category. So far, Iz had asked for the pajamas for her American Girl doll, Julie, and for Julie’s bed. I was sure that there were more presents on her list; however, it seemed that presents had taken a backseat to the parties this year.
Of course, I then did the birthday math. Three parties multiplied by an average of five gifts per party equals lots of presents. Well, it’s only the 4th, so I’m sure she’ll rally and provide 13 more present suggestions by the 12th!
Children look up to and learn good things from their parents most of the time; however, for the past few years, I have found myself learning so many good things from Iz. I applaud her for being confident enough to feel she deserves such celebration and not just on her birthday; she lives her life expecting devotion, respect, and adoration, not just from her girlfriends, but from everyone in her life every day. You go, Girl! ♥
Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Even If It Makes Me Crazy
When Iz got home tonight, she was greeted by her new Barbie doll. Five minutes after opening her doll, excitement went into over excitement. She then called her Dad and left a message to tell him about her new doll.
I listened to her as she left the voice mail message; however, toward the end, she started to get a ‘tude, and I then said, “Iz, stop the sassy talk.” She clicked the “End” button on my phone and said “Well, that’s the way God made me, Mother!” I said, “Isabelle Georges, that’s not the way we speak here.” She said, “Mom, I think that flu shot made me crazy.” Ah, the insanity defense! (Good thing I watch Law & Order!)
Just then, I had to wonder whether she received a shot of inactivated viral strains or a month’s dose of caffeine. Five minutes later I heard, “Look, Mom!” I walked down the hallway, and she had a 4-cup cardboard holder in her hand. She began to shove it up her shirt, and as she did, she said, “Mommy, look! I can pretend I have breasts.” Eeeek!
Yesterday, I wanted my old son to be young again, and today, I wished my “grown-up” daughter would stay young forever. ♥
She Took Her Love for to Gaze Awhile
At 10:30 this morning, I headed off to the town I grew up in. It was time to visit the dentist for my bi-annual cleaning. I dislike (I restrained myself from using “hate,” and somewhere my Mom is smiling because of that) having my teeth cleaned.
This intense dislike (not “hatred,” Mom!) began when I developed a few areas on my teeth that had some exposed root. Unless the hygienist was really gentle and used the correct toothpaste when polishing, I sat in the chair for 30 minutes wishing I was having open-heart surgery instead, because then, at least, I’d be unconscious!
I arrived at 11:05am for my 11am appointment. I hit traffic. Okay, big fat lie, but I think my urgency to get to my appointment directly correlated to how much I liked having my teeth cleaned. Usually, before my ass can hit the waiting room chair, a hygienist comes down the hallway and asks me, “Jean?”
Today, I had the good fortune to wait. I perused my dentist’s rack o’ magazines. They were a tad better than the selection my primary care doctor offered but not by much. Hmm, read “Fly Rod and Reel” magazine or sit here and stare at the clock, noting that it is now 11:15am? I chose the latter.
Just then, a hygienist, who I had never seen before, came down the hallway. My ears perked up, thinking she might call my name. I saw her begin to speak and she then turned her head toward the receptionist and said, “You didn’t buzz me!” The receptionist apologized.
The hygienist then saw me, and said, “I’m sorry. It’ll just be a few minutes. The dentist came up behind her. He apologized to me, too. I said, “No problem.” Really, where else did I have to go this morning?!
The dentist went back down the hallway. The hygienist turned around and walked back down the hallway looking none too please. In the back of my head, I thought, “I hope her anger and being behind schedule is not taken out on my teeth.”
At 11:30, the same hygienist came out and said, “Jean?” I got up and followed her down the hallway. She brought me into an exam room and told me to take a seat. I could tell she was a bit irked. Just then, I wished I brought Iz’s teddy bear and a Ouija board with me; I needed a stuffed animal and my Mommy!
Once in the chair and reclined so far back, one would think I was ready for open heart surgery, the hygienist said, “He makes me so mad.” I assumed she meant the dentist. She said, “I was supposed to get buzzed. I didn’t. So, I took my time with my last patient. Now he’s all mad at me.” I said to myself, “Mumma!”
She then told me how much she disliked working for him. I sat up. Hell, I didn’t like him either. The only thing keeping me going to the practice, which he had bought from a dentist I had loved (Annie, you know him well), was the fact that I got a chance to visit my parents in the cemetery every six months.
The hygienist said, now that she had my full attention, “And, he embarrassed me in front of everyone earlier, just because I didn’t get buzzed.” Apparently, this had created some huge delay in the Tooth Timetable. Then she said, “I’m not one to take stuff from anyone. Sometimes he walks by me tapping his watch with his fingers. I ask him if his watch is broken!” She said as if saying it to the dentist, “Just tell me what you what to say to me; don’t pussyfoot around!”
