Dentists and Rocks

I’ve got a lengthy to do list, filled with things I have no desire to do. Partly because I’m a slacker and partly because the items in question necessitate phone calls, making appointments, paperwork, trips to out of the way offices, and lengthy wait times. Like renewing the Gort’s now-expired passport; getting the baby a passport of his own; finding a dentist; making appointments with said dentist.

Blech.

But the guilt over my slackerness has gotten to me, so I’ve started making a dent in the list. I’ve found a dentist. I made appointments. For those of us with teeth.

I called a dentist who’d been recommended to me, only to receive an earful from the receptionist, named Muriel. Something about $100 charges to my credit card if I don’t show up for an appointment. But sheesh, I wasn’t going to find another dentist after the little bit of effort I’d invested. So I agreed to the ‘terms of use’ and made my appointments.

The phone rang yesterday morning. It was the dentist’s receptionist. ‘Nicola!’ she announced when I picked up the phone. ‘It’s Muriel’. As if we were friends. As if I might actually know (without the benefit of caller ID) who Muriel would be. She was calling to cancel my appointment because the dentist was sick. Right as she suggested alternate dates, the two year old and the baby started screaming bloody murder. It’s ‘funny’ how they pick the most inopportune times for meltdowns. With a quarter of my attention fixed on Muriel’s instructions, and the rest on shushing the boys and making scary faces so they’d behave, I rescheduled the appointment. After I hung up, I ran to the computer – for fear of that looming $100-charge-for-derelict-patients – to make the change on the calendar.

I was sitting at the computer, making the changes on my gmail calendar, when my oldest walked into the office. ‘Henners is doing something he’s not supposed to,’ he reported. Just what every mother likes to hear when she’s trying to get stuff done.

So I walked into the living room, where I found my second son sitting on the cushion-less stuffed armchair. (He’d removed the seat cushion and tossed it on the floor.) He was in the process of carefully dropping small polished stones (yet another bad buy!) into the opening between the back and base of the chair.

Trillions of little pebbles had already been dropped into the chair’s bowels. Never to be retrieved, unless we disassemble it in the future. Now, when you scoot the chair around on the carpet, it makes a lovely clinking sound. A comfy chair complete with sound effects.

Well at least the rocks won’t be strewn on the carpet and floor any more.

Once I’d put the youngest two down for a nap, I got busy preparing my new favorite lunch: warm chocolate chip cookies with a dollop (a large dollop) of vanilla ice cream, a drizzle (a substantial drizzle) of caramel sauce. And a warm cup of coffee on the side.

I’m of the opinion you can get through almost any kind of trial if you have such a meal to look forward to. Even screaming kids, ill dentists and rocks in your chair.

Unfortunately the ice cream was just about finished. Which means my dollop was on the small side, especially once I’d set aside a portion for the professor. It was an unselfish act of love, saving him that dollop. Because I really wanted it. I contemplated eating it before he returned from the kindergarten run. Surely he’d be happy with just a cookie or five.

But I didn’t. Rather Mother Theresa-esque of me, I thought.

4 thoughts on “Dentists and Rocks

  1. Can I just say that I love the word “slackerness”??? Seriously. I think I’ve found a new fave word.

    And can I also just say that Henners reminds me SOOOO much of my Silas. I KNEW there was something about that boy that I adore. Remind me to show you the egg picture sometime. You know- the time when Silas thought it would be fun to throw 18 raw eggs against the wall and on the kitchen floor.

    No time for slackerness in our household.

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