Open Wide

I hate going to the dentist. It is a blessedly short and painless trip for me these days what with my every 6 month cleanings and the creation of Glide tooth floss. But I hate laying there tipped back with a light shining in my face and my mouth open with hands and metal things in it. So there I was with my eyes closed with hands in my mouth when the dental assistant popped her head in and chirped, "Your son's 6 year molars are in and Lance wants to put sealants on them, ok?"

My eyes opened and I turned my head to look at the dental assistant. The woman working on me took her hands out of my mouth.

"He wants to what?"

"Put sealants. On his molars. OK?"

"I don't know. I mean, my girls didn't get those. I don't understand what they are."

The less chirpy assistant, the one I like, said, "Let me finish her up and then she can go talk to Lance."

A few minutes later I was sitting in the exam room with my son and the dentist. He explained sealants, described the procedure to me and to Frank, answered my questions, told me that it was the best time to do it since his teeth were cavity free and had just been cleaned. Oh. And insurance paid for it. I love dental insurance and having a family dentist who knows us and being able to afford good dental care.

"Your fillings are probably more sealant than fillings," the dentist said.

"What do you mean?"

He picked my xrays up off the counter and held them up. "They're all on the molars," he pointed out. "See how they're symetrical and fill the molar?" I nodded. "This was pretty common before sealants - it helped with decay. You probably had a cavity and your dentist filled the cavity and then filled the rest of the crevice of the molar to prevent more cavities. I would guess 1978-79?" I looked at him incredulously and nodded. He grinned.

"He thinks he's a dental sleuth," said his assistant.

I sat at the foot of the chair with my hand on Frank's foot. The dentist showed me the molars and explained the procedure as he did it. It took about ten minutes.

I noticed that Frank kept his eyes on Lance while he was in the dental chair.

"All done," Lance said.

"That was way better than a filling," said Frank as he hopped out of the chair.

"You know, your silver cavities are going to fail someday," Lance said as he put away our xrays. We'll see what we've got once we get the first one out, but we'll replace them with white fillings."

I tried to picture my mouth without the silver fillings in my molars that have been there almost 30 years now.

"That's longer than they usually last," Lance said.

Even though I hate going to the dentist, I have had some pretty good dentists. This one is my favorite though.

I still don't like going.

Don't Defrost Your Windshield With Coffee

Most of my school morning memories are of my father. My mom always got up and left for work before I got up. My dad is the one who supervised getting dressed and ready for school. He dyed the milk green once on St Patrick's Day. He helped me slice cheddar cheese to make a sandwich for lunch. He pulled my sister's shoelaces until they were tight enough for her. He poured hot coffee on the icy windshield once and it immediately froze brown. We would sit three across the big bench seat in the front of his car. He would drop me off at the sitter's house by the school and my sister off at daycare/preschool and then go to Art School.

There was a cafe by our house at that time that we went to very rarely for breakfast. They served giant cinnamon rolls. I remember the dum dum lollipops at the register. There was a coat rack at the front door.

This morning I took my oldest in early to meet with her math teacher and then my middle kid and I went to the hippie coffee shop. I got a coffee and she got a cider and a whole wheat cinnamon roll which she ate by unwinding it. I drove her to school and dropped her off for her orchestra practice which is before school. She wore sparkly jeans, a purple top, and an orange jacket. "Can I borrow a scarf for a belt?" she asked me this morning. The ties from the scarf hung down her leg and somehow looked perfect. This kid has style. She slung her backback on her back, picked up her violin and held her hot cider in its insulated cup.

I had a moment of swirling memories and confusion where I can see the past - my own and hers - and her future. She looked somehow very adult because she was carrying a hot beverage container.

"Have a good day, hon."

"Thanks, you too, mom!" She was all smiles as she slammed the car door shut.

It's a good thing that my coffee wasn't on top of the car when she slammed the door. That's something my dad used to do - leave his coffee cup on top of the car and forget it. Then we would turn the corner and it would smash down on the street. That happened more than once. And frankly, it's happened more than once to me. But this morning my coffee was safe in the cup holder next to me.

This weekend I reminded my Uncle about the pumpkin he carved one Halloween. They grew a giant pumpkin that year and we were very excited about carving it. We drew multiple designs for the face - happy, sad, scared, eye brows, ears, on and on - very detailed. When my Uncle got home from work we rushed him and begged him to carve the pumpkin. He soon realized that the pumpkin was much thicker than your usual pumpkin and he had a really hard time carving it. So we ended up with the most basic of triangle features. My Uncle listened to me tell the story and then said, "I don't remember all that. I remember the giant pumpkin, but I don't remember carving it. It's interesting - it happens with my girls all the time - they have memories of their childhood that I don't and viseversa."

The idea of consciously making memories intrigues me. Disney has totally cashed in on the idea that you can create memories. Photographs and recorders and journals all help with preserving memories. But what I experienced this morning was a rush of memories of the past and projections of the future. And I can't help but wonder what my kids will remember of the parts of their everyday life.

I took my middle school girl shopping this afternoon after her orthodontia appointment.

That's really not a big deal. We both like to shop. But our shopping usually involves a thrift store with a ten items for $10 sale, or a garage sale. We regualrly make u-turns when one of us spots a sign in a yard. I get items for free through Freecycle and she squeals over cast off leather coats. My kids wear second hand clothing, but it is all brand name clothing. Why pay $50 for a sweater that I can get next year at the Goodwill for $1?

