Teeth

I broke a tooth a few weeks ago -- back right molar. I was eating a bite of my frosted-shredded-mini-wheats and "pop" off it came. So I had it crowned. For those of you who don't know, crowning a tooth involves whittling it down to a little nub and putting a fake one on top. The dentist did a great job. It actually involved very little pain on my part ... except perhaps financially.

The tooth-breaking and the visits to the dentist have caused a resurgence in tooth dreams for me. (Note: I really hope I'm not revealing something twisted about my subconscious. You never know with dreams.) These dreams always are some variation on the following:

-I bite down hard on something, and my teeth crumble and fall out, or
-I wake up and my mouth is full of something, so I spit it out, and it is teeth, or
-My teeth have already fallen out and I spend the dream trying to find ways to put them back in my mouth and stick there.

I like to analyze things (shocked silence. None of you knew that about me, did you?) I've figured out lots of symbols in my dreams ... oceans and waves mean I feel out of control. Animals mean kids, and by extension responsibility ... but I can't figure out the tooth thing. Growing old? Inability to communicate? They are mostly unpleasant dreams, so I don't think it is something good. Fear of losing the ability to eat?

Back to reality, we were in the car yesterday and I reached back to wiggle Gabe's loose tooth ... the one that has been hanging out in his mouth for several months. Gabe doesn't like it when I wiggle his teeth. He thinks I'm going to try and pull them out. But this time I was fast. Pop, out it came. I didn't even pull that hard. We were both really surprised. This is number three for him. The tooth fairy switched from cute little presents to dollar bills because she is already tired of trying to think of fun toys small enough to fit under pillows.

I wonder if Gabe has tooth dreams? He will now.

Why they call it slick rock

We finally have our new camera up and running, just in time for the fun trip to Zion National Park with my folks, my sister and family, and Nana. Highlights of the weekend included ... baby sleeping through night while camping (first time ever), hiking Emerald Pools with most of the clan, delicious camping food, Nana pushing the kids around the campground on her walker, biking in the sunshine along the canyon floor, seeing a wild turkey (Papa: I can hear a wild turkey gobbling! Libby: Papa hears a Wild Goblin!!!), plus hearing the talented Jeremy play his guitar by the campfire.

Lover, Lovey.

My friend and I were talking about relationships, how in a lot of them one person is the "Lover" and one person is the "Lovey" -- you know, one person is more effusive emotionally, and does all the romantic stuff. The Lovey is the one who is sought after, and is less comfortable proclaiming to the world how they feel about their special one. It seems like these roles can change from time to time in a marriage, but some people fall naturally into one role or the other.

I want to be the Lovee, but the balance of my world doesn't fall that way. I'm trying to embrace the Lover role more, and although it isn't natural to me, and express more emotionally. It is tricky to do it right. My above mentioned friend challenged me to do one Lover task every day this week. It has been a very fun experiment, and has gotten me out of my comfort zone in a good way. The assignment is to do one thing for the Lovee every day, that would be meaningful to him, no strings attached.

It is the no strings attached part that is tricky. I find that a lot of times I compliment with ulterior motives ... I tell him he is a good handyman because I want him to keep being a good handyman. Compliments with baggage. So in true Lover style, I've done ... yes ... yard work. Because I know he likes the help, and he likes to spend time with me that way. No strings attached. Good for me.

We started outdoor soccer this week. I seemed so much faster indoors. I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Baby Rattle Snakes

Gabe and Leo love April Fool's Day. I'm wishy-washy on it. I wasn't raised to appreciate practical jokes, but I feel like such a spoil sport when I don't facilitate my kids participation in some way. So I made a couple sets of the old "Rattle Snake Eggs in the Envelope" sets, and sent them on their way.

If you aren't familiar with this joke, it involves winding up a rubberband and a paper clip inside a small envelope marked "Rattle Snake Eggs." When the victim opens the envelope, the rubber band trips, and the paper clip makes a "Thut thut thut thut thut" noise, with the accompanying vibration. This, along with the suggestion of the possibility of hatching baby rattlesnakes (from the writing on the envelope) usually produces a pretty good jolt. And no one gets dirty or wet or too embarrassed.

Gabe brought his to school and handed it to the student teacher in his Kindergarten class. She FREAKED OUT and screamed pretty loudly. I was outside the class, hanging up Gabe's coat, and saw it all. I laughed so hard ... which was weird, because I'm really not a practical joker ... but it was so dang funny. She looked up at me with this mortified face, and I thought ... I shouldn't be laughing ... but it was so dang funny. She cracked a smile, and started laughing too. The whole event shocked Gabe, who was too scared to try it on his real teacher. But one of his friends tried it on dear Mrs. Simmons (who saw it coming from a mile away, but still put on a pretty good show for the kids). I guess you catch on to those things after 30 years of teaching Kindergarten.

