Getting Your Teeth Cleaned

I had an appointment today with my periodontist, which I will call Dr. Smiley, because he smiles a lot and makes me smile even though I have a tough time getting my teeth cleaned. I'm one of those people whose gums are so sensitive that in order to get my teeth cleaned, I need to have Novocaine, and not just a little but probably enough for a small elephant.

I have had my teeth cleaned by a number of dentists throughout my life. I have dropped and changed them many a times. Very much like some professional players get traded. The last dental hygienist actually "traded" me in to someone else, my present periodontist, Dr. Smiley. I knew I was about to get the big send-off . My dental hygienist went to drink her last swig of her bottle of water. This seemed to be something she did a lot when she was treating me. At first, I assumed she had a condition which left her extremely dehydrated. But after a number of visits, it appeared to me (Psych major) that her thirst-quenching habits were actually a nervous reaction, kind of like when someone develops a twitch when facing extremely testing situations. I realized it was me! She simply announced to me that she could not treat my extremely sensitive gums and that I needed to see a periodontist that would be able to treat my gums more professionally. In other words, she dumped me!

I walk in the door to Dr. Smiley's office. I actually enjoy the few minutes before I have to go into the dental chair because I get to read all the latest magazines (this is something I rarely get a chance to do with three kids at home). The dental hygienist, Janice, takes me to the dental office and I lie down in the chair. This room contains a multitude of machines and tools that look rather suspicious to the untrained eye. There is also the mandatory spit sink and a strong light is suspended over my head. Every time I stare at the light, I visualize someone telling me, "We have ways of making you talk." If I worked for the CIA or the FBI and I was taken hostage, all they would have to do is tell me they would clean my teeth without Novocaine. I am sure I would certainly tell them more than my name and social security number. I am a woman that had three children, one natural and two cesareans, but for reasons that escape me and others I cannot stand the pain of getting my teeth cleaned.

Janice set me up on the dental chair. I was lying down, with a bib attached to my neck, a long tube inside my mouth to suck the saliva out. I guess she didn't think I could muster enough energy to swallow my own saliva. There was no dignity to this procedure at all. As I have learned in the past, you check your dignity at the door whenever entering a medical office.

Dr. Smiley came in wearing his surgical latex gloves. He instructs one of the girls standing by to leave. I noticed he whispers in her ears. She then closes the partition which separates me from the other patients in the waiting room. I look at him. He looks at me. We then start laughing out loud. I know he knows that I know he told her to close the door so I wouldn't scare his patients when I screamed.

Sometimes I would close my eyes and scream even before Dr. Smiley actually injected my gums. He would ask me why. I would tell him I needed the practice. He would laugh. Dr. Smiley would then inflict pain on my lower lip by pulling it as far as it could go before injecting the Novocaine. He explained to me that this is a technique to distract me from the injection of the syringe itself. I still didn't buy it. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Holding my breath was something I automatically did without thinking when I had to deal with really harsh medical situations. There had been times when my doctors would get concerned and asked me to breathe out. I guess I was turning blue. This was a practice that I had done when I was in labor with each of my three children. The doctors had to give me oxygen each time so I wouldn't pass out.

Janice would then come in and clean my teeth for about half an hour. She would then polish my teeth. When it was all done, I would spit into the sink. I saw clumps of blood. Janice assured me this was normal as my blood was coagulating normally. Whew, that was assuring! Also, more information than I wanted to know.

I looked into the mirror and see a distorted face with a swollen lip. I sometimes attempted to go shopping if I had time left before picking up my children. Of course, I tried not to speak to any salespeople since I found myself having a speech impediment and drooled part of the time because the Novocaine was still in effect. I would then go home and take a few Advils.

I always wondered about my medical file. It probably read "difficult" like Elaine in the Seinfeld episode in which she tried to steal her medical file, Mine probably read "screamer". I hoped, though, it included "funny screamer"!

