The root canal that wasn't

Today was the day I've been looking forward to for the past two and a half weeks. Today was root canal day! Ordinarily, I wouldn't be so happy about a root canal, but over the course of the wait, my tooth had gone from bad to worse, so much that 600 mg of ibuprofen every four hours was not enough to keep the pain in check.

My appointment was scheduled for 1:40pm, but I got a call asking if I could come in earlier. You betcha! So by about 12:45pm, I was sitting in the chair, Facebooking a few last remarks about the occasion.

The dental assistant asked if I wanted nitrous oxide or just local anesthesia. Have I mentioned how much I dislike dental procedures. My legs get all tense and I feel like I could climb right out of the chair. So, yes, nitrous oxide, please. In fact, make it a double.

The endodontist came in to talk to me. He wasn't sure if he could save the tooth, but he was going to try. I didn't hear much of that because I was busy trying not to look at the booger hanging from his right nostril. Fortunately, when he returned to start working on my tooth, he had a mask on so I didn't have to worry about looking at the booger or about whether it was going to fall out of his nose onto my face. 

Soon, I was lying under the warm and fuzzy "blanket" of nitrous oxide and I didn't even seem to care that they had jammed something in my mouth to keep it open or that the endodontist was drilling away on what was left of my broken tooth. Instead, I was enjoying the feeling that my legs were floating in the air. I was distinctly aware of my back and my rear end being up against the chair, but my legs looked and felt like they were loose, noodly appendages waving in the wind.

It wasn't all fun and games though. At one point, I became aware that I wasn't breathing. I tried to breathe through my mouth with no luck. Calmly told myself to breathe through my nose and couldn't come up with the air then either. Mild panic swept through me, which I must have indicated in some way because the dentist asked if I was ok. Suddenly, the air returned and all was well.

After what seemed like 10 minutes, but was in reality about 90 minutes, the dentist said "Amy" and I popped back into reality. Bad news. He wasn't able to save the tooth, but he had the nerve all exposed and thought it would be in my best interest to go have it extracted right away.

I had immediate commiseration for my friend Valerie, who when in labor with her first child, pushed for 3 hours only to finally be taken to the OR for a c-section. An hour and a half of drilling and poking and the dang tooth had to come out anyway.

Within 10 minutes, I had the referral to the oral surgery group, a copy of my x-ray and the endodontist's wishes for good luck.

Now, they will tell you that nitrous oxide wears off in about 3 minutes. I will tell you that nobody should think about driving anywhere if they've been under the laughing gas for an hour or more. I creepy crawled my way home -- thankfully the office is located across from my neighborhood -- and had my friend Jane drive me to the oral surgeon's office.

They informed me that my insurance wouldn't cover IV sedation. I could have the extraction done under local anesthetic, pay $75 for nitrous oxide, or pay $495 for the IV. The $75 hit of nitrous sounded good to me.

So the assistant got me set up and the surgeon came in to get started. He numbed the area around the tooth with a couple of shots, which I didn't mind because I was already starting to get that wonderful floaty leg feeling. He said he'd be back in a few minutes to do the extraction.

"Ok," I said, " But first, who are you?"  He hadn't introduced himself to me yet.

That's when things got interesting. He told me his name, which I recognized right away. He was the ex-husband of a friend of mine from church. I'd never met him, but I'd heard plenty about him. Given that he was going to performing a potentially painful procedure on me momentarily, I didn't really think I should share that information.

Instead I said, "Can I tell you a secret?" (That was the nitrous talking.)

"Sure," he said.

"My daughter babysits for your kids." I breathed a sigh of relief that my relaxed state did not induce me into mouthing off and I think he breathed one that my "secret" wasn't anything scandalous.

We talked a bit about what we should do with the gaping hole that would be left in my mouth once the tooth was gone. He suggested a titanium implant screwed into the bone (triple nitrous, please). I asked about whether my insurance would cover it and he said he would check and we could work something out. I suggested perhaps I would qualify for the "favorite babysitter discount." He laughed and said that might be possible.

Things were great from there. He knew Annie and talked about how much his kids like her. I talked about how cute the kids are and how much Annie enjoys babysitting for them. And then it was showtime.

Do you know how they extract a tooth? Basically, they take a pair of fancy pliers and pull and pull until the darn thing pops out of your head. It wasn't painful, but I certainly felt a ton of pressure as he yanked and yanked on my tooth. In my altered mental state, I could see my head detached from my body, rolling from left to right. It kind of looked in my mind's eye like one of those PBS Kids characters. 