That's really the point I am at with eating out. Why spend $100 for a mediocre meal and crappy service when I can spend $40 and have the same meal at home and have the meal be incredible and the service as good as I want it to be?

But sometimes I like going out to eat. And I get it that sometimes a girl wants a new outfit. So when I suggested that she think of a reward for finishing cross country and she requested a shopping trip to get an outfit for her choral concert, I said ok.

I braved the mall. We went in the afternoon so the crowds weren't bad. We went through four shops before we found stuff we could agree on. She headed into the dressing room at American Eagle with an armload of clothes and I sat in a big leather chair outside the dressing room while she and the salesgirl played dress up. She tried pants, skirts, leggings, sweaters with multiple camisoles, one camisole, white shirt, blue shirt, and a jacket. The salesgirl was fantastic and made sure that the fit was right.

"This skirt is too big," said my kiddo disappointedly when she came out the first time.

"I'll get you the next size smaller," the salesgirl said and then she did. And then she also brought the same skirt in brown with a blue stripe.

And the look on my daughter's face when she realized that there were umpteen sizes and colors of the same skirt? It made the whole mall trip worth it to me.

We ended up with a complete outfit that matches and is the right size. She got a bonus blazer because it was cute and on clearance. She also got a giant paper shopping bag that she plans to cut up and make into a math book cover.

It is the most expensive math book cover in the history of this house. There are kids who get shopping trips to the mall all the time. But I bet they don't appreciate them half as much.

Banana Dogs

Spread peanut butter in a hot dog bun. Peel a banana and put the banana in the bun on top of the peanut butter. Squirt strawberry jelly on top.

When you eat banana dogs for nearly every meal and every snack, you run out of bananas and hot dog buns. But mom is happy anyway because she has fewer dishes to wash.

Hades is the Night Before a Big Project

At the beginning of the school year I agreed to make a salad for the teacher's pot luck the night of parent teacher conferences. A couple of weeks ago I also agreed to help my daughter make dolmades for the Greek Festival in her World Civilization class. I did not realize that the prep for those food items would be on the same night, nor did I realize that my daughter had a major presentation to do as part of the Greek Festival, nor did I realize that she had so much work left to do on it and would be frantically working and useless for food prep assistance.

It all got done. I did not go to the impromptu end of season pizza party for the soccer team, but I sent my soccer player. I did not plop on the couch and watch Monday Night Football, but I did have it on in the background. My stepdaughter did not have homework, so she offered to make the salad (couscous and veggies with olive oil and lemon juice) and Bill offered to chop and mix and help me roll dolmades. My daughter worked her sheepish butt off and got her report and presentation done. She got her costume together. And after a trip to the grocery store to get a pomegranate (I prayed the whole way - Please, dear God, or Persephone, or Zeus, or whoever, please, please, please let the market which is just blocks from my house have a pomegranate - they did!), Greek Festival was prepared for and the teachers will have their salad.

We loaded the crockpot with dolmades this morning and I helped her carry everything in. As I walked away from the school I felt nothing but relief.

My To Do List for tonight is daunting as well, but I will deal with that soon enough. I don't have to cook tonight since I have so many dolmades left over - enough to fill a Trojan horse. So stuffed grape leaves for the family. We leave for South Dakota in just a few days. I have 800 Billion Things To Do before then. But for now I will feel the relief of getting the crockpot to the Greek Festival and plugging it in and watching my daughter set it to the right temperature and the relief that they didn't get left at home, no one was late to school or work, and they made it safely to the class without it getting dropped and there was counter space to put the crockpot right by an outlet. Whew. I had no idea how much relief could come from plugging in a small appliance full of ethnic food.

Title IX

My 4th grader plays an aggressive mid-field. She will take a ball from girls twice her size. She can switch direction and run full out and then switch direction again. She takes hits to the face and laughs. She and her friends pile on each other and hug and wrap their arms and legs around each other in an easy camaraderie. The girls make the soccer practice field a riot of bright colors and movement. They are aggressive one minute and affectionate the next. They do an exercise where they weave their arms around each others waists and make a wall of girls kicking brightly colored balls. They pile on each other at the end of practice. I envy their comfort with their bodies and the bodies of the other girls. They are tiny athletes and friends. I stand at the top of the hill with the other moms after practice, and they swarm towards us kicking their balls. My own soccer player runs to me with orange braids flapping as she kicks her ball up the hill. I sidle over and slip my foot in to take the ball and she squeals and chases me and takes the ball back. She is wearing a denim skirt with silver sequins on it to play soccer. She is wearing tie died socks over her shin guards and cleats. She is wearing a smile. She is not unusual. I took a whole series of photos of girl soccer players last year - riotous sock colors, ponchos that match the jerseys, teams who all wore the same hairstyle or all wore the same color scrunchie.

Girls are not boys. We can make laws that make sports opportunities equal (for which I am very grateful), but the experience is different. I read studies about the academic and social success of girls who are active in sports. And I can see it in the confidence and relationships that build on the soccer field. It lets her be a friend and an agressor and a strategist. It lets her pair sequins with shin guards.