Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
I had work to do.
::full body shudder::
Anyway, The Dentist Story--got to school yesterday almost at the end--in fact, AT the end of the day. So, Jonathan didn’t get dunned with a checkout slip, which was nice, but I forgot about the thing they have that freezes all the car traffic in the parking lot in front of the building until ALL the buses leave.
So, I sat. I called Grandmom to get the number of the dentist while I waited, just so I could call them and let them know why we were running late. They weren’t concerned at all, but I hate to be late, and I hate for people to be wondering if I’ll show up.
Got there only about fifteen minutes past his appointment time which was fine, because they took him right back. Although, I was a bit put off by the assistant who wanted to know if he wanted gas. Boy’s never been nitroused before, and I told her I wasn’t sure. “Let me talk it over with the doc and figure it out.”
“WELL, it DOES make a difference in which ROOM he goes into.”
That little edge to her voice rubbed me the wrong way. You know, against the grain of my fur. I was just about to say something when the tall blonde hygienist who usually works on my teeth said she thought that since it was just four baby teeth, he would probably do okay without it. Thus verbally patting back down my ruffled fur. I don’t know if she could tell I was a bit put-off or not, but she sure knew what to say.
So, Boy hopped on back and I sat down to read some magazines. The dentist is about the only place I actually read the newsmagazines anymore--seems the big topic of conversation on the covers is the dire dread fear about what to do if people in the Middle East really DO want democracy. Which would, you know, mean Chimpy McSmirkhitler might have been onto something. Much swooning and fainting and hyperventilation. Then they moved onto the more important subject of Michael Jackson. Whew!
Just a few minutes later, the dentist came out and surprised me--she was already done! She said he came through it just fine, and didn’t even whimper. That’s mah boy! And THEN she showed me the teeth. Four of them, stuck into a small manila pouch--one, two, THREE! FOUR! The latter two being nearly an inch long! Fully rooted--I thought they had already broken free of their roots--and still bearing bits of gory viscera! Talk about swooning--I couldn’t conceive that Boy had had those two big ol’ tusks in his mouth to begin with, and even more so that he didn’t let out a peep when they came out! I think I would have been balled up on the floor. It hurt just to look at them, and again, there was that whole deal with the guts still being on them. Eww.
IN any event, Boy has taken yet another notch up in Dad’s respect for him. Tough little pine burr.
He came walking out with his mouth full of blood-soaked cotton gauze and I settled up the bill. Managed to get a $60 discount--the two teeth without roots she only charged $57 to pull. Still the total came to $288, which creates a gap in the checkbook matched only by the ones in his mouth.
Went out to the van, then back inside again so he could change the drooly mess in his mouth, then on to the hair-cutting place. The cute girl who cut Catherine’s hair a few weeks ago was busy with another kid, so we had to settle for the other stylist. Who was not cute, and not nearly so young as to be called a girl. But she was fast, so I suppose it was a fair trade-off.
As quickly as his teeth got pulled, his hairs got cut, and we were ready to go again.
To Grandmom’s to pick up the rest of the litter, then on to home, start supper, sign homework, answer questions, greet Reba who brought MORE food from Grandmom’s (it wasn’t ready when I went by), ate a hurried supper, then rushed out to take Oldest to play rehearsal.
TROUBLE! And that rhymes with C! And that means CHURCH! And that has only passing relativity to the disputation at hand, and none at all with Little Women, but I just like The Music Man.
Anyway, Monday night Ashley found out they were supposed to be practicing every week night, and told the director that she had band competition Friday, and that we always go to church on Wednesday night. Apparently he was none to keen on anyone missing, but Oldest took this to mean he was going to single her out for EXTRA SPECIAL SCORN or something. She had inflated the sense of crisis right out the roof and had worked herself into quite a melodramatic frenzy. More than usual.
So, last night I was tasked by her and her mama to plead her case to the director for her not to be penalized for missing on Wednesday nights. So, I told him we had church on Wednesday nights, and he was somewhat reluctant for her to miss a day, but other than that he was okay. He did say that the week before he couldn’t spare her, so I told him I’d be glad to let him have her for that day if he’d let us have her the rest. Which he said okay to. No big deal, really. Ashley’s happy, he’s not quite happy as he could be (but big deal), and I don’t have to hear about how unfair life is.
I left the theater and went on to the library for a minute or two of answering comments and e-mail, then to the grocery store to pick up something for Rebecca to take for lunch today. She has some kind of field trip requiring a sack lunch, and we’d run out of appropriate sackish things to fix so I got some lunch meat and some chips and some other stuff for her. And notebook paper! We seem to have sprung a leak in the paper locker--they’re going through loose-leaf paper like they do toilet paper.
Anyway, it was a very busy night. And tonight we have CHURCH! AND THAT STARTS WITH C, AND THAT RHYMES WITH T, and that means something, but hopefully not anything like trouble. And tomorrow?
Well, I think we have SOMEthing planned, but I’m not sure it starts with a T or not…
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