My kids were rough-housing. And what do we all say when that occurs? "Someone is going to get hurt."
But as my on-going study is proving, the mysterious language of "mother" is not comprehended in these situations. Do you know what? Someone got hurt. My daughter flew down the stairs with eyes bigger than half-dollars and this look of UTTER horror draped across her face. "Ah toof" she splutters.
Now I am wondering if I should begin a new study "Woundus Kidicus Drivelous" because I have NO idea what she's saying. I believe it is the infantile stages of "Mother"-language. I look blankly at her. She sighs impatiently (this is DEFINITELY "mother" beginnings) She tries again. "Ah tee ah toof" The lightbulb clicked on; "What tooth did you chip?" I ask and bend into her face, beginning to stretch her lips above her forhead and to her knees so I can see. Sure enough, she's shaved off the front of one of her bottom "picture teeth". Fabulous. Have I mentioned we are less than a week from leaving for vacation? I muttered under my breath and called the dentist.
The dentist is my daughter's incarnation of the seventh circle of Hell. This poor girl begins to sweat, shake, whimper and vomit. I must carry a riot shield and a grocery bag to protect myself, my clothes and the hygenist. It is truly awful. And NOW we are going to begin our vacation with a pit-stop to Satan's house for a little poking, drilling and laughter. C'mon along, but don't eat breakfast.
Maddie doesn't sleep for two days. She asks a million and one questions to which I have NO answers. I am the one battered by the shoulder gnome. "I don't know, Honey. " is all I can say. The day arrives and I watch my daughter appear to suffer from sever anemia. Her color is gone and she shakes worse than Brinttany Spears' puppy. The dentist knows my daughter and her "condition" as does everyone else within a four exam room reach. She's the gagger. But to everyone (except Ben's) pleasure she needs no reconstruction; just a little Sensodyne. We will have to watch for discoloration. I high five the cherubs that are circling above us. "Thank YOU" I wink to the Big Man Upstairs and out we go.
"Let's call Daddy." She smiles and I can hear the stress leaving her heavy little heart. "Of course." and I hand the phone to her. She dials and when he picks up she wails "They are going to have to pull it, or grind it down and build stuff on top of it. Oh Daddy can you come to the dentist? I'm scared!" and she whimpers and hangs up the phone. I am speechless. I half laugh -half cluck in reproach and snag the phone from her, immediately dialing again. "STOP! "I hollar into the little phone. "She's busting your chops."
I am informed that it was not funny in any way. I am told how worried....how he was packing up to come straight over... and in the background is my daughter laughing and giggling. Did you know that when you are an angry mother in the front seat of a car, your arms increase in length so you can reach any point in the back seat to thump your precious kids? It's another study I'm working on. And to ice this cake, my daughter hollars "Hey Dad? Just make sure you check your pockets before you dump them in the laundry."
I believe my daughter has just put on her first "trite" outfit. She has paid someone back. She wears the color well; not as nicely as I do, but it's a start. I think I'm going to get in trouble here, my husband is going to give me the dickens. This would be so much funnier if it were someone else, I think.
Have a good day. Thanks for your company.