In addition to literally pulling, I recall him banging on my tooth with some kind of hammer and I just envisioned the thing cracking off right inside my mouth. Just after he asked the assistant to prepare the hand blade -- they really should come up with a much less scary name than that -- so he could cut the tooth out, the stubborn thing popped out under the force of the pliers. Thank goodness for small favors.

Mike picked me up from the appointment, got me a Frosty, which was actually written on the post-op instructions -- and picked up my pain medicine, which I am now overdue for but I was trying to hold off so I could get this post written.

My new-friend-the-oral-surgeon told me to expect to feel pretty sore tomorrow. The fact that I was lying in a chair with my mouth open for 3-1/2 hours, plus all the tugging and pulling on my tooth, will make me especially thankful for the pain meds. Since coming home, I've slept in fits and starts and expect the night will bring more of the same. Too bad I don't have any nitrous oxide to take at home.



Getting double-duty out of this post by linking up to Once a Upon a Miracle's True Story Tuesday. Click on over for more wild, weird, wacky...and true...tales.

In search of Mother's Day dinner

For the past several years, I've had a rule about Mother's Day. I don't travel. I love my mom and my mother-in-law, but I've chosen to celebrate Mother's Day by spending it with my own husband and children, enjoying each other's company.

This year, however, I suspended that rule because we wanted to go for what is likely a last visit with Mike's mom. (I know, I've said that before. Apparently this end-of-life stuff is not an exact science. I was glad to have another chance to let her know how much I love her.) Because, as a family, we are a force to be reckoned with and because Mike's dad is pretty worn out by Mike's mom's condition, we decided to just make a it a day trip. Down and back all in one day -- a total of about 7 hours of driving. (Have I ever mentioned my kids are not great travelers?)

The trip down went pretty quickly, probably because I slept through most of it. The trip back, however, went about as fast as the schoolyard bully walks to the principal's office. We decided to break it up a little bit by stopping for Mother's Day dinner on the way home. I had a hard time deciding where I wanted to go. Thanks to the Urbanspoon app on my iPhone, I settled on Gray Brothers Cafeteria. (It's Mother's Day; don't judge.)

As we were approaching the exit on the highway, I was already contemplating meatloaf, green beans, rolls and some yummy institutional chocolate pudding. (Again, don't judge.) But when we pulled off the highway and made the necessary right turn, we were faced with a "Road Closed" sign. Having no idea what alternate route would get us to Gray's, I decided I would just choose another restaurant.

After we'd been back on the highway for about five or six miles, I decided Maxine's Chicken and Waffles would be a fun place for Mother's Day dinner. It sounds 100 kinds of wrong, I know, but trust me, this place is all right. I'd first eaten there earlier in the week and was anxious to try the sweet potato waffle on this trip. So we followed the highway into downtown Indianapolis, navigated the one way streets and pulled up to Maxine's at about 6:19pm. Only to find out they closed at 6:00pm.

Ugh! This was just about the time I decided to get a little pouty.

How about Scotty's? Mike suggested.
No.
Bazbeaux Pizza?
We had pizza for lunch.
Santorini's?
Wrong direction and too pricey.

I was rocking the prima donna thing, but it was Mother's Day and I'd been in the car for over 4 hours (on the return trip) and I was hungry. As we drive all over kingdom come, I finally agreed to Binkley's Kitchen. I haven't eaten there in a long time and after being twice foiled in my attempts to eat decadently, a salad was beginning to sound good.

So we arrived at Binkley's, piled out of the car and didn't even make it through the door when the people who'd gone in ahead of us came right back out, saying the wait was at least an hour.

Seriously? For the love of Pete, it's Mother's Day and I'm a mother. A very hungry mother at that. Why can't all those other people just get out of my way and let me eat in peace (or at least not in a moving vehicle)?

Wanting something inexpensive and fast, I directed Mike to head to Five Guys. I've never known those French fries to do me wrong. Of course, he had to take the scenic route there, just in case we'd happen upon another restaurant that sounded good.

If you've never been to Five Guys, let me tell you a.) it's GOOD, b.) it's not necessarily good for you, c.) the menu is pretty limited. But I was determined to make it not a total nutritional fiasco. I ordered one order of fries (ok, it was size large) for the whole family to share. Then instead of choosing the hamburger or hot dog, I went for the veggie and cheese sandwich. My choices of veggies, grilled, and served on a bun with one slice of cheese. I figured I needed the protein, right?

