When I was little, I had Barbie dolls that I could dress. I also had paper dolls, which were always given to me by my grandmother. I can’t remember when I last saw a little girl with paper dolls. Like origami, are paper dolls one of those lost amusements of the 1970s?
I have some. I bought them for Iz. Really, I did!
Has she played with them yet? No. But, she can…when she’s 42 and won't rip them!
Anyway, when I grew up, I realized how much more fun it was to dress myself than a doll. Like paper dolls, I found that “dress up” wasn’t just for little girls. You could be a big girl and enjoy it just as much, especially with old clothes out of someone else’s closet or attic (read “vintage”)!
Clothes are inevitable. They are nothing less than the furniture of the mind made visible. ~James Laver, Style in Costume
As you all know from yesterday’s post, I am in a bit of a quandary over what to wear to my 30th high school reunion. As I said to one friend, the problem is not that “I have nothing to wear!” The dilemma is that I have to many dresses that I could wear.
When in doubt, wear red. ~Bill Blass
I was talking to Melissa today. She came up with the idea of asking you, my readers, which dress you thought I should wear. While I felt it was a good idea, I also felt that I had to take one of her blog suggestions sooner or later.
She last suggested I write a blog about some dude who spends all day pushing a rock up a hill only to have it roll back down, so he has to do it all over again the next day. Of course, I like to think I can make anything interesting like inanimate objectswearing pearls. I had complained about picking up the house, and she thought the rock dude story could morph into something about how it feels to pick up other people’s messes day after day (read “motherhood”).
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls; Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in; Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in; Dresses in which to do nothing at all; Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. ~William Allen Butler, "Nothing to Wear"
So, let’s begin. Pretend I’m your paper doll, although the only place I’m really flat is in my chest! Ponder the outfits below, which are shown with coordinating shoes and purse, and then vote (scroll down to the very bottom of my blog) for the dress you think I should wear. And, I have more dresses to choose from, but I choose not to tell you how many more! ♥
Our clothes are too much a part of us for most of us ever to be entirely indifferent to their condition: it is as though the fabric were indeed a natural extension of the body, or even of the soul. ~Quentin Bell
On the subject of dress almost no one, for one or another reason, feels truly indifferent: if their own clothes do not concern them, somebody else's do. ~Elizabeth Bowen
All women's dresses, in every age and country, are merely variations on the eternal struggle between the admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress. ~Lin Yutang
The dress must not hang on the body but follow its lines. It must accompany its wearer and when a woman smiles the dress must smile with her. ~Madeleine Vionnet
High school memories. Are yours in the back of your head? Are they in that Cusinart 2.5 quart saucepan on your stove’s back burner? Are they in the far right corner of your dining room buried under that colossal dust kitty that you’ve been meaning to suck up with the vacuum for the last 3 weeks? Or, are they buried in the backyard along with your former pet hamster, Algonquin Neapolitan Hamy the 8th? (By the way, if you ever need a name for your new pet hamster, go here.)
This last year, my high school yearbook was opened at least once a month. This occurred when I gathered with my old, but suddenly new, high school girlfriends, the Lovelies. In fact, if I hadn’t been unemployed, I might never have had the “time” to reacquaint myself with each and every one of them. Just like when we were in high school, I can’t imagine being a phone call away from any of them ever again.
(L-R: Anne, Cathy, Laura, Marcia, Melissa, and me, circa 1980)
What did you say? I look the same. God, I love you!
I loved high school; in fact, I liked it better than college. I had a wonderful friend in college, Bitsy, and I loved her dearly. She and I were inseparable during those years; however, on a different level, I never felt like I had the “group” of friends in college that I did in high school.
I was not “popular” in high school, well, I was not how “popular” was defined in our high school. I don’t think I dwelled on that in high school nor did I long to date a football player. Okay, I lied; I did have a crush on one, but crush is the furthest it ever got, which probably was good thing given I once saw a sign posted high up in the hallway stating that this particular individual had “mean beer farts!”
Anyway, this week, high school is front and center in my mind; there’s also an associated wardrobe dilemma. (Yes, it’s not that I don’t have a dress to wear; it’s that I don’t know which one to wear!) This Saturday is my –cringe-gulp-gasp-OMG-is-the-football-player-with-the-mean-beer-farts-going-to-be-there? 30th high school reunion.
