Your Dentist is a Liar

I am going to post this and then I will be on my way to the dentist to have a filing replaced. The dentist is absolutely one of my least favorite places to go. I loathe it. Why? There are many reasons, most involve my very strong desire to avoid any amount of pain.  But also, my dentist is a liar. And I am sorry to have to be the one to break this news to you, but your dentist is also a liar. Sure he's friendly- smiles all the time, makes pleasant conversation before beginning his work on your teeth (sometimes during). Maybe even, like mine, he's gone to great lengths to put a television screen above the chair so you can watch t.v. during your cleaning. That's so nice. What a sweetie.

He's still a liar. Sorry.

It's okay. Don't beat yourself up for picking the wrong dentist. You had no choice in the matter. All dentists are liars. Yep, all of them.

Because all dentists say things like,

"I'll do whatever I can to help make you the most comfortable."
You'll do"whatever"? Really? Then why am I not in a hot tub getting a massage and sipping a virgin daiquiri in the Hawaiian islands while you magically fix my teeth WITHOUT touching me? Yeah, well then you didn't mean you'd do whatever it takes did you? Liar.

Then there's- "You're just going to feel a tiny poke."
Umm, if I can feel it, it isn't tiny. It's large and it hurts and my gums are sensitive and what about shoving a needle into them seems tiny to you Mr. Dentist? Li-ar.

Or my personal favorite- the sign that reads: "Gentle Dentistry".  Who on earth is going to fall for that one? That is just a bull-faced, smack ya in yer mouth, blatant LIE. No dentistry is gentle. Not any. Big. Fat. Liar.

What's unfortunate is that they can lie and totally get away with it because, well because I don't have all those fancy gadgets to clean my teeth with at home and they do look wonderful and sparkly when I'm done and I haven't the faintest idea how to go about fixing a toothache or replacing a filling or removing my wisdom teeth.  And they know this.  So they lie, and they clean and they replace our fillings and we just have to take it.

But at least we know the truth. And the truth shall...nope. That doesn't work here.

Well, I guess I'd better be off to where I am most comfortable and where I'll only feel a tiny poke because dentistry is so gentle. (If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?)

Snapshot of Number One: Counting my way to One Thousand Gifts

In the secret, in the quiet place, in the stillness You are there.

I think of that great song by Sonic Flood that starts that way and I laugh. What is secret or quiet or still in my life these days? 

I wake early to nurse our baby boy who sleeps in a bassinet next to our bed. He doesn't go back to sleep so I abandon hopes for a morning shower or a cup of tea to myself. Then our toddler wakes up and I spend the morning making breakfast for my husband and sending him off to work, trying to convince our daughter that our infant son does not want goldfish crackers shoved into his mouth, having dance parties, picking up toys only for them to be thrown back down again, and crunching fallen goldfish comrades underfoot. 

Is there some secret place I can retreat to, even for a moment?  Some wardrobe leading to a paradise (preferably a warm paradise) if I only go far enough inside?

I slip away to the bathroom and my toddler follows even there. Not much quiet or still or secret round these parts. 

We make it through the morning and with the baby tucked against my hip I prepare lunch with one arm, manage to, still with that one arm, lift our toddler and snap her into her booster chair and I quickly start eating before the baby gets fussy and I need two hands to soothe him. I reach to give my daughter her sippy cup and stop short. 

Her hands are folded, her head is bowed and she is talking low. Praying for her meal. 

She found the quiet place. She found the secret place and even though she is too young to understand why we pray she knows we do and she stopped long enough and was quiet long enough to find a time to do it.

I blush embarrassment and thank her for reminding me. We pray together and slow down a little to enjoy each other and our lunch. And I thank God for a little girl who found  the small, wardrobe/window into His place today. 

Counting My Way to One Thousand Gifts...

1. a toddler who prays

2. a play date with a friend

3. warm chili on the stove

4. honey cornbread

5. being a mommy

6. tiny feet dancing to Jack's Big Music Show

7. read through the Bible in chronological order in a year plan

8. blogs that inspire

9. blogs that make me laugh

10. homeschooling materials

What Dirty Dishes Are For

I wrote a letter to a friend today that she suggested I share with you all. I changed a little so as not to give away personal information about her life, but most of it is the same:

Hello Friend,

I am feeling very Ann Voskamp-y today, of course because I am reading her book right now. But anyway, I wrote this letter to you in my head while washing dishes. So I thought I'd type it up.

Thanks for offering to wash my dishes today, but I wanted to explain why I need those dirty dishes in my life right now. Because it feels sometimes, like much around me is chaos. My toddler explorer pulls apart our mail and leaves it in tiny pieces on the un-vacuumed carpet. My infant son cries most days for arms to hold him and voices to soothe him and I am hard up for time to myself these days. And I feel mentally tired and there is so much more to do than clean up pieces of mail and hold my baby.  Our toilets need scrubbing and the stairs need vacuuming, and when was the last time I Windexed the glass, and what ever will I do about money later this year...and if I can't stop and slow down I may miss what God wants me not to miss today. 