Salespeople

My friend, Michael, is my best friend, except for my husband. I've literally known him since I was a young lady working in Manhattan. He was the only one who listened without judging, even when I just rambled on, pretty much like I still do today. Well, he still listens after all these years. That is why he is still my friend. We may not agree on many things and I do think some of his beliefs are very out there, as he is very spiritual, (he is a yogi) let's say lots more than I am. My husband thinks that our personalities are similar to those of "Dharma and Greg" (tv series in which Dharma is a free and easy spirit while her husband Greg is an uptight conservative attorney).

Michael just phoned me and told me about his great shopping experience. He had gone to LL Bean near his house on the quest for the perfect rain jacket: one that would be comfortable not only outside but also inside while he was driving his cab. A young salesperson asked if he could help. Michael described the exact specifications of his dream rain jacket to the salesperson. The young man showed him the perfect rain jacket. Although the price was high, Michael knew the quality was also excellent and he would use the jacket over the years. He felt like a king as he left the store. Not only had the salesperson sold Michael his jacket, but had treated him with the utmost kindness and respect.

From my own experience, and I am sure many customers feel the same, sometimes a salesperson can have an impact on whether your shopping turns into a great bargain or a disappointment.

I love to shop. I have a couple of favorite stores, like most women. If I have a black tie or a fancy event to attend, I will go to either Banana Republic or Ann Taylor. I am a suburban mom . I like to dress in classics, but still like to keep my identity: spiritually young, a little bohemian and romantic. My clothes have to be comfortable but must also make me look good.

I have a great dislike for the general practice in most makeup departments in large department stores. Customers who want to try makeup are placed on a high chair in the middle of the store for the purpose of having half their face done for free. Nothing is free. The salesperson will try to sell you as much makeup as she can before you leave your perch on that high chair. If you start with the basics: foundation, eye shadow, lipstick, blush, mascara, etc. it will probably cost close to $200.00.

One of my memorable experiences at one major famous department store (and I thought classy) was when I was approached by a middle-aged saleswoman and addressed me as: "Hello, m'am" (this usually means bxxxx in sales language and among women in general) . "I see that you have some crease lines along your eyes and mouth. I have the perfect wrinkle cream for you."" She then addressed my teenage daughter and said "I also have a cream for your acne." I wanted to hit her! She not only insulted me but my daughter all in under 10 seconds! I don't like confrontations so I just ignored her and walked past her. I never shopped in that makeup department again.

To my friend, Michael, as I am now done rambling, I am so happy you found your dream rain jacket. I hope it will keep you warm and dry.

A Trip to Sports Authority

Today I took my boys, Jasper and Jack (five years old and twelve years old respectively) to the Sports Authority store. Now, I don't go shopping with my boys unless we absolutely need something. However, the pop-up baseball net that had kept Jasper happily busy in our backyard part of the summer had its last pop-up after the mesh broke off from the metal rings. It lasted about two months, which is more than most things last in our house.

I wondered why we had a dozen or so sports objects lying around the backyard. I remember listening one track of Brian Reagan's comedy CD in which he described how his parents instructed him and his siblings to find some "creative activities" in the back yard. Apparently, they did not seem to have any outside sports gear, so they came up with competing with each other on which sibling could stare at the sun the longest without going blind. Brian told his mom, "Mom, I counted to ten looking at the sun. I did the highest."

We finally arrive at our destination. Before we leave the inside of our "mobile home", as I call my car, I turn around and try to make eye contact with my kids and start giving them my usual instructions. These are probably the same instructions that most parents give out to their children before embarking on a shopping expedition: "No fighting, no yelling, and absolutely no hitting! Also, no walking together, next to each other or even in front or behind each other. (This always leads to the usual "Mom, he hit me...he pinched me...he kicked me...he walked too close to me...he pointed at me.... Then I ask: "OK, boys, what items are we shopping for?" My kids innocently answer in unison, "One baseball net." I then ask "Is that one item or more?" "Only one." They reply at the same time. I add "Do you ask for anything else no matter how much you think you need it?" "No." They both answer. Oh, look how innocent they are, and they listen so well, I say to myself. That was my first mistake: believing them.