I told her how much I loved the dentist who owned the practice before. I asked, “Did you know him?” She said she didn’t. I told her how the current dentist, kept mentioning a defect in my front tooth every time I went there. In some ways, I felt he peer-pressured me into fixing it.
There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth. My dentist ages ago, going back to high school, had put something in it to fill it, but it had yellowed over the years. My current dentist told me that if I bleached my teeth, he would put a veneer over it, and it would look much better. It had bothered me, but then again, most of the time, I think I was the only one who noticed.
So, back when I was working, I decided to fix it. After going through the whole process, I came out with these “Hollywood” white teeth, as my dentist called them, and a front tooth that didn’t bother me when I closely scrutinized it in my magnified mirror. The thing that bothered me was that when I left after the final veneer appointment, my dentist pointed to a business card on the front desk and said, “With those white teeth, you might like to consider a makeover.”
The card was for some Beauty Consultant in town. And, I know you have to be smart to be a doctor, but as we all know, smart doesn’t equal bedside manner. I said, “No, thank you.” I was so insulted and then made that I thought, “Ah, he’s pushing his mistress’s business!”
Anyway, I did not get to share that story with my hygienist; I only got to “There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth” before she started in on my dentist again. When she realized she was [fingers tapping on watch] very far behind, she said, “Open wide.”
I opened, and she exclaimed, “You have such nice teeth.” I responded, “That’s three and a half years of braces.” She said, “And, they’re so clean compared to what I’ve seen today. Oh, goodie.” Yes, she did say that. Well, she said, my teeth were nice, clean, and "Oh, goodie."
Before she started, I closed my mouth and said, “You do know I need the pumice*? The regular toothpaste bothers my roots.” She said she didn’t know that. The last hygienist I had six months ago was so wonderful. The new hygienist was nice, but at that point, I was wondering where the old hygienist, my teddy bear, and my Mumma were!
*The stuff is horrid. I could have probably saved my insurance $5 by bringing in sand from a trip to Crane Beach mixed with a little bit of Atlantic Ocean.
And, then she started to clean my teeth. A nice woman does not necessarily mean a gentle touch. She was very rough, and I think I still have the fingernail marks in both my forearms from holding onto them both so tightly. And, I hadn’t tasted that much blood in my mouth since I had my wisdom teeth out!
At one point, she said, “Oh, you are getting a lot of build up behind the back molars.” She took her instrument of pain out of my mouth. It was covered with some bloody muck. At that point, I wanted to say, “Look, I don’t like to see anything that comes out of my mouth, except for a tootsie roll or blow pop when I need to check how far away I am from the chewy center!” But, I didn’t.
After the cleaning, I was supposed to get a fluoride treatment. I declined. The hygienist very nicely suggested, knowing I was unemployed, that I just buy a fluoride rinse and use it every day. Her suggestion in no way made up for my pain, but it was something nevertheless.
And, I didn’t want to tell her, but it wasn’t that I couldn’t afford the $30 for the fluoride; it was that I needed to get the hell out of there! Do not stop for fluoride treatment. Pass it. Go to favorite Thai restaurant for Pad Thai and a glass of wine to celebrate surviving this brutal cleaning!
Once liberated, err, I mean, once at the restaurant, I pulled out my notebook. I ordered my Pad Thai and a glass of wine. In about 20 minutes, the restaurant was filled, almost to capacity, with about 30 people. I thought, “Whoa. Where did all these people come from?”
Just then, I thought, “Oh, yeah. It’s Thursday, a big go-out-to-lunch day for those who are employed.” I felt a bit odd sitting there. I then had to ask myself why I felt so odd. Was it because I used to be one of them?
After a few minutes, I knew it was something else. I felt like a ghost, perhaps the Ghost of Layoffs Yet to Come, sitting there silently observing the employed; however, just then I felt like I had a secret. One that only I knew. When they left, they went back to their place of employment and walked in the doors of work. When I left, I went to get Nathan and Iz, and I walked in fields of gold. ♥
1 comment:
Honey, get yourself out of there. I put up with that dentist for a year. He's rude and condescending. I only stayed because I didn't know who else to go to (I didn't want to jump from the frying pan into the fire) and left immediately when my kids stated they didn't like him. Dr. Healy, wherever you are, your kind and gentle ways are sorely missed!
You can make a "every six months" pilgrammage to see your parents and have your favorite Pad Thai without having to suffer the dental pain in the same visit. :)
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