Turns Out We are Dirty People

O. My. Word.
Do I have a Not Me story for y’all!
I started out the week telling you how my teeth have a low self esteem. And then I spent two hours in The Chair yesterday. I survived.
Well. I want my kids to have healthy teeth too and positive feelings about their dental hygiene experience, so I took them to their bi-annual visit this week also.
I find this nearly as bad as taking myself to the dentist.
Because you know who they blame when your children have cavities.
Oh goody, more Mom guilt. Thankyouverymuch.
In my wildest imagination, I prepared myself for 10 cavities each. 
I said wildest.
I wanted to go there mentally, just in case. I like dealing with worst-case-scenarios head on.
So. 
It was much worse than I feared.
I mean, so bad, I might need counseling or a beer. (Which is saying a lot, the beer part, anyway. Former Pastor’s wife, remember? And I get tipsy with Nyquil).
Oh, no, my kids didn’t have 10 cavities, they had……………….
wait for it…………………..
None. Not one. Totally clear, beautifully clean teeth.
But apparently that’s nothing because by the look on the hygienist’s face, I knew there was something else.
She quietly leaned in and said for adult ears only, 
“Your daughter has lice.”
Let’s just let that nugget sink in.
Um, no thank you, my kids don’t get lice.
L.I.C.E.
As in little bugs in the head region.
Discovered by a dental hygienist. 
Turns out my deep conviction that only dirty people get lice is not true.
Or is it?
Thank God for over-the-counter hair pesticide.
On the bright side, I’ve learned there’s much more to fear than a simple visit to the dentist.
And now it’s your turn to fill up my comment section about all the times your children have had lice. This will make me feel normal, less dirty and possibly make me stop scratching imaginary bugs. So, go ahead, tell me how you boiled your sheets, stood your family in a line like gorilla’s to check each other’s heads, used the tiny, fine-toothed comb….hello?  Anyone there?  
H-e–ll-ooooooo……..
P.S. We caught it very early and only had to fumigate my daughter. Turns out it was going around in her class. Who knew? But still, y’all: lice. Oooh.

Playing House {Sincerely ‘Fro Me to You}

I’m joining Hooked on Houses because I’m hooked on fresh starts. And here’s to a beautiful life full of color at The Inspired Room.

2002
I grew up playing with dolls.
I enjoyed pretending I was a Mommy.
I tucked in my precious babies every night, whispering sweet words.
I loved playing house.
And then I got a house.
With my own real babies.
Two in two years.
And then I wasn’t playing any more.
When I look at this picture, I see past the precocious toddler stuffing her long-legged baby brother into her doll bed. Playing, pretending.
I see the gray.
It was the color of my soul.
Our circumstances helped shade my world. We were working at a church that didn’t honor us, both of us working several jobs because the first wasn’t honorable. 
My marriage held lies and secrets.
Loneliness was my shadow.
Depression my friend.
Money my need.
And then, God.
He became the light, the ray of Son to break up the darkness.
He delivered us from the dishonor.
He healed my broken marriage.
He met every financial need.
He colored my world.
 

And now red is so red. 
Green is very green.
Have you seen yellow?
I’m still playing house. 
Only this time, in color.
Food for the Soul:
John 8:12 “When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”


This is My Kind of Giveaway

*UPDATE* Wow, you guys really turn out for paper products. I’ll have to remember that. I’d like to congratulate Homemaker Chronicles and Running Amuck!

Y’all send me your email and I’ll get it to Broadway Paper!

Don’t forget to check back in on Monday for my biggest giveaway ever!
Stick around, I’m giving away two gift certificates!
I’m a list-maker.
I’m a Type A list -maker. {I write down what I’ve already completed, just so I can mark it off}.
I know. Gross, huh?
{Pretty sure I need to be medicated for it}.
And that’s why I fell in love with Broadway Paper: The paper store with so much more.
Because they sell this Sanity-Induced Shopping List:
And this Mood Tracker Mouse Pad {cracks me up}:
And I adore this List Me, Doodle Me Notepad, for when words fail….
These are just three of hundreds of items in this delightful paper store. There are also planners and calendars, invitations and announcements, delightful personalized items, pretty packaging and fun office supplies, plus many more categories!
Broadway Paper is giving away TWO $25 gift certificates to anything in the store. Two random winners will be chosen on Thursday. Leave a comment and tell me what you like!
For more great tips, visit Works for Me Wednesday.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go mark down my mood.