FIVE SECONDS inside the store, both boys run to the back of the store where all the sports equipment is displayed. Jasper, the younger one, immediately runs to the huge basketball hoop and grabs a basketball. He tries to make hoops. This is an impossible task because he is short, being five years old, and the basketball hoop is standard height (high). There is an entire family standing right under this hoop. As Jasper is straining to make the very tall basket, the mother and a small child almost get slammed on their heads . A salesperson observes this activity, and tells Jasper no one is allowed to use the hoop on display.

As I m making sure that innocent people are not being sent to the hospital in a coma, the older brother, Jack, is off in another aisle looking for a hockey stick. I ask him why does he need a hockey stick when he doesn't play hockey. He gives me that exasperated look I get when he thinks mommy is mentally challenged which is often, "I'm going to play street hockey with Jasper in our driveway." This should go well. I visualize my two boys hitting each other with the hockey sticks or running after the puck into the street and getting run down by a car.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, Jack's attention is distracted by all the baseball gear that is now on sale. He doesn't play baseball anymore and baseball season is over. That's why these items are on sale! That seems to be beyond Jack's grasp. He comes over while I'm busy checking out some soccer gear for Jasper. I'm also trying to stop Jasper from tackling a very small boy while he is pretending to be a famous football player. I point to what Jack is holding in his hands, and stupidly ask "What is that?" Jack is holding the biggest aluminum baseball bat I have ever seen.
I tell him to buy a plastic baseball bat instead because we simply don't think that the look of broken windows goes with the rest of the style of the house.

AFTER AN HOUR of looking at soccer, baseball, basketball, hockey and even bow and arrow gear, we finally head for the register with only a small list of items to purchase: a new soccer ball, a $45 soccer bag (this was my idea since I thought it looked classy, a baseball tee, a baseball net, a a baseball bat, a hockey stick, plastic hockey balls, and lastly a small bouncing ball Jasper had seen right on top of the register counter. Salespeople are clever!

The total amount rang up: $270.00! So much for sticking to one item! I guess my boys were not as creative playing in the back yard as Brian Reagan was when he was growing up. Soccer season was sure expensive!

Of course, when my husband saw all this stuff later, and found out some of the gear could not be assembled because he claimed the package directions were incorrect, I returned most of the items including my soccer bag! The next time I'm going shopping, I'm leaving the boys with their father.

A "Dog" Day

Today was Jasper's (my five-year old son) second week of kindergarten. Our school starts its kindergartners with half-days until the end of October, which actually means moms only have a couple of hours during which all errands and laundry need to be done at record speed. During this short time, I realize I have to choose between being healthy and exercise, or catch up on my writing or do laundry.

As I walk out the front door in a hurry and walk the few houses down the block to pick up Jasper at his bus stop, I see one of the neighborhood dogs that lives next door, Katie. I call out to her to say hi. To my surprise she jumped up and ran over to me. Katie then jumped up and stood up on her back paws and placed her two rather large paws on my chest. As she stood tall, I realized she almost reached my height as I am only five feet one inch tall! This dog ritual of saying hello was repeated about two more times, once almost sending me down on my back. As we were both standing in the middle of the street, a few cars drove by. We live in a private development so the drivers usually know not to speed because of the children playing outside. I was afraid Katie was going to get run over as she kept jumping up and down on top of me with her leash hanging down from her neck.

I honestly did not know what to do. I started to speak to Katie quietly but firmly and looked into her eyes. This is also how I speak with Jasper when he misbehaves. Surprisingly, this is also how the Super Nanny, Jo, instructs parents to act with children that do not behave. So I looked into Katie's big brown eyes and said, "OK, now, Katie, please sit nicely and stop jumping!" Katie kept wagging her tail and jumped up once more for good measure. Maybe it didn't work because I didn't have my "naughty bench".

I decided to hold on to Katie's leash and walked to the bus stop together. One of the children's father was waiting. He lowered his face to Katie's, grabbed her cheeks or rather the many folds around her nose and said "You are cute, is there a face underneath all of this?" Katie then shook her whole head in front of him, at which point a good amount of short golden dog hair and (for good measure) dog snot came flying out on my friendly neighbor. He actually took it quite well and just smiled. I said to him, "This is why we don't have dogs." We are also not fond of cleaning animal poop, baby poop was bad enough.