We've ordered a new digital camera, so in 10-14 days, I'll have photos to accompany my posts. I can't wait.

Benji's Plow

I took a technology class at BYU (taught by my dad, actually), and learned that the world changed with the invention of the plow. Once nomadic tribes got their hands and horses on a plow, they stopped traveling to find food, found homes near water sources, and grew crops in enough abundance to preserve some for winter seasons. Settlements turned into villages. Villages turned into cities. Art, music, civics, war; it all started with the plow.

Benji invented a plow. It involved pulling a chair over to the kitchen counter and climbing up. It opened a whole new world to him. Now he can watch mom mix cookie dough. Now he can help dad do the dishes. He can reach the Elmer's Glue. He can get his own slice of banana bread. He can open drawers and cupboards. Last week, mom glanced over from the sink to find him laying across the burners on the stove, fiddling with the knobs. Bad. There is no way to stop progress, short of removing all chairs from the house. So I keep the stove knobs in the cupboard. I removed knives from their beautiful magnet strip and put them in an inaccessible drawer. Now, how do I keep him from dancing on the kitchen table?

Benji starts nursery at church next Sunday. For those of you who may never have tried to attend church with a walking baby, this is a big day for us. A very big day.

Benji's recent advances may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I found the first GRAY HAIR on my head. I've had several gray eyebrows, but this is the first official gray hair. It was white, actually. I always kind of thought I'd get my mom's genes, and keep my silken brown until my mid 50s. Now I'm worried (which isn't going to help anything).

Lyttle Theatre of Poor Spelling

What possesses writers of billboards and namers of pet salons and day cares to spell words incorrectly? Jeff argues that it is a fad, is meant to convey a mood, that it catches your attention, or that I'm being a word Nazi. All of that may be true, but it still drives me crazy. You know the ones that I mean.

Kozy Kuttin' Korner
Lite Meal
Krispy Kreme
Olde Towne Theatre

I understand that everyone misspells words occasionally. But this is different. This is on purpose. And not on an hastily written email message or blog. On a billboard. Or cut into poly-plastic and posted above your place of business. It isn't misspelling, it is bad spelling.

Is it supposed to be cute? Why is that cute? This isn't pre-industrial revolution England. Drop the "e." Bad spelling affects your credibility. You think you can cut my dog's hair? You can't even spell cut!

A friend was telling me she wanted to start a day care, and she wanted to call it Kuddles and Kisses. DON'T DO IT! I screamed. Not really. But I thought it loudly. How are people supposed to look her up in the phone book? Unless they have a fone booke. At one point in popular history, this practice may have been to set you apart, but now it is too common. It looks silly.

Okay, I am a bit of a word Nazi.

Overconfidence

I've been thinking about how it is possible to define one thing in two very different ways. Depending on the spin you put on a situation, or the words you use, it can look so different, like night and day. What one person may call inquisitive, another may call nosy. Athletic can be hyper. Faithful can be close-minded. Open-minded can be flighty. Fixated can be determined. Introverted can be thoughtful. It all depends on the spin.

I live with a determined pessimist. He actually has backed off his eternal gray fog since he married me (I like to think I have something to do with that), but he is still definitely on that side of the fence. And actually, I've adopted a bit of his murky attitude in some situations. It is kind of fun sometimes (and grounding) to imagine the bad that can happen in any given circumstance. But generally it is useful, especially with kids, to be generally upbeat. So I've been trying to reconvert myself. My mantra, or theme, if you will, this year is overconfidence. It puts me firmly in the optimist realm.

I got this from that great American classic, Dancing With The Stars. I haven't actually seen a whole episode of this program. Once when I was flipping through the channels, I paused. One of the teachers on this program commented on how he would much rather deal with overconfidence then lack of ... overconfidence causes someone to see mistakes as a fluke, and under confidence tends to make people define mistakes as defeat. It seemed a useful strategy, so I thought I would try it this year.

It has served me well so far. I don't dwell on mistakes. I acknowledge them as a strange hiccup in my otherwise expert performance. When I make a mistake, I acknowledge it, but say to myself, "that is weird, I always get that right." And then I move on. Chances are, the next time I do get it right.

Try it, it makes you really happy ... or delusional, depending on your perspective.