Archive | January, 2011

Sweet face and an empty space

28 Jan

At 7.5 Alex finally lost his very first tooth lost naturally.  Does that make sense?  He had one pulled a long long time ago and has a spacer and now he lost one of his lower front teeth.  He was both elated and disgusted by the sensory aspects of the experience and as he was sleeping in my room he suggested that we leave the tooth in the kitchen for the Toothfairy as she is “THE” Toothfairy and would know where to look.   Love his logic!

Here’s my baby boy:

I was just thrilled he finally lost one as on the morning of the day that he announced his tooth was loose I was telling his Dad that we need to make another dentist appointment for him and I was worried that he hadn’t yet started losing his baby teeth.  I lost my first one at a restaurant in Provincetown, MA at age 5.  It fell out in a bowl of rice and my mom cut apart each piece of rice to try to find it.  Baby teeth really are tiny and somewhat rice like.

The second tooth, that I lost, happened in school.  I was in Miss Kelly’s class:

(I’m in the back row, third from the right…Blond with bangs)…

We were having show and tell and I brought in these nifty German handpuppets- I believe one was a fox and the other was a bunny.  I still have them- they are those stuffed creatures with the little button/earring -Steiff makes them…

Anyway, I did not like having attention paid to me by the whole class at once.  The idea scared the daylights out of me then and now.  It’s probably good that I veered away from teaching after a rocky start in my studies.

So my tooth came out right before I was supposed to go on.  I didn’t want to call attention to my predicament so I went on as scheduled and pretended to do voices for my puppets (which isn’t really something I ever had done as I wasn’t big on making them have conversations aloud). Mumbly voices- one high pitched and one lower.

I can’t remember what I made them say but I do remember feeling relieved when my time was up and we headed out of the building to the playground.  The playground had a jumpy bridge- planks of wood connected by chain that rattled and bounced when a kid would jump on it.  The jumpy bridge was always my first hurdle on the playground.  If I could stand in the middle and jump a couple of times then I could definitely stand at the top of the fire pole intending to slide down but never doing it because aside from the swings, I was not a fan of having nothing under my feet for even a brief moment.  I remember that I would smell my hands after grabbing the pole so hard that my palms were a shock of white and reddish pink.  The smell was metallic and to this day when I smell that watery metallic smell I’m right back there at the top of the pole, not feeling defeated because I knew I would try again the next day.

The little slide was wet so I turned around and went back over the bouncy bridge.  I stopped in the middle and jumped and gulp.

I swallowed and as I swallowed I remembered that I still was concealing that little tooth in my mouth and down it went.

I thought I was going to barf.  I worried that there would be a scene if I did and then the janitor would come and sprinkle that weird Pepto Bismol pinkish dust on my embarrassing puddle of barf and tooth.  I always thought that the Pepto Bismol would have helped more if they gave it to kids before they barfed but now I know it’s not really Pepto Bismol, but it was that weird pink.  That weird Pepto Bismol meets 1980’s ceramic bathroom fixture mauve-y pink.  It’s also the color of the upholstery on the exam tables in many OB/GYN offices. Not that I have been to enough to really extrapolate with any accuracy.  Maybe it’s just a coincidence that the offices I have been to, and pretty much everywhere I have been that medically deals with human vaginae, hospitals, offices, etc…, prefers that color.


Oh the tooth.

So I freaked a little.  I was very upset about the tooth and my face, normally a vibrant pink blush, had taken on such pallor that the teacher did send me to the nurse.

I didn’t confess anything to her.  I liked her. She was a good school nurse, very kind and a good listener. I was the weird kid so I spent some time in her office at least once a week. Not because I was sickly or anything, I was just strange and preferred talking to adults if I had the choice.

I did confess to my mother.  I was upset that because I had not swallowed by pride but I had swallowed my tooth.  I had this dreadful sense that The Toothfairy would not be making a stop at our home in the woods because there was no tooth under a pillow to beckon her.   I thought putting the tooth under my pillow was kind of like the Batman Signal being activated.  No tooth, no signal, no toothfairy money or little five piece pack of Trident.

So I wrote a letter, hoping it would help.  I even included my phone number in case she needed directions or had to send someone else for this particular unusual case.  I was hoping that she could accommodate me and the tooth that was somewhere in my guts, hopefully avoiding my appendix.  I had just reread the Madeline book where she gets her appendix out and I was a bit concerned.

You can tell how truly upset I was because my spelling was abysmal.  I was reading at an adult level at age 5 and my spelling was pretty good thanks to the Stephen King that I was reading (that no child should ever read).

Here’s my letter:

and here is a self portrait.  Rainbow dress and high heels at 5 years old…  I think that style wise I was the opposite of me now.  Now I’m all about jeans, black v-neck, charcoal grey hooded sweater/cardigan/fleece… Don’t worry, I’m my own best customer and I almost always have some fantastic glowing piece of my art on me somewhere.  But here’s how I saw me in first grade:

Bright colors and all girly and smiling huge.  Clearly this was before the 2nd grade destruction of self-esteem.  But we’ll get to that another time.