The school bus finally arrived. The doors opened. Jasper stood right in front on the top step with his bright orange book bag. I looked at his face. He looked at me and then Katie. He then looked at Katie and then me. A look of both shock and fear registered on his little face! I realized he probably thought I had just bought Katie since I had her on the leash. Her rather large size intimidated him.

Jasper finally came down the steps and out of the bus. Katie jumped up and down all around him wagging her tail but thought better to jump on top of him. Jasper kept a few feet away from her as we walked to our neighbor's house. There were no cars in my neighbor's driveway nor any signs of their second dog and five small children. We rang the doorbell. Their second dog came to the door. He was not friendly. This was why he was locked inside. He jumped up to the door and barked loudly. Great watchdog! I saw the knob giggled. I could swear he was trying to turn the knob and open the door so he could go for my throat. I remembered a scene from Cujo. However, I bravely waited with Jasper safely behind me just in case. Yes, I would sacrifice myself to being attacked by this dog than having my toddler hurt . This is what mommies do. My neighbor finally came to the door. She looked at me, and Katie and then exclaimed, "What happened?" I explained to her what happened. She thanked me and I went back home.

I felt both happy and sad! I actually had a great time taking Katie for a walk. She was such a sweet dog and seemed happy and appreciative to walk with us.

Remembering September 11

Today marked the sixth anniversary of the attacks on the towers in N.Y. I sat and watched the news today as the long list of people that died that day was read. I watched the loved ones left behind crying, their grief still fresh after six years. As one man simply stated while crying, "I still miss my brother every day. It doesn't get any easier." He is right. I did not lose someone during that attack. I was one of the lucky ones. My husband and my brother-in-law both work in New York City but were lucky not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their offices were not downtown. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I remember dropping off my young child, while pregnant with another one and remarking on how blue the sky was, as the summer was just ending.

I remember the shock of watching those horrible images on live television. At first, as I turned on the tv, I saw the animation of the twin towers being hit by a plane. I could not believe it. I thought it was a bad joke. Then it registered. I ran to the phone to call my husband. For about three hours I could not get a connection anywhere into the city. The lines were jammed. I thought of going into the city, but then decided to stay by the phone. Roads were blocked, trains stopped running. Planes were not allowed to fly over air space in the city. It was as if we were in a war. Only this war did not make any sense to us, because the people that went to the city to go to work like they did every other day of their lives were the innocent that were killed and sacrificed. For what? I still don't know. Does anyone really?

Three hours later I finally received a brief phone call from my husband telling me he had to stay put somewhere in the city because we just did not know what was going to happen next. He told me he loved me whatever happened next. I later found out that the people that were trapped in some of the top floors in the twin towers called their loved ones and told them they loved them. I wonder if these people knew that would be their last call.

Due to the high technology today, we now have the immediate live visuals of whatever tragic event is happening. I still have burned in my mind the television images of that day: people throwing themselves out the windows of the towers just to end their deaths tragically, the large and thick white clouds coming out of the later crumbling towers, people running in every direction, and the brave faces of the police and firemen who were our heroes and still are. I still remember their faces, some of them not older than twenty or so.

I cannot imagine how the mothers of these lost children felt as they found out they had died that day. I cannot imagine how one deals with this new type of grief when someone dear to you dies so tragically and senseless. I have lost my mom to cancer years ago, and saw her suffer, but at least I had the time to say goodbye and tell her I loved her. These families did not have the chance to say that. Their young children, the born and the unborn, did not have a chance to say that either.

I cannot turn away from the sadness and the grief that is televised today. I cry with everyone else. I grieve for a while with everyone else. I share their pain if only for a little while. I threw my prayers to everyone out there today, hoping that in their grief they could feel that at least for today they are not alone, and that as bad as this world gets sometimes there are many people who do care. And so, I send out my love.