Thirty years. Back then, I had 70 years ahead of me, more if I was lucky, but I don't think I have that now given genetics. Today, I think, "Where did those thirty years go?! I'm still 18! Yes, I am!"
One of my Lovely friends recently told me that she never felt like she fit it in high school. I always felt like I fit in. Well, I fit into my crowd of friends; she was part of that crowd. So, you see, dear Lovely Melissa, you did fit in!
This is Melissa; she was featured in the Boston Globe.
When this was taken, she was in veterinarian school at Tufts. When her Dad asked the Tufts admissions people what she should do if she didn't get into veterinarian school, they said, "She should apply to medical school." Did you know that it is harder to get into veterinarian school than medical school? Therefore, if I have an ache or pain, I always ask her about it first!
Surely, some of us didn’t fit into other social crowds. We were not theater people nor were we the ones who smoked pot outside by the outdoor pursuit course. I’d like to think now that we were a crowd who had a little bit of everyone; yes, we were the United Nations crowd!
Note that I did participate in Model UN, so I think that entitles me to say that. Of course, my first Model UN gig at Salem High School in New Hampshire was a tough one. I was Afghanistan, and the girl I stayed with, Dana, was Russia.
This was right after Russia invaded Afghanistan. The ironic thing was that she and I got along very well. So, I felt very guilty that I was now quite literally sleeping with the enemy.
Anyway, I’ve already shown some of my embarrassing high school photos, so why stop now? I participated in volleyball (along with Laura, Cathy, and Anne) and track. Here’s me at a track meet at Acton-Boxborough. How do I remember that when I don’t remember what I had for dinner last night? I have no idea! (P.S. That’s Marcia Lovely wearing my Lincoln-Sudbury sweatshirt.)
I also participated in the previously mentioned Model UN, became the Program Director of the new radio station my senior year by correctly identifying a song by Led Zeppelin, and I wrote for the school newspaper.
I still have my high school folder full of papers and newspaper articles I wrote. I have a scrapbook full of track and volleyball newspaper clippings. I didn’t think I was that sentimental until I came across the rose I carried at graduation and the ticket to my prom along with the corsage that Doug gave me.
I fondly remember a toga party I went to in high school. I know a few of the Lovelies were in attendance. I made my toga out of a Peanuts sheet, and we sang “Old Black Water” over and over again.
As I mentioned in a previous blog, the day after the party, I was accused of throwing up in the bathroom hamper. I denied it vehemently until it was confirmed that someone else had thrown up in the bathroom hamper. Humph! Drinking and subsequent barfing was a skill at which I only mastered at the end of my senior year in college; this is why I haven’t had a Southern Comfort sour in 26 years.
All in all, when I look back, I was very fortunate to have grown up in a nice town, have gone to a good school, and to have met a lot of good friends. That’s a lot of goods I know, but it was all good to me then and it still is now. Of course, there were some painful times, but as far as I know, my birth certificate didn’t say “N/A” under “Emotional Turmoil.”
After I signed up for my high school reunion last Fall, I got an email via a high school website from a classmate named Kenny. I was surprised, because he was an athlete and his picture was definitely next to our high school’s definition of “popular.” He wrote:
“Jean, your dad was a baseball coach of mine when i was 12 and i want you to know that i thought he was the best. just thought you would like to hear that he really was a great guy and people still think of him. Kenny”
I wrote him back and thanked him for his lovely words. If there was a time I needed to hear something like that, it was then. If I had any reservations about anyone in high school, whether they were in my crowd or not, I cancelled them all after reading his note.
Lately, I find I need to keep myself moving through the days, and while I do, it’s most important to linger in the happy times, whether they be in the present or in the past. To be trite, I know happy times will be here again. Life’s cyclical, isn’t it? When everything seems all wrong, you have to know that everything will be all right again soon.
Most people ponder their past. Some even wish to go back to a certain point in time, so they can change the course of their life. I know; I’ve been there before.
