It’s No Cheap, Showy Trinket
The last time I felt truly good about myself (for all the wrong reasons) was about three weeks ago when I took my children to the dentist. We arrived clean, pressed, on time and with shoes. I flossed everyone until their gums bled, and I used my own bleaching toothpaste on their pearlies to make them gleam.
Everyone sat perfectly still for their X-rays, and I did not drug them with dye-free Benadryl. Nobody cried, flailed, spit, kicked an adult, shot a foul-tasting flouride stream across the room or asked an inappropriate question about a dental hygienist’s undergarment.
As far as anyone could tell, we fit in the box this day. Was the box of behavior, decorum and cleanliness somehow wide enough for us, or did we cram into it inexplicably?
We all know the answer.
Yet it was a strange feeling, I tell you, to fit in that box–even if only for a moment. And a dangerous one, too, because I honestly felt this swell of unhealthy pride. I actually looked for a moment with disdain at another little boy slathered in post-lunch ketchup beaming Legos at stuffed animals in the waiting room.
His mama didn’t pack two extra shirts in the van; she should know better.
Behold the Fall.
Today our horseback riding teacher called to say we were simply not stable enough on the horse and would need to find some true Hippotherapy. And then right before football practice, two of us smeared pokeberry juice on our cheeks and foreheads because we were urchin Indians. Then we swung from a poison ivy vine.
(Apparently this can happen if you read Oliver Twist followed by Last of the Mohicans.)
Then one brother pulled another brother’s tooth a bit prematurely. There was a lot of blood for a time.
Fast-forward to the part of the day when one child could not bear to look upon a gremlinish face carved into some wooden tree trunk tchotchke at a local Cracker Barrel, and unbeknownst to the parent, walked across the parking lot with his eyes closed, and ran smack dab into the Town & Country with a thud that sounded like an anvil had fallen on the van.
Because his guardian angels are so diligent, he emerged with only a large forehead bruise. Still, this is “way-outside-the-box” kinda stuff.
I still look back on that day of dental greatness with a wistful sigh. It was a stellar day. Yet then I remember that God made my children the way they are for an incredibly specific reason. And I embrace that, and them, and Him.
And after the excitement of today, just when I am growing weary of my “plight” that is truly a blessing and looking with longing toward my peers in the box, my dear blogging friend Mrs. Bear at Out Numbered Two to One comes to my self-concept rescue with this fine award:
Yes! Now I finally can use the word “ass” on my blog without offending. Maybe.
And I get to choose 5 others:
Go ye forth!
4. Weenuts
5. Another Piece of the Puzzle
If I didn’t pick you, it was probably because I didn’t think you would be comfortable with the word “ass” peppering your blog. You know who you are!
Rules are meant to be broken, but here they are anyway:
1. Choose 5 bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers”.
2. Let ‘em know in your post or via email, twitter or blog comments that they’ve received an “Award!” Share the love and link back to both the person who awarded you and back to www.mammadawg.com.
3. Hop on back to the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky then pass it on!
Fun times!
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