Dentist Drama

The excitement of Girl 1's first no crying successful* dentist visit was quickly tempered by the discovery of cavities. So a week later we go back to fill them and...nope. Reverted right back to the shrinking/wailing/terrified kid that we had to be referred to a pediatric** dentist. And when we went to that dentist she was even more terrified and screamed even worse, so the only treatment she received was a heavy fluoride treatment and was told to start using a mouthwash. When we go back to the not in network pediatric dentist in 3 months we have to hope that stopped them from growing, otherwise we have to put her under to treat her. All for teeth that she's going to lose eventually anyway. *cries*    

*Both visits prior she shrank into herself (and she's already pretty small) and wailed so much the dentist couldn't do anything in order not to traumatize her. 

**That's not in network. Of course not.

At least the mouthwash would be an easy enough stopgap measure right? *cackle* Fuck NO. The rigmarole at the dentists pales to the tantrums we've endured the past 3 weeks. My daughter fought me tooth and nail on her teeth...and nails* when she was a toddler and it's so. much. worse now.

*yeah, I know. The irony is not lost on me.

We have tried everything: No treats. No screen time. No puzzle with Grandma. We'll get her a Frozen II bed. No berry picking. Bribes. Go out for ice cream. Promises of Panera. Hugs. Kisses. Soothing tones. Screaming. Offering to do it with her. No Stories. Extra Stories. Walking away. And the one we thought would do it: No going to the babysitter's.  

Sunday night I sorta hog tied her with one arm and threw the mouthwash in her mouth while she thrashes and screamed with my other arm. Which went as well as it sounds. Monday night I told her she couldn't leave the bathroom until she did the mouthwash. She was begging to go to her bed (an entirely different battle for another blog for another day) and held on for an hour and a half before falling asleep on the bathroom floor. I was equal parts highly impressed at her ferocious tenacity and completely mortified she was asleep on the bathroom floor. 

 

So I don't know what to do. I don't know how to motivate her. I don't know her it seems. I never say the right things. I can't calm her down. I want to be a positive parent rather than a punitive one. I want to know what to do to help my girl. And I know this takes work but I wish it wasn't so fucking hard. This gargantuan effort it's taking to connect to my daughter makes me feel that I'm failing her. I'm not the parent I want to be and that hurts. And tonight the saga continues. Stay tuned.

I Curse You

My daughter is not good at waking up. She's groggy and fussy and usually a little hangry when she does. Any one of those isn't a preferable state for anyone, but a combo, in a 2.5 year old none the less, just sucks. When she was a baby the post sleep fussiness could usually be soothed with some snuggles and a snack of sorts. But now that she's a full blown toddler and can talk (a lot. My kid talks A LOT)... That groggy/fussy/hangry combo is incessant whining and an overall miserable disposition.

It doesn't matter what it is, where we are, or what we are doing, she is having none of it. Wake up in the morning and it starts with not wanting to get dressed. But she also wants clothes and out of jammies (if she still has them on). But no getting dressed. Yes dressed. Doesn't want to pick them out. But not what mommy picks out. She needs to pick them out. But she doesn't want to. Not mommy. Her. Not her. Not mommy. At some point I force clothes someone selected through kicks and tears and then battle again a few moments later with breakfast/shoes/going to the baby sitters/whatever the day entails all over again. It's gas-lighting at it's finest.

Recently I've been trying to take her out on my own and expand her world more. And I really want to enjoy these times with my darling girl, especially since we only have about 2-3 more weeks left of her being an only child. But god she can make that really hard. Because when we go on these mommy and me adventures, we typically have some sort of drive to the said adventure (suburbia, for all it's niceties severely lacks in walk-able and public transport accessible adventures). So she tends to fall asleep in the car, so when we get to the adventure she was so excited for...she is miserable and bloody hates it. 