I hope you have enjoyed my little tour of the tooth of my youth.

If you have a funny loose tooth memory please share in the comments or blog and post a link in the comments here!

Happy Weekend!

Oh and there are a couple of new pieces up in my shop just clickety click here!




It’s January. Time for Honeybells and Resolutions…

26 Jan


Of course I had a blogging explosion planned for the new year.

Really. I did.

I was going to start on the first and make it a regular, daily habit. No! Really! I am serious.

What is it that “they” say about the best laid plans? And about life is what happens while you are planning on blogging and doing all sorts of healthy things in this brand new sparkling fresh year? Yeah. Those things they just gassed it up and ran me right over.

So here I am. It’s almost February. I definitely proved my own theory, at least for myself, this year that January 1st should not mark the arduous attempts to adhere to new and risky diets, epic exercise, serial dating, and quitting your job immediately because you definitely want a new one in the new year. I think the angst and the self loathing and the eventual abandonment of all of one’s best intentions in a new calendar year could be avoided and all of us could achieve more of our self-improvements if we looked at New Year’s Eve as a declaration of changes and then utilized January to do the legwork to make long term changes in our lives and have them stick.

When I finally quit smoking (years ago. That is a story for another time) I kept reminding myself what the hypnotist thing at the Ramada Inn up north told me- it takes 21 days to start a new habit or really break an old one. I remind myself of that every time I start digging my heals in, clenching my jaw until my teeth threaten to crack, and clawing at the air. I’m not good with change. In retrospect, as in way after the change happens, I’m awesome at the whole change thing and shifting gears. In the immediate moment though, and when the change is facilitated in some way by another person, yeah I’m like a cartoon cat someone is trying to put in the bathtub.

Numbers sooth me. That concept of 21 days works wonders. Other number things that help me: I can do anything for 1 year. Tomorrow is another day (specifically in x number of hours I get to start fresh).

So January has a few more than 21 days. Not a problem. That first week, for me, is used to analyze my by behaviors that triggered the issue that made me declare such a related resolution at midnight. Come on, none of us get squishy and chunky and lose our various drives- creative and otherwise- overnight, and unless someone is force feeding us deep friend candy bars on an hourly basis, there is some reason as to why we wind up where we wind up.

Last year I ripped apart the things that were stopping me from being active in my life. None of the information helped me be more active during that long and painful 365, but it did help me find the answers to try a few new ideas to manage my rheumatoid arthritis and to be in my life again. I learned that I have a genetic oops that impacts the way I should be eating and the foods that cause extreme fatigue and anemia that I must avoid, and I learned that my son has the same disorder (it’s passed along on the x chromosome) so we can hopefully guide his health future away from the various sinkholes that riddle my past. So we adjusted our pantry, our diet, and learned to make our own breads and many things that are considered staples. I identified my needs from relationships in that year and learned to speak up for myself and I learned to stop holding on and certain people are like one-off experiences and transient, rather than permanent (yet dynamic) fixtures in my life.

So here I am, on my journey, not quite skipping along, but at least I’m out of bed, somewhat alert, and hammering out a few words today.

I’ve learned to stop calling my journey “epic”, because it is just a journey with some epic portions, but as a whole it’s not as seemingly endless as the word epic would make one believe. I have learned that anything that I’m thinking of as epic is a beast of a gnarled and prickery vine, thick as a thigh, that needs to come down immediately and be put through the chipper. Chips are an entirely more manageable thing than a beastly vine. Chips I can deal with. Chips I can sort through, examine the ones that need a closer look, and then use the wood chips from all those worries to fuel bigger things in my life that need that energy.

Does that make sense? I wish I could draw better. This stuff is all very visual and graphic for me, but I can barely hold a pencil these days, so I’ll just type it as best as I can.

Anyway, so I have a pile of “chips” in front of me and I’m busy sorting them one by one. I have decided to stop putting things off because it’s time to take care of me too instead of keeping everyone else’s ducks in a row. I won’t sweep these bits off the table into a shoebox because we are expecting my mother, our appliance repair guy, or the condo people. No more. I spend so much time analyzing my communication, my behavior, so I don’t Aspie-offend anyone. Too many who should, don’t bother with patience or kindness or giving the benefit of the doubt. I’m done wasting my time trying to be nice, I’m just going to be me (which, rumor has it, is pretty nice but isn’t meek and has quite a helping of smartass).

Things have to change this year. Things are changing this year. I’m losing too much of me and that’s not ok because I finally have the me part figured out. At least, after 26 days into the testing ground of 2011, the resolution sandbox, I know that much.  I know that this year, I’m not going to lose the resolution game, as I have been training and compiling resources and I’m ready to hit the ground running for distance rather than with the spirit of a sprint.

That’s all I have got for now, folks.


Mean Green Mama from Outer Space

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