I have regretted some decisions I’ve made in my life. At the same time, they are hard to regret now given that I made most of them with the best of intentions. Instead of regret, I now only think it would be nice to be 8, 20, 30, or 39 again for a moment or two.
I would tell Julie, my sister, not to run through the sprinkler with Patches, our cat. I would spend another night at the Stein, Brandeis’ pub, with Bitsy trying to unstick our $1 Waltham Supermarket flip-flops from the beer-saturated floor. I would sit on Crane Beach for another day with my Mom. And, I would go up to my Dad’s girlfriend after he died and kick her ass for not being with him when he died. These are my only real regrets now.
“If we spend our time with regrets over yesterday, and worries over what might happen tomorrow, we have no today in which to live.”
Sometimes I think I might like to go back to high school. I had a different feeling then, one which captured love and security especially within the four walls of my parent’s home. Today, I am glad that I can go back Saturday night even if it's just for the night. ♥
End blog soundtrack (I’ve used it before, but obviously, I love it and the video!):
I was wondering when I would hear it. After four days of school vacation and having no fun activity planned for today, I knew Iz’s claim of total and utter boredom was just around the corner. Little did I know that when I went into the family room this morning, I’d see a little blonde head behind a pile of toys, and it would speak to me from the corner of the room and say, “Mommy, I’m bored!”
Iz was supposed to fly to Philadelphia and then drive to see her grandparents for the weekend; however, available flights out of Manchester weren’t plentiful today. It worked out well anyway, because she told me she was afraid to fly by herself. Of course, this was the same girl who bravely got on a flight a year and a half ago and flew to Philadelphia by herself.
I wondered what changed fearlessness into frightfulness. She had gotten older, so maybe it was her increasing years, which weren’t really many. Though, when I was 23 years old, I never braked my bike when going 25 m.p.h. down a hill; these days, I do!
Anyway, like any parent, I immediately offered a number of activities that Iz could partake in.
You can walk Monty around the yard. No. You can pick up your shoes in the entry way and put them in your room. No. You can clean up the mess in this room. No.
I usually cleaned the house and did laundry on Fridays. So, I didn’t plan on a trip to the museum, the beach, or the mall. I figured that Iz might like to help out, but obviously her participation in cleaning was off limits while it was still officially school vacation.
She then said again, “I’m bored.” I said, “Well, why don’t you go to the after-school vacation program then?” She scrunched up her little face and said, “Noooooo!” It felt ironic that Nathan had no worries leaving me but Iz never wanted to.
She sat on the couch and said, “I miss Mackenzie, Nicole, Mindy, and Rachel.” These were her friends at school. I knew she was not only bored, but she was missing school in a big way when she sighed and said, “And, I miss Miss Tessier!”
I said, “Well, school starts again on Monday.” She seemed to get no solace from this. And going from first gear to fourth gear, she asked, “Mommy, why is there no kids day?”
This must be a parent-child Frequently Asked Question. I asked Iz what she meant, and she said, “Well, there’s Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but there is no kids day!” I remembered how my Mom responded to me when I asked this very same question of her years ago and said, “Every day is kids’ day!” Iz scrunched up her little face again when she heard that.
I told her that we really had to clean up the family room, so I could vacuum. She frowned and sighed. If had been employed by me that very minute, I’m sure she would have quit.
Quite surprisingly, she got off the couch and began to pick up her Barbie dolls. I left to go fetch the vacuum upstairs, and as I walked up the stairs, I heard, “But, Mommy, aren’t you going to help me?”
I like to call this phenomenon The Mess According to Iz. She can make numerous messes; however, when it’s time to make the mess into a memory, it would appear that the mess is not her sole responsibility to clean up. You see, somehow when I was making dinner, doing the laundry, or vacuuming the rug, my evil twin had aided and abetted her in committing the messy crime in question; therefore, I was legally bound to help her clean it up.
Another thing I love about children at this age is their ability to believe. When Iz first explained her Big Mess Theory to me, she explained it to me with such conviction, almost as if she was reading it out of a law book, that I almost believed her. The last few years, I’ve listened to her explain her It Was Not Me Who Left the Bathroom Light On theory, her It Was Not Me Who Forgot to Flush the Toilet theory, and her I’m Not The One Who Squeezed Thunderbolt and Made Him Howl theory; she is so convincing that most times I stand there, think “Maybe she has a point,” and then shake my head violently and say, “Hey, that’s not right!”