Seriously, whatever it is. This girl will throw a fit. And want nothing to do with this and everything to do with this simultaneously and express that sentiment several times over with def-con 10 whining. It doesn't matter if it was a fleet of unicorns with ice cream covered in chocolate sauce and sprinkles in a bounce castle in Disney World. With a puppy because why the fuck not. It's a NO.

So I curse you car seat nap. Curse you with the fire of a 1000 suns and may the flames of hell consume you. You turn my darling girl into a total jerk which brings her waddling pregnant mommy to tears. Curse you.

Unfair Comparison

I have a toddler. She is actually learning the world right now. Words, emotions, boundaries, even how her own body works (thought she doesn't have any rights to it ← not infuriating AT ALL btw). And she's going to make mistakes, she's going to drop a fook every now and again and tell you to shit down. (it's hilarious) She's going to violate a social norm here and there, throw a tantrum in public and even be a bit of an asshole at times, but that's because she really doesn't know any better.

So it is a HUGE insult to toddlers everywhere when you compare asshole-in-chief  to them. And don't excuse his behavior on being new to government either. Trump, four of his children, and all the cronies surrounding him are grown adults. They should know better. They should know social norms and not violate them. They should understand how the world around them works. They should not throw temper tantrums. People in general should not be assholes as a whole. They should know better. Because, once again, They. Are. ADULTS.

So please, stop comparing toddlers to the president. Because it's not a fair comparison at all.

ASSterisk

Asterisk: noun

noun: asterisk; plural noun: asterisks

1. a symbol (*) used to mark printed or written text, typically as a reference to an annotation or to stand for omitted matter.

ASSterisk: noun

1. exceptions, most likely cherry picked to justify asshole behavior

This is first amendment with Cheeto-in-chief's ASStrericks

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion*, *except the TV ratings gods
or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;* except Islam, Muslims are bad hombres
or abridging the freedom of speech,* *unless you don't agree with Cheeto in chief's "alternative facts."  
or of the press*; *except Twitter. No fake news like CNN, The Washington Post and New York Times allowed either
or the right of the people* *white men and very pretty women 
peaceably to assemble,* *but not in groups larger than inauguration crowds
and to petition* *but not peacefully protest en mass 
the government* *the patriarchy 
for a redress of grievances* *not discrimination in the workplace, sexual assault, unpaid family leave, unequal pay, autonomy of our own bodies.... real issues like hurting Cheeto's feelings

Now onto Amendment 2...

Culture Class

A coworker and I were discussing a sushi restaurant in town. She loves it, but I have issues with it.

me: that place is too loud. You have to yell to have any sort of conversation there.
m: yeah, but at least the sushi is so good and cheap.
me: not enough for me for that noise level.
m: everyone's yelling there, patrons to patrons, staff to staff, it's fun. Don't you love getting yelled at in another language?
me: Yeah, no. Here's where we differ. Because whenever I get yelled at in Chinese that means I'm in trouble.

Unicorns

Conversation on the State of the Union in a post twitter world:
dr funtimes: Are all female lawmakers required to notify us about what's come out of their uteri at the beginning of every speech? #JoniErnst
me: yes. Otherwise we won't know how much of a woman she is and what ratio we can not take her seriously.
dr funtimes: how many of the male rebuttals to the #SOTU started out with "I am a father?" 0? Exactly.
me: -20% seriousness -15% dedication to job 1 child -5% for each addition child +2% adversity for non-white race -5% relatablity
dr funtimes: isn't that a lot of maths for a girl?
me: well yeah. why do you think there's an algorithm in the first place? girl + math = magical creature

Make Believe

I grew up in Kentucky where we have all 4 seasons, spring, summer, fall, and winter (or: March Madness, basketball camp, big blue madness, and regular season). While I definitely prefer the summer and hotter temperatures to the winter and colder temperatures, it's not like I haven't dealt with the cold before.

Except.