It turns out Five Guys was pretty darn busy for Mother's Day, too. So after about a 15 minute wait, our food came. I couldn't wait to bite into my grilled veggie sandwich, proud of myself for making a reasonably healthy selection at a place known all over for it's greasy food fare.

My grilled onions, grilled mushrooms, grilled green peppers, grilled tomatoes and cheese sandwich, turned out to be raw onions (blech!), mildly warm mushrooms, crisp green peppers and regular old tomatoes with wilted cheese. Still somewhat of a nutritional victory, I ate it anyway because it was almost 8pm and I was too darn hungry and tired to make a fuss.

And so that's how my search for Mother's Day dinner came to a close. But honestly, the day itself -- for all the driving and frustration and imperfections that came with it -- was a great one. I got to take a nap (in the car); I spent the day with people I love; and I climbed into bed when we got home, free from bath and bedtime duty.

In the end, I have just one thing to say about Mother's Day: Next year, reservations.

Classic tale for Mother's Day

One of the great things about being a Mom is all the funny experiences that weave their way into oft-told tales for years to come. We were with friends tonight and one of them reminded me of this story. She said she's been waiting for it to appear on my blog -- so Lori, Happy Mother's Day.


Basking in the glow of motherhood
Charlie was probably about 2 months old. Annie was about 2-1/2. We were in the kids' bathroom, where I was giving Charlie a bath. I had the baby bath tub set inside the big bathtub and was leaning over the edge of the tub, cooing at Charlie while running the soapy washcloth over his baby rolls. (He actually had rolls back then.)

Annie stood behind me and started brushing my hair. Now at this time in her life, Annie HATED having her hair brushed. It was a real ordeal. So when she started brushing mine, I took the opportunity to tell her how nice it felt. How it was such a treat to have my hair brushed.

As all this was going on, I took in the scene. Here I was lovingly tending to my newborn while engaging my 2-year-old in a teachable moment and I felt like a great mom. Truthfully, I was basking in the glow of motherhood.

This went on for a few minutes. Charlie was content and Annie kept brushing. I turned slightly to grab the hooded towel (oh, I miss those things!) for Charlie when, for the first time, I got a look at Annie.

SHE WAS BRUSHING MY HAIR WITH THE TOILET BOWL BRUSH!

"No! Yucky! Yuck! Yuck!" I screamed, scooping Charlie up as fast as I could.

Annie, sensing trouble, took off running down the hall waving the toilet bowl brush high overhead.

I ran after her, wet, slippery Charlie tucked under my arm. The basking was definitely over.

Looking back, I should have known the idyllic moments in the bathroom that I felt so glowing about were too good to be true. Because, really, my experience of motherhood has mostly been about running, hollering and having a good story to tell at the end.

Somewhere out there

(Anyone feel like breaking into the song from An American Tail?)

It's almost 2:30am. I'm awake. Nothing unusual in that. But I'm hoping that Annie is asleep. I don't know for sure because she is on a bus with her classmates somewhere between Washington D.C. and here. They are making their way home from their 8th grade class trip.

We dropped her off at school at 7am Monday morning to board the bus. She had fruit snacks, granola bars, gum, magazines, books, her camera, spending money and NO cell phone. In fact, none of the kids had phones with them -- they were outlawed on this trip so that the kids would fully engage in the experience, not spend all day with their heads bent over little cell phone screens.

Totally understandable. Great idea. But hard for this Mom. We had phone numbers for the chaperones and were free to call them to get in touch with our kids. But I wasn't about to risk the "MOM! That was so embarrassing!" lecture, so I resisted. Annie did call on Monday night to let us know they'd arrived at the hotel. (The teacher coordinating the trip sent nightly e-mails so we weren't completely incommunicado.)

By Tuesday night, I was definitely missing her. I wanted to talk about her experience at Arlington National Cemetery. I wanted to know if she slept well in the hotel. I didn't expect her to call, but I would have been happy if she did.

On Wednesday, they went to the Holocaust Museum. I wanted to know how it moved her. I thought she might call. But the phone remained silent. I saw a few Facebook updates from her friends and hoped that she might have stopped at the hotel's lobby computer or found a friend with an iPod touch, just so I could hear from her, or better yet, see a picture of her. No such luck.