When I arrived back downstairs and entered the kitchen, Iz yelled, “Mommy, why am I doing this by myself?” I said, “Isabelle Georges!” And, she knew I meant business, because I don’t play my first name-middle name card a lot. Iz glared at me and said, “Mommy, don’t say Isabelle Georges,” and I said, “I’ll help you in a minute.”
In five minutes, I came back into the family room. She had picked up everything. Proudly and somewhat amazed, she said, “Look, Mommy! I picked it all up.”
I thanked her, and then she said, “I’m going upstairs.” It was a quick exit. I wondered if she was on a roll and was going to pick up her room or she feared she might be cleaning out the refrigerator in another five minutes.
After I vacuumed, I went upstairs to check on her. It’s amazing how cleaning can make a bored child resourceful; she was on her bed, watching a DVD, and coloring. For the rest of the afternoon, I didn’t hear “I’m bored” again!
I was only summoned three times thereafter. The first time I heard, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! This is so cool. Come quick!” She wanted me to view a Cardinal that perched itself outside her bedroom window.
The second time, there were no words. I was sitting at my desk and a Polly Pocket doll was dropped onto my desk along with blue plastic pants and a green plastic top. I hate dressing these little plastic people; dislike is a kinder word, but I really do hate this!
As you can see, I was somewhat successful. I think Plume the kitten has the right idea. The only useful purpose for these little plastic clothes is as cat toys to be batted about the house and carried around in the mouth when not being batted.
The third time, I heard, “Mom, come look at Liam!” I sincerely hoped when I arrived in her room that Liam would not be squeezed into Iz’s American Girl doll’s gaucho pants and embroidered peasant top. I was relieved to see that she had only found a new use for Liam – head rest.
So ends another school vacation. At any age, the thrill of being totally unoccupied is fleeting. The desire for activity and friendship is always missed before too long. On Monday, Iz would certainly look forward to going back to school; and I’d continue to look forward to a job that I could go back to soon. ♥
While it’s obvious that I spend a lot of time with Iz, especially during school vacations, you might be wondering where Nathan’s been lately. For those who don’t know, I have two children; Iz is 7 going on I-know-more-than-Mommy, and Nathan is 17 going on my-Mom-is-crazy-but-she-is-the-gullible-parent-so-I-will-put-up-with-her-because-she-gets-me-out-of-school-on-religious-holidays-that-I-don’t-believe-in. Anyway, this school vacation is the first where Nathan has all but fallen off the radar screen; thus, I’m beginning to detest his mobility.
Nathan got his license in February after it took him a bit (okay, it seemed like forever) to get his learner’s permit, finish driver’s education, and then finally be ready for the license test. Lately, his license seemed like a parental Murphy’s Law or “Field of Dreams” gone wrong; if they get their license, they will come…home only when they feel like it. In the last week, I had only seen Nathan four or five times, and most of those times he was horizontal and fast asleep.
It’s funny how unalike your kids can be; mine don't have the same father, which makes them different, but I know from having siblings that even if you have the same father, you can all still be very different. As an example, I practically had to force the car keys into Nathan’s hand. Then there’s Iz; if given the opportunity, she’d take my car keys tomorrow, if I let her, and do her best to drive herself to Sephora, Claire’s, or Chuck E. Cheese.
Lately, this is how I know Nathan’s in the house.
Does he still have blonde hair? Is he still tall? I’d never know, because this is what I “see” of Nathan lately; well, I imagine he’s sleeping, because I can’t hear the sound of gunfire coming from Call of Duty XXII.
Sufficed to say, now that Nathan has a license and a job, I don’t see him much. He gets up, takes the car, and goes off to school. He manages to put down his X-box controller, take the car, and go to work, or he walks in the front door, plays X-box and/or eats two bagels and drinks a root beer and then asks, “Do you mind if I take the car and sleep over _insert_Matt_or_Ben’s_name_here_ tonight?”