And then there is the stack of dirty dishes. They are higher up on my to-do list because the kitchen gets more use and is way more noticeable than the smudgy glass and un-vacuumed steps. So when the baby finally rests and my explorer takes a nap I do the dishes. The dishwasher is broken so its me and my bare hands scraping and scrubbing and it feels good to do this work with my own hands. It feels good to subtract something from the chaos and add a little order. And while I scrub the dirt off the dishes I ask God to scrub the dirt off of me. And I ask for Him to heal our friend's husband with cancer, and I tell Him I miss my sister, and pray that my friend's son finds the college just right for him, and can't He please keep chipping away at the things that keep us from Him, and won't He remind her of how much He loves her and how, even when things are chaotic in her life, He's wiping away the dirt, too, and what is left will be sparkly and clean and even more beautiful? I ask for peace and protection for my kids and for a faith for them that surpasses mine and I ask for a deep, deep love of God to be our center, and please God, please keep me praying.

I scrub with hands deep in water and I think that if I didn't have this mess to bring order to each day I would miss the order he wants to bring to me each day. I would miss His depths and mine, too. I want a life marked by prayer even if some days and in some ways I don't know how it all works or why it all works. And I want to remember Him even in the chaos and disorder in my life because when will things ever for always be peaceful? When will there be only order in my life? If I can't learn to search Him out in the mess of my life then I won't ever learn to search Him out at all because life will always be a little bit chaotic. But I still want Him and I still want the depths. So I scrub and He scrubs and we find each other there, and for a few moments I remember what I'm supposed to be about and those moments stretch in my mind and in my heart all day and so, even amidst the chaos, I grow. I still need to grow.

So, thank you for offering to wash my dishes, but I need them. I really need them. But I don't necessarily need the toilets or stairs. 

Just kidding? :)

Lovies.

Latrice

We're Still Parenting Rookies

We woke early (and blissfully unaware) in happy moods. It is Friday which for Reuben means the last day of work before a nice weekend off, and for me, on this particular Friday, means getting to go to my local MOPS group. We rolled over in bed and gazed adoringly into each other's eyes and then got up to shower and dress before the kids awoke.

As we hit the hallway, however, we both stopped and scrunched up our noses. "What is that smell?" I whispered, looking around for perhaps a dead rodent or live skunk. "Ugh," Reuben nodded in agreement. "I don't know." He began a thorough search of the upstairs bathroom and two guest rooms while I raced downstairs to see if I could smell it down there. Thoughts of backed up sewage pipes and dead mice in my heating vents popped into my head. Oh- we were so unawares.

I came back up to report that the awful smell was only detectable upstairs. Reuben reported that he couldn't find the source of it. Not wanting to be late to MOPS, I showered, dressed, nursed our now awake son and mused over what the scent could be. Reuben finally concluded that it had to be coming from our daughter's room.

"Just suddenly out of nowhere?" I asked him, believing he was wrong. "Well, maybe it's her diapers." He insisted. "We have a diaper genie." I insisted. He shrugged and left the room to take a shower. After a few moments I agreed that I should at least rule out my daughter's room, but because she was still asleep I was hesitant to go in and risk waking her up. I put my son in his bassinet and opened her door ever so slightly. I was immediately smacked in the nostrils with the pungent smell, now stronger and unrestrained. I opened her door fully and spied with my two eyes:

one vomit covered toddler (oh yeah, the hair, too)

one vomit covered crib sheet

and

three vomit covered teddy bears 

Without hesitation, I swung into concerned mama/damage control mode, kicked my husband out of the shower and bathed and washed the hair of my little girl-TWICE- while Reuben ran water in the washing machine (after drying off and dressing of course) and threw the contents of the crib into the wash. The rest of the morning was a whir of temperature taking, a phone call to the doctor, saying goodbye to Reuben while momentarily wishing we could trade places, trying to figure out how to nurse a hungry baby and hold a crying/sick toddler at the same time, cursing the baby swing for running out of battery power on this particular morning, and, finally, getting two children to sleep at the same time.

What I can't figure out is: WHY DID IT TAKE US SO LONG TO REALIZE THE SMELL WAS VOMIT?

We are still such rookies in our parenting. I'm sure seasoned vets would have smelled "that smell" and instantly known what it was and how to proceed. Perhaps they have "vomit clean up kits" stationed conveniently around the house or have practiced drills for this type of thing. We? We were so unaware. Preparing for MOPS and looking for dead mice.

I hate to say that we'll be better informed for the next time because that implies that there will be a next time. But I guess I'm not too much of a rookie to know that "next time" is inevitable. (Sigh.)

Not-So-Much

Yeah, remember yesterday's post? All the love and joy and excitement about sharing my love of books with my daughter? All the dreams she will realize, all the doors that will be opened to her? 

Yeah, so, here's how she felt about all of that:

So...yeah.

 I guess, not so much.