Now I live in North Carolina, and my blood has thinned to accommodate my new habitat. So I like the blistering summers and mild winters. But now there's this thing called a cold front or whatever sweeping through, and actually winter here. I keep hearing of this thing called "wind chill" and these low ridiculous numbers that think they are temperatures! I mean really, 25 degrees? That is clearly a made up number!  

Math is Hard

At least 1992 Teen Talk Barbie thought so. (Apparently the actual saying is "math class is tough!" But "math is hard!" is funnier and Barbie has a pink convertible and a dream home, so, yeah, I'm going to make fun of her a little bit) Now my math skills can get rusty like anything else if you use them, but in general math is something I "get" and isn't an impossible task.

Unless. It involves the 1990's.
I will explain.

We were going through the materials at work that hadn't circulated in 2+ years. Some stuff was just not on the shelf, some were outdated and some were just plain terrible books that should have never been printed in the first place.

One of the books that circulated in some time was the book Kids, Computers, and Homework. It was the last copy in the entire system, but it was also one of those outdated materials I was referring to earlier. Even with it's awesome graphics I couldn't see a reason to keep it in circulation.

me: When was that published?
coworker: 1995. There probably isn't any relative information in this thing.
me: 1995? ~I quickly do the math~ Yeah, that was nearly 10 years ago. There might have been a few changes in computers in that time.  
coworker: Ten? You mean 20 years ago...
me: ::pause:: ~quickly do the math again~ Shit! You're right. What the hell?! How are the 90s not 10 years ago? Because I remember the 90s and I swear that was only 10 years ago.
coworker:  I don't know, I remember them too.
me: I seriously don't understand how someone born in 1992 can legally drink. Math is hard when it comes to the 90s.

Derby Pie

Last week was the first Saturday of May and that means one thing and one thing only for this Kentucky lady: The DERBY!!!!!!
I try not to pick a horse because that pretty much hexes them, but that doesn't mean I don't secretly hope one will win. (This year my secret pick showed (3rd place), so at least I didn't completely take away it's mojo. But the one horse/jockey that I really wanted to win...last place. :( sorry!). I've only been to the Derby once (best bachelorette party ever), but at least since college I have always, always made sure to watch it on, this year being no exception. I had some (a lot of) thoughts this year:

• I get that they need filler pre-race but what the hell is this simulated race analysis nonsense they are trying to do? Seriously WTF?? Don't they know there is no simulating the most exciting two minutes in sports?
• At least do another one of those "human/horse" interest stories if you need filler.
• Oh wait, nbc has the Derby and that means the human/horse interest story will most likely be done by... 
• Damit. I hate Bob Costas. 
• I wish the pinkeye that sidelined him in Sochi had stuck around to do the same for the Derby.
• Speaking of Sochi, under things that I do wish had stayed there: Tara Lipinski and Johny Weir. I just...yeah, no, I just don't care. I guess they were a hoot in Russia and with the color commentary and they have that Will and Grace thing going for them and all, and yeah the Derby is somewhat about fashion...But they should stick to ice skating.
• And by fashion, I mean HATS. It's mostly about the hats. The fashion is the accessory to the hat, Not the other way around.
• My Old Kentucky Home! I love that every year the whole nation sings my state song.
• Thoroughbreds are such amazingly beautiful animals.
• In the gate! In the gate! In the gate! Hold my breath...
• AND THEY'RE OFF!!!! Go baby go!
• I can't tear my eyes away for one second...oh there goes the favorite into the lead!
• More lead! more lead! go baby go!
• 2014 has a Derby Champion, way to go California Chrome!!!
• Seriously, you can't simulate the most two exciting minutes in sports. Don't ever do that again. 