The Dental Chair

I’m having some dental work done this week. 

A word of silence, please.
Thank you.
I’m dreading the dental chair. I wrote the following as a guest post last year, but I thought you might like to read it, considering my current frame of mind.
Also, I can’t type well when I grind my teeth:
I found a new dentist for my kids. He’s nice and his office staff is friendly and helpful. It’s a family dentistry practice. So, he treats kids and adults.
There’s a children’s waiting room with video games and toys. I have to force my children to play.
My husband liked the office so much, he became a patient. 
That’s nice. I wish I could.
Oh, I like everything about the dentist’s office. But I can’t join the rest of the family.
Why? My teeth have a low self-esteem.
It’s true. You might see me smile and think my teeth look nice. And, on the surface, you are right. But I have deep-seeded teeth issues.
As a child I was always the one with a cavity. My siblings would get their photos posted on the bulletin board because their teeth were perfect. Stupid bulletin board.
I didn’t lose my baby teeth either. So, in order for the tooth fairy to visit me, I had to have my teeth pulled at the dentist’s office. I remember once I had 8 teeth pulled in one day. There must have been a ‘pull one, get one free’ deal. 
I brushed, flossed. It didn’t matter. I got braces and went through dental torture in my teen years. I wore a metal head gear to Jr. high. 
I wish I was kidding.
So all of these factors probably contribute to my teeth feeling so inadequate. 
I’d really like to change dentists. 
But I won’t. I feel comfortable at my current dentist and that is saying a lot, considering my history. His office is dingy. He is old and doesn’t have any of the new equipment. His office staff is rude. It’s inconvenient and it’s hard to get an appointment.
And, there’s a bonus. He smokes. Yes, my dentist is a smoker. 
So, when he takes a peek at my pearly whites, and moves in for a close up, I get quite a whiff. This makes me happy. I mean, my olfactory senses are offended, but my teeth? 
They feel right at home.
I scoured the city for a crummy dentist. I feel comfortable opening my mouth and revealing my giant fillings and my splotchy teeth. I know he won’t expect much when he takes a look because between you and me, his teeth are nasty. We belong together.
The other day my hubby was raving about the ‘family dentist.’ Hello? Can he really be called the ‘family dentist’ when not all the family attends? He was encouraging me to switch. But I’ve seen his dentist. I’ve watched him work on my children’s teeth. He’s young. He’s handsome. And his teeth are beautiful.
I’d feel like such a tooth failure if I sat in his dental chair. One look in my mouth would tell him of my sad dental past.
When my current dentist looks into my mouth, do you know what he says?
“It looks good, I don’t see a thing wrong,” and he means it. He doesn’t want to change a darn thing.
And that makes me feel terrific.
How about  you? Do you fear the chair?

Just Send Me Your Therapy Bills

I think I’ve failed my children. {Not Me!}
You be the judge:
At breakfast this past weekend, something had obviously been bothering my son because in-between bites of scrambled eggs he said, “Mom, why didn’t you tell me I was a mammal? I didn’t find out until I was in Kindergarten.”
And considering he is now halfway through the first grade, I’d say he’s been holding this in.
For awhile.
If you were on Twitter, you probably followed this conversation. But I failed to mention my third grade daughter’s mammal input. She’s an expert.
“Well. It doesn’t even matter because You are not a mammal. You don’t feed your young milk from your body, do you?” she asked. “Plus, the dolphin is the smartest mammal.”
Well.
Strangely, that got me off the hook. 
And no, I didn’t even correct her. 
And it’s certainly NOT because I don’t know my mammal facts. 
I do. Really. I think.
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The night before, my kids were playing with action figures and I heard some smashing and crashing.
And then I heard this: “Oh, no, he fell. He is really hurt. He is really suffering!”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we’ll have to put the guy out of his misery since he’s hurt so bad.”
And then I heard all sorts of frightening sounds.
Um. No, my kids did not just euthanize a parachuting action figure.
I’ll just add that talk to my to do list.
But just in case there are permanent effects to this recent behavior, I’ll have them send their therapy bills to me.
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And if all that isn’t enough:
The hubby and I took the kids to see Paul Blart: Mall Cop at the theatre. It was funny and fairly family-friendly. Well, as much as gun-toting mall thugs can be. 
The highlight? My son proclaiming it “THE BEST MOVE EVER” and deciding to pursue mall-copping in college.
Pride. It’s all I feel, people.