When Nathan’s not a door with bumper stickers on it, he’s a ghost. He floats in and floats out, an apparition in soccer shorts carrying a backpack or in his tan khakis and red work shirt. I know he’s there, because he’s always jingling those car keys as he says in a low background voice “Mom, I’m going to _insert_work_Matt’s_soccer_practice_here_.”
Yesterday morning, he came home after staying at Matt’s the night before. I saw on his Facebook page that he had been up for two days in a row. At the time, I thought it was teenager hype, but when Iz and I left for the beach yesterday morning, Nathan had morphed into the door with the bumper stickers on it.
I tried calling him on the way home from the beach to see if there was garlic bread in the freezer. He didn’t answer his cell phone. Either he was screening his calls or he was still horizontal.
After three hours of driving, two hours at the beach, and 194 questions from Iz, one of which was “Is Florida in Masschusetts?”, I had to go grocery shopping. Iz and I shopped; she is such a good little shopper. By the time I arrived home, I was exhausted.
When I got home, I noticed that the screen door wasn’t fully shut and the front door was open. Liam, Maine Coon Cat and Escape Artist, can push the screen door open. Once in the kitchen, I saw Nathan on the couch and said, “Nathan, make sure you close the screen door tightly.”
If truth be told, I might have sounded a tad bitchy when I said it. Like I said before, I’m not perfect, and I am not the perfect mother. I was tired, and I think "Other Frustrations" spoke to Nathan instead of "Mom."
Nathan got up from the couch, walked briskly to the front door, and said, “There’s a solution to that. I’ll just close the door!” He slammed the front door. He walked back to the couch and finished eating.
He had never spoken to me like that before. Of course, I didn’t speak to him the way I did very often either. With a sinkful of dishes staring at me, dirty cat boxes lurking in the basement, and a sandy child who needed dinner and a bath, I felt overwhelmed and horrible in that moment.
Nathan is a wonderful kid. Last Friday night, he went to a magic card tournament in Lowell with his friends; it was from midnight to 6am. I know you’re thinking the same thing I did; these kids are vampires, right? (They’re not; some new cards were released at midnight. Hey, we’re all passionate about something, right!)
That night, he texted me about his work hours for the weekend. He also told me where he was going. I gave him the Be Careful and Call Me If You Need Anything parental speech. He said, “Yeah, Dad already told me this. I’m not generally the one who does stupid shit.”
He was right. I had done more “stupid shit” in the last 10 years than Nathan would ever do in his entire lifetime. He had a point!
After Iz was off in bed last night, I sat at my desk pondering my potentially non-existent unemployment benefit, the house that I love and dislike in Nantucket, which is still not for sale, and how I wished I hadn't used the tone I did when speaking to Nathan earlier in the evening. So, I wasn’t really pondering; I was really upset. At that point, Nathan came out of his room; I thought he was heading to the shower.
He asked, “Can I sleep over Ben’s tonight?” I said half-heartedly, “Sure.” I think Nathan sensed my half-heartedness, and he wrapped his arms around me to hug me. I started to cry and said, “I’m so sorry I was short with you tonight. I’m so upset about still not having a job and this house in Nantucket is killing me.”
I had never cried in front of Nathan. Actually, the only time I think Nathan saw me cry was when I told him that his grandfather was going to die. Nathan said, “I’m sorry, too."
He went on to say, "I shouldn't have slammed the door.” And, he didn’t stop hugging me. He just hugged me tighter.
I know the first rule of parenting is not to be “friends” with your child. When I thought about how I let Nathan be sick (when I knew he wasn’t) or picked him up early when he wanted to avoid a boring day at school, I didn’t think I was being his “friend.” I was just being the “gullible” parent, but, shhhh, don’t tell Quinn.
Last night, I realized that the less I feel I have Nathan around, the more I have him present in a more grown-up way. I have a lovely young man. He now realizes that his Mom is not Wonder Woman; she is merely a wonderful yet “crazy” woman who needs his love and support every now and then.
When I was sitting on the couch this morning drinking my coffee and watching “Full House” with Iz, Nathan came into the family room. He was wearing his shorts, had his back pack slung over his shoulder with his cobalt blue laptop peeking out of it, and he was jiggling his car keys while also trying to balance his iPod and his cell phone in his hands. He said, “Mom, I’m leaving now. I have to take Ben to the dentist.”*
*Obviously, both Quinn and I have taken advantage of the personal assistant aspect of the driver’s license. Ben is Nathan’s little brother.