I knew she was having a good time and that no news was good news. But boy, was that hard. By Thursday afternoon, I was contemplating -- out loud on Facebook -- whether I should call one of the chaperones' phones to talk to Annie. I really thought all my FB friends would say, "Sure! Give her a ring!"

Nope. I was counseled to wait it out, which would have been tough to do. I was rescued by an e-mail from one of the chaperones. There was no message, only this wonderful, awful, grainy picture of Annie next to Fonzie's leather jacket at the Smithsonian. It was so good to see her smiling face!

It turns out, I wasn't the only one missing Annie. Robbie has been counting down the days to her return since Monday afternoon.

Charlie was a completely different kid without her here. Usually, he is the kid that you have nag, nag, nag, prod and plead to get chores done. Without Annie here to fill the shoes of responsible oldest kid, Charlie stepped up.

He picked up the family room without being asked. He did his homework without reminders. He helped Robbie with his homework. I'm wondering if we can sneak Annie home without letting Charlie know? I'm totally enjoying this new-found son of mine.

We finally heard from Annie at 8pm last night, when she called to say they were boarding the bus for home. I talked to her for a few minutes. Mike did too. I was surprised when Charlie said he wanted to talk to her, and even more surprised when I heard him say, "I miss you. I love you."

I'm enjoying the memory of that because I'm sure by tonight, they'll be back to picking at each other. Just as it should be.

Wait! Don't leave...

You are at the right place. This is still the 4th Frog blog. Just made all pretty and new! (If you're reading this in a reader or as a note on Facebook, do yourself a favor and click over to the blog URL to enjoy all the prettiness.)

I can't say thank you enough to Kristin from Simply Klassic Blog Design for this great new look. I won a free blog makeover from Kristin by entering a giveaway at Absolutely Narcissism.

To be honest, I was a little nervous about working with Kristin to for a blog makeover. Don't get me wrong. She does great work, but many of the other blogs she's designed are so pretty and delicate and soft. Not my style. But she had me complete a very thorough questionnaire to let her know what I wanted, what colors I like, what style of letters, etc. She let me have a peek at what she was working on several times through the process to make sure she was headed in the right direction.

And boy, did she deliver! There is still some work I need to do on my end (like linking pages to the menu bar items at the top), but I love it. I think this is the happiest I've ever been at 4 o'clock in the morning. Well, the happiest I'm willing to talk about in public...

If you have a blog and feel like it needs a pick-me-up, please give Kristin from Simply Klassic Blog Design a try. You'll be happy you did.

Vera happy news

for one of you, anyway. The winner of the Vera lovely giveaway is Hyvie! She is a teacher at my kids' school.

Before you cry foul, I used Random.org to choose the winner. Besides, she is a preschool teacher so she is in no position to give my kiddos any favors when it comes to their report cards. When she entered the giveaway, she said, "If I won the Vera bag I'd use it to carry books, magazines, my kindle and other stuff to the pool this summer!"

Well, get thee to the library, Hyvie, because you've got a brand new bag!

Now, for those of you who didn't win, look what "Vera" cool thing I discovered today.

If you "like" Vera Bradley on Facebook, then click the "downloads" link, you can select one of dozens of digital Vera Bradley backgrounds -- including the Viva la Vera pattern -- for your computer, iPad or mobile device. Click "downloads archive" to see all the backgrounds available. Best of all, it's free!

I set mine to Deco Daisy:

The pros and cons of 12

Consider the number 12.

It can be a nice number. There are the 12 days of Christmas. The 12 months of the year. 12 eggs in a carton. The 12 apostles of Jesus. Charlie's 12th birthday this summer.

Even the sound of the word is a bit sophisticated. "Tw-el-ve." All that blending of syllables seems a little aristocratic.

There is size 12 in clothing, which may or may not be a good thing depending on which side of size 12 you stand on. Personally? I'd be elated to see a 12 again.

A shoe size of 12 might make you happy if you are a man (or are married to a man with a size 12 foot). Although a size 12 in the women's shoe department does not carry quite the same badge of honor.

But the worst 12 there is? The most unhappy 12 I can think of today?

The 12 loads of laundry I need to deal with today. (There are so many, I can't fit them all in the picture, plus 2 are in the washer and dryer). 

Once they are all clean, only half of those items are going back upstairs. The other half will find their way to the Goodwill today -- even if it takes me 12 trips to get them there.

What is your favorite (or least favorite) 12?