  

Milk Sandwiches

So we're getting real snow in North Carolina and the city is shutting down. The schools and libraries closed early and both have already call a snow day for tomorrow. Turns out you get just as excited about a snow day as an adult as you did when you were a kid. Well, at least you do when you have a salary so you don't worry about your paycheck being short, don't have to figure out childcare* plans and the only person you need to entertain is yourself. I'm pretty sure I'll change my tune to that last part after we have kids and a snow day means: oh crap what am I going to do to entertain the minions?**

Since Mike is grew up in Northeast Ohio snow was a matter of when not if. I grew up in Kentucky and we didn't get snow that often, but I know to keep a snow brush in my car and to charge all my battery powered devices just in case we loose power. So whenever snow is mentioned in the south, I always make a crack about needing to buying bread and milk. (We usually actually do need both though, Mike goes through both really fast!) Anyway, yesterday it was just a possibility of snow and everyone was freaking the fck out. I needed to run by the pharmacy so I was going to grab dinner too on my way home from class. I was going to get Panera but on on my way there I passed the grocery store. I thought: cheaper, better chance of leftovers and faster than waiting for take out. Yes. Good plan.


Yeah no. That was a grave misjudgement on my part. Because I forgot about every other southerner's need to make milk sandwiches whenever the S-word is mentioned.

*We're really lucky that and that the industries we work in if the kids have a snow day, more than likely at least one of us will have a snow day as well.
**Crafts. So. Many. Crafts.***
***But no glitter. Glitter is not allowed in my house.  

Adventures in Exercise

-5:50 pm-
mike: What time did you want to go to the gym?
::I check my Y's exercise class schedule on the internets::
me: There's a zumba class at 6:45 I'd could go to. Lets go then.
6: 40 pm- ::at the gym::
mike: I'll see you in an hour after your class. Come get me if I'm not done by them.
me: Sure thing. See you in about an hour
6:45 pm- ::I arrive at where zumba is:: 
me: hmm, they're using a lot of equipment, and this posted class schedule says this is a step/strength class...Shit. Oh well, I'll give it a try, here goes.
6:55 - OK, so this is definitely NOT like zumba. But I'll just try to keep up.
7:00 - Yeah, I'm just going to have to work at my own pace.
7:10 - Now we're using weights. I can do some weight work.
7:12 - Maybe I can do light weights next rep.
7:15 - I hate weights. 
7:20 - God I wish this was zumba
7:23 - I'll do the reps but forgo the weights.
7:25 - I hate reps.
7:30 - Just ten more minutes. I can do ten more minutes!
7:35 - I think I'm going to throw up
7:40 - I still think I'm going to throw up. Must remain standing. Must find husband. Must remain standing to find husband.
7:42 - ::see husband!::
me: That wasn't zumba.
mike: No? Was it pilates?
me: God no. It was a step/strength class. It kicked my ass. And I'm really nauseous now.
mike: OK, I'll finish up in about 5 minutes. You go sit down.
me (weakly): OK.
::I sat down for a few minutes in the locker room which helped the nausea::
7:45 -
me (sadly): The internets lied to me. How could they? I should pick up a paper copy of the class schedule so I can double check next time.
-7:50 --Mike approaches the chair I managed to get half my butt on. I missed the first time and it was too much effort to try to get the other half on there as well. 
mike: hey, you look a little better. You ready to go?
me: Yes. So, I looked at the paper schedule. The 6:45 step/strength class is right here on the schedule for room two. And the 6:45 zumba class is on the schedule . In room one. -pause- I'm a dumbass.
mike: Aw!
me: Yeah. Oh well, I'm going to consider my entire aching being a just punishment for thinking the internets had forsaken me.
mike: OK dear, Let's go get some dinner. And hey, at least it wasn't pilates.
me: Truth. If it had been I would have walked out the second I figured it out. I hate pilates.
mike: I know you do.
me: Seriously, fuck pilates.

Doctors

Dr. Soc and I were leaving the hospital after spending the afternoon with my dad. As we were walking* towards the garage where our car was parked, Mike pointed towards the rock star parking portion that was closed off with a gate.

mike: I see that on the gate it says "physicians' parking," and not "doctors' parking." So I can't park there.
me: Haha! No honey, you're not that kind of doctor.