*Note- I did not actually just casually take pictures while she destroyed a book. I took these pictures after she destroyed the book. I tried to rescue the book, but was to late.  Just to let you know.

Literacy Rich

I took Naomi (and Lincoln of course) to Toddler Time at the library this morning. I love toddler time! The teacher is so nice and great with the children. She reads a story, sings songs, and does some learning activities with finger play or the felt board. I love watching Naomi interact with the other children, participate in the songs, and grow in her love of books.

I love books, I love reading, I love words. Part of the reason I became a teacher was to share my love of reading with my students. As a teacher, I worked hard to make my classroom a literacy rich environment. I made books, magazines, even comic books easily accessible to my students, posted label word cards on items in the classroom (when I taught younger grades). I read aloud to my class each day and also gave my students time to personal read, and I discussed the importance of reading and using reading strategies with my students. I also tried to share my passion for reading! Reading opens up a new world to a child. Not only can knowledge be easily accessed through reading, but reading also expands a child's imagination, problem-solving abilities, introduces them to new situations and experiences, and increases their confidence as they learn to read, learn new words and learn new reading strategies. Children decide to be authors after reading a great book, or poets, or artists. They are inspired to be better people after reading biographies, or want to try a new recipe or start a club after reading a book that inspires them. I could go on and on and share stories of students I've worked with whose entire lives changed as they learned to read or were impacted by books read to them.

Now that I am home and not teaching in a public setting, my home is now my classroom and my children are my now pupils. I still feel just as strongly about the importance of creating a literacy rich environment in my new classroom setting so we read every day, no matter how busy or tired we are. We sing songs with books, talk a lot about what's going on in our environment, and look for daily opportunities to build vocabulary. It's not really that much of an effort because Naomi is such a sponge at this age, and its so worth it. And when I see my darling toddler loving story time my momma/teacher heart just jumps! I get so excited for the journeys she will take, the lessons she will learn, the problems she will solve, the characters she will love and hate, and "oh the places she will go" through a great book, or magazine article, comic book, or even newspaper story. I get excited for the doors that will open for her just because she can read and realizes the importance of reading.

When I look at her I remember being a young girl, staying up late nights with my mom who also shares a love of reading. We'd each be sitting on a different couch, next to a lamp, turning our pages eagerly. One particular school night, I was up way past my bedtime because I couldn't put my book down. Mom had a book out, too, that she was equally enthralled with.  Finally she said, "Trice, we need to get to bed. It's late." I begged for one more chapter and she confessed she wanted to read one more, too.  3 chapters later we finally went to bed. Tired and happy for our love of reading.  I can't wait to share some similar moments with my little ones!

Ha! Right after nap time is not the best time to take pictures for a blog. She looks super interested in this book right now!

Life's too Short to be Living for the Weekends

It's Monday. Mondays don't have a great rep. as far as days of the week go. It's the day after the weekend. Weekends mean freedom for most people. They don't have to work. They gather with friends and family. They get to do what they want to do. A lot of us live for the weekends.

One day, a while back, I found myself in the middle of a week, in the middle of that particular day (maybe it was a Wednesday? I don't know), with my toddler throwing major tantrums and my newborn crying inconsolably. Exasperated, tired, and fed-up, I wished out loud for 6:00, when my husband would be home. Then I could have help, then I could take a break, then I could rest. Oddly though, I felt a slight conviction when I made this wish.

What I had really wished was that time would magically speed up. That the remaining 3 or 4 hours before 6:00 would go by at warp speed. I wished for a fast forward. Have you seen the movie Click? Adam Sandler is given a remote control to fast forward through the parts of his life that seem boring or mundane to him, even the parts that cause him stress or that he just doesn't feel like dealing with. What he gets at the end of his life is not what he expected though- he hardly knows his children, his wife divorced him for not being involved enough, and he could barely remember the last 50 years of his life.

I wonder what we miss when we long for the weekend or wish that time would fast forward? When we look at the clock at 10:00 and wish it was 1:00 so we can put the kids down for nap, or go on break at work? I wonder what life we miss out on living when we coast on cruise control Monday through Friday and don't take the scenic route till Saturday?  I wonder what we lose when we look forward instead of stay in the present, even if the present is hard or boring or just not where we want to be? Sure, some of you will say that you'd "miss" that super long and boring meeting at work, or that 30 minute melt down your 3 year old had in Walmart, or that long and awkward talk with that woman in the cube across from you or, etc. etc. But what you're really missing is your life. And in reality, you can't fast forward through it. Do you really want to?

The truth is, life is too short to live for tomorrows. I'm thankful I have life and breath today. That I get to hold my crying baby and witness my toddler's tantrums. Cause it will be tomorrow and my baby will be 17 and my toddler will be moving out to college.  This Monday is a day, just one day in my life. But I want this day. And I want all that God has for me this day- the things I would choose and the things that just come as a part of life. I'm not guaranteed another Monday so I'm sure not going to spend this one wishing it was over.

So happy Monday everyone! Live it up!

"This day is beautiful. I've never seen it before."- The great Maya Angelou