I went to get up to kiss him good-bye; instead, he came over to the couch and gave me a big hug. I asked, “So, when will you be back tomorrow?” He said, “I’ll call you and let you know.”
Earlier in the month, that statement might have bothered me a bit; however, this April vacation week, I didn’t go to Disney World, Atlantis, or math camp. I arrived at a new level of parenthood. Even if the son is gone; he’ll always shine in my life, especially when I need him the most. ♥
A Sure Sign That Spring is Here Note: The lilacs, one of my favorites, are in bloom.
Today was a day that Iz had anticipated for quite a while; I wouldn’t say she looked forward to it like the Father-Daughter dance or her birthday. She definitely knew the day was coming; however, this past week she had been sitting on the fence between the “this is no big deal” backyard and the “lose sleep over this” front yard. The growling and salivating dog with the spiked collar who was occupying both yards was the orthodontist.
After her last visit to the dentist, the dental tech recommended that Iz see the orthodontist soon. The dental tech handed me a sheet with all of Iz’s problem areas circled. In addition to lady bugs and sharks, things that scared Iz, she had to now be fearful of crowding, a cross bite, and a gap due to thumb sucking, which our dentist abhorred.
The dentist had told Iz before that should really stop sucking her thumb; the same dentist , who I never really cared for, also told Nathan the same thing. Iz only sucked her thumb at night, and it seemed like something she would outgrow just like Nathan did. (Nathan didn’t suck his thumb; he was more creative and skillfully sucked the ring and middle fingers of his right hand.)
When Nathan first saw the orthodontist, the orthodontist said that it was no problem that Nathan sucked his fingers. Nathan seemed embarrassed at first and then relieved. Shortly thereafter, Nathan just stopped sucking his fingers. And, this was why I really liked this orthodontist; he told Nathan is was okay and perfectly natural to comfort himself in this way.
Iz was aware of the orthodontist from tagging along on Nathan’s visits to him. I think she always associated his visits with pain. I don’t know why because Nathan usually portrayed the visits as an inconvenience that cut into his after-school X-box time; perhaps Iz wrongly translated “pain in the butt” as “pain in my mouth.”
This morning, Iz was scheduled to go off to the school vacation program for a few hours. As I ran around gathering her things and putting together my cycling necessities, she walked up to me and handed me a piece of white paper. I asked, “What’s this?” and she said, “It’s a ticket.”
She was right; it was an “orthodtist tikit.” (I thought that the spelling of orthodontist was particularly good considering she’s only 7!) I asked, “Why do I need this?”
I thought I was given a violation because I was “speeding” her off to the orthodontist’s before the official “orthodonture” season had begun. She said, “It’s to remind you.” Note to Self: Iz just might be my future partner in Law & Order crime given the tickets she’s always handing out.
I was encouraged that she was reminding me to take her and not standing there having a coughing fit to persuade me to cancel her appointment due to one of her usual imagined illnesses. I hadn’t forgotten, and I told her I would pick her up at tooth hurty. (Okay, that was lame, but I need to have a lame joke in here every now and then.)
When I picked her up at 2:30, I gathered up her belongings. The first thing she asked was, “Are we going now?” I told her we were, and, totally changing gears, the next thing out of her mouth was, “Mom, someone got earwax on my iPod!”
I asked how someone got earwax on her iPod. She said that it was either Katherine, Taysia, or Amanda, because they had all borrowed it. She said that Miss Aly had tried to clean it off; and, I was not looking forward to seeing that mess.
When we got in the car, Iz said, “Here, Mom” and flung her iPod over into the front seat. Miss Aly hadn’t done a great job cleaning the ear bud as I suspected, though I didn't blame her. I took a deep breath, found a napkin, and then I wiped the rest of the offensive orange mess off the ear bud; I then said, “Iz, friends don't let friends borrow iPods, okay?”