--Later that evening as we were having diner at our friends' house --  

me: Cough-cough-cough-cough.
mike: ~exasperated~:  Priya, she has been coughing for 2 months now. Tell her she needs to see a doctor.
priya: You need to see a doctor.
me (between hacks): Hey, Priya is a doctor! Board certified and everything. And technically I'm looking at her right now...so...does that count?
mike and priya: No (emphatically I might add).
me: ~huff~: Fine. Besides, I promised I would never be "that" friend. But if just seeing did count then I could be done with this whole thing because I did marry a doctor and I see him all the time.
mike: Haha! I'm not that kind of doctor!   

*And by walking, I mean scurrying as fast as we could because it was so damn cold.**
**Seriously, in the teens-to-low-twenties-cold. It wasn't us just being lily-livered-southerners-who-think-anything-below-50-is-cold-cold.

Pot Calling the Kettle Black

I was in my happy place Target the other night when I saw a woman breastfeeding. Which I have no problem with and after reading enough reddit stories of some passerby being upset by a boob sighting, the nursing mom defending her choice and having a nurse-ins, declaring anyone offended by breastfeeding anti-family, etc, I know that the law is pretty much on woman's side (for once) and that she can breastfeed whenever and wherever she see fit. Personally, I would prefer that a little discretion and some sort of cover is used, but I think a little discretion is a good thing in most cases in general.

Anyway, this woman was walking down the aisle, the baby strapped into some sort of carrier nursing away. While there wasn't a nip-slip due to the her shirt covering one and the baby's mouth covering the other, there was a lot of her shirt pulled up in general. I was a little startled and may have raised my eyebrows by the copious amount of stomach/top/and side boob exposed at first glance, but whatever. The nursing girl had a few other people shopping with her, 2 other women and a girl toddler no more than 18 months old. The toddler is trying to keep up as fast as her little legs can carry her and playing with the hem of her shirt at the same time. But they all passed by, rounded the corner and I continued shopping.

Then I hear from the next aisle over (directed at the toddler): "Pull your shirt down!

Which, wasn't that a little pot calling the kettle black? Oh well. 

Feivel Goes West

Fourth of July we decided to be patriotic and grill like all the other houses in our neighborhood were doing. Mike went outside to preheat the grill as I was prepping everything, when he comes back inside to tell me:

mike: Well, I cannot light the grill right now because, and this is something I never thought I would say. Actually, just guess, do you have any idea?
me: Is something wrong with the grill? I mean, other than that I can't think of anything else.
mike: No, the grill's fine. I cannot light it because --pause for dramatic effect-- I just saw a mouse run in there.

--I stare at him to make sure he's not just making shit up. Then I realize that's way too oddly specific to be made up, and I don't think he's that good of an on the spot story teller so if he didn't want to grill he would just say so. So there really is a mouse in my his grill. Ewww.--

me: Ewww! You're right though that is something I never would have eve imagined either. Now what do we do?

I call upon my trusty sidekick (to the internets!) and turns out that mice in grills are not super uncommon because it's a dry place they can nest. I want to start cooking, but neither one of us is willing to just turn on the flames and risk essence of mouse. And we want to disinfect the hell out that thing and all it's parts too before either one of us feels comfortable putting any sort of food on there. So Mike is taking the pieces out and I'm just about to pour the vinegar/water/soap mixture (an internets concoction) all over the grill when the mouse runs out and across the concrete slab the builder thought was an acceptable thing to call a a patio* and disappears into the grass.

Startled, I scream bloody murder. Due in part because OMG I have just seen a MOUSE run out of my grill!!! And also omg I just saw a mouse run out of my his grill across my patio over there and I'm not wearing shoes.**

So now Mike is on his own to take care of all the man things outside, clean and disinfect the grill, and laugh at his wife who flew into the kitchen and is currently jumping and flapping around in wayward circles still freaking the fck out. Needless to say, I made dinner in the over that night. And wore my rain boots that go up to my knees the next time I went outside.  

*it's not
**What can I say, I grew up in Kentucky.***
***Nope. No brothers.****
****EWWWW!!!!!

No Help

college kid: Can you help me find something?
me: I can try. What are you looking for?
ck: Well, I'm not sure exactly what is it, my teacher said something about it. It may be a book or a movie.
me: Is this a course reserve maybe?
ck: Maybe? Do they have anything on reserve?
me: I'll check, who's your teacher?
ck: Uh, crap, I don't know their name.
me: That's ok. We can try to find it another way. What's the title of what you're looking for?
ck: Um, I don't really know.
me: Author?
ck: Um, no.
me: A keyword? Anything?
ck: Um, not really.
me: Yeah, I can't help you.

Desperato

Never tell a 20 year old college student that you met your husband on eharmony. 

Because their response will be: Really? Yeah, maybe I'll do that one day, you know, if I was, like desperate. 

Yep. 

Ummm, No

A couple gems from work:

scene: A student was checking out the English Patient dvd.
me: I tried to read this, but I just didn't have the time to do so.
student: Oh? They made a book after the movie?*
me: Umm, no.

Another student a few hours later, checking out a the dvd on Lolita:

student 2: I really like Kubrick's movies. Especially Eyes wide shut. It's about a married couple and their problems. I thought it must be really true to life, marriages and their troubles. You know, because all marriages have some sort of problem.
(I decided to ignore both those quips since I am a newlywed and married life is perfect. And I also thought Eyes Wide Shut was a stupid movie )
me: I'm fairly indifferent to his work. But this book (Lolita) is really good.**
student 2: Did you read it? I think I know what it's about It's about a man and a woman, and they're like, really crazy about each other and in love, right?
me: Umm, no. No. Not at all.

*Made a book. Not wrote a book. Made.
**It is, it's a beautifully written novel. But you certainly don't go around telling people that you enjoyed a fiction book told from the perspective of a pedophile.

Late Night Phone Calls

My home phone rang at 11:50 pm last night. And at my age you answer the call form a number you don't recognize because you just hope that it's not an emergency.

It was not an emergency. It was giggly, sloppy drunk dial from the Raleigh/Chapel Hill area, jabbering something about frank and an order.

Relief that it' not an emergency quickly transitions into annoyance. But I told them they had the wrong number and got ready to hang up. But drunk and disorderly on the line doesn't understand and tries to dispute that with a "are you shhhhuuul you're not Frank? Like, really sure?"

Yeah. I'm sure. So that I responded with a groan and a why am even I talking to you you idiot? and hung up.

My guess is they were probably going to call back and tell me off, but then they passed out since my phone didn't ring again. I just hope that kid's hangover tomorrow is hell.

HOA

The other day we received a violation letter from our HOA notifying us that our portable basketball hoop was in the wrong position, ie: the hoop must be perpendicular to the driveway and not facing the street.

Two things:
One: you're going to threaten to fine us for the wrong position of the moveable hoop?  Is a 90 degree turn really that egregious to warrant a fine?
And two, the much more pressing matter in my opinion: is that we don't have a basketball hoop.

Yeah.

Needless to say, my husband was none too pleased. So he called the company, wrote a letter and they called back saying "our bad" and the violation was erased and never happened.  But maybe as a good bussiness practice they should double check the address before they start slapping fines on people. Just saying.

Nothing Kinda

coworker: Oh, we kinda match.
me: What? We're both wearing blue?
coworker: No, our hands, our rings.
me: Umm, sure, ok...

me in my head: No our rings definitely don't match. they don't even kinda match. Why? Because my rings are my wedding band and engagement ring from my 32 year old husband, and your ring, is a promise/class ring you wear on your ring finger from your 21 year old boyfriend of 2 months.
Soooo, no. Our rings don't match.