As we drove off, she asked, “Do we need to go on the highway?” I love the way little kids think, well, until adolescence ruins the little kid way of thinking! Iz didn’t ask me how long it would take to get there; however, I knew the highway indicated to her whether it would be a short or a long trip.
I told her that we didn’t need to take the highway and reminded her it was a few minutes away and a place she had been before. She then asked, “Is the doctor a boy or a girl?” I said, “He’s a boy,” to which she answered a very even tempered “Oh.”
There ended the orthodontist questions. It was back to “Is your Mommy in heaven?” and “Where are Rover’s ashes?” Just before we entered the driveway, she shouted, “There it is! I remembered, Mom!”
After we checked in, we sat in the waiting area. Iz whispered to me, “Mom, are you coming in with me?” I told her I was.
She seemed relieved and then looked at the receptionist and said, “Look, Mommy. That lady has braces.” I told her that sometimes adults get braces, too. And, like clockwork going from the issue at hand to basic instincts, she asked “Can I go to the bathroom?”
After her bathroom visit, we sat a bit longer in the waiting room. Iz didn’t seem interested in the TV (Hannah Montana) or the magazines; she was totally entertained and amused by the activity going on around her. When a dental tech came out and announced “Jeff” to the room, Iz said, “How come girl doctors keep coming out?”
In less than a minute, another “girl doctor” came out and announced “Isabelle.” We followed her into a spacious office with an exam chair in the far right corner. Once we sat down, the girl doctor went over all the things the doctor would do and look for with Iz.
She also explain the doctor’s incentive program; each visit, Iz would receive a wooden nickel. She said, “When you get enough nickels, you can exchange them for things like American Express gift cards, beanie babies, or iTunes gift cards.” She then sked Iz, “Maybe you don’t have an iPod though?”
Iz said, “Yes, I do!” The girl doctor said, “Well, you’re more advanced than me!” Then Iz replied, “But it’s covered with earwax!”
I cringed for a moment. Another thing to love about this age is TMI (Too Much Information). The girl doctor laughed, and before I could say anything, the doctor entered the room.
After he played several games with Iz, he asked her to climb up into the chair. He began to raise it up, and I saw her eyes get wide. When he stopped it, he began to drop it down so her head was lower than her body and she squealed; he pretended he had made an error, though it was obvious he was playing with her again.
He took a look in her mouth. He started to randomly say letters and numbers to the girl doctor like “A-1 through A-6” or “B7 through B-12, top and bottom.” If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn he was dictating his lottery numbers to her. But, I figured he was just commenting on Iz’s crowding, cross bite, and open space.
He then asked her to hold up her hands. Alas, I knew where he was going with this. He said, “I’m just looking for something that you may be putting in your mouth,” and then he grabbed onto her right thumb and said, “I think this is what it is, right?” She confessed.
When he was done, he lowered Iz back down to Earth. She hopped off and sat in the chair, and she was allowed to pick a toy from his toy chest. He sat down in front of his computer and asked her when and where she sucked her thumb; she had to direct her attention away from her new mini-squirt gun, which I knew she thought would make a nifty concealed weapon with which to sabotage Nathan at 8am on Saturday mornings, to answer his thumb sucking questions.
He then explained to her why she had her space and showed her how thumb sucking affected her teeth. He dragged a slider across the bottom of a picture of a mouth, which illustrated how more sucking meant a bigger space. I was beginning to think that he had changed his stance on thumb sucking when he said, “It’s good that you only suck your thumb at night. You’re halfway to stopping then.”
I was relieved, and he told Iz that he wanted to check her in 5 months. After he left, I asked the girl doctor, “So, he doesn’t think she should stop sucking her thumb, does she?” She said, “Oh, no. He believes that it’s okay for children to suck their thumbs or fingers until they’re 8. He doesn’t believe that you should prevent a child from doing that.”
I was relieved; I didn’t want to have to put something bitter on her thumb or make her wear a sock over her thumb at night. I liked this doctor all over again today, because he believed that kids should have their little comforts, even if it meant he had to spend more time fixing things to accommodate them. Certainly, I knew the thumb sucking might make her mouth more costly; however, it was worth it to me to let her keep whatever gave her comfort, especially on those nights when she might dream about ladybugs or sharks. ♥
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
