Monday Madness

Let it be known that yesterday I was blindfolded, gagged, gassed and shot--all before my third diet Coke. Indeed, it was a busy day. Not only did I have an appointment with a man in a surgical mask, I also had an expectant child awaiting the delivery of 'Ben Ten' birthday cupcakes at his school. By 8 am it was already shaping up to be one of those guilt ridden, painful Mondays. Somehow I'd managed to schedule a dental implant at the same time as my son's lunch--the optimal time to bring goodies for birthdays. And as fate would have it, for the first time ever, my son actually told me that he wanted me to be there. He wanted me...around. Grrr

But this specialist is only in town once a month and I've already gone toothless (well, without one molar to be exact) for three months. What's a girl to do? Compromise, of course. I am woman, hear me roar! -Or drive like a bat out of hades, whatever. I raced with my two youngest to the grocer, swept up the cupcakes, charged through the express lane to pay. Super mom was on her way! However, my son's teacher had other ideas, popping my grandiose plans in the rear with a sharp tack. Apparently serving cupcakes right before P.E. isn't the trend. I would like to start one though, cupcakes all around. I'll bring enough for the entire school and then we can spend the rest of the day covered in red, green and blue frosting.

One stern look from the school secretary landed me right back into humdrum reality, and defeated, I left the cupcakes for the unwavering teacher to pass out at lunch with one screaming two year old swung over my shoulder, and a four year old repeatedly asking why we couldn't see 'big brother'.

Feeling like the worlds worst mother, I dropped my two youngest at a friends and drove--slowly this time-- to the dentists. And that's where I was assaulted. They claimed the blindfold was to keep 'the flying bits' from getting into my eyes. The flying bits? As in my gum and bone? Disgusting. And the nitrous oxide I had refused? Well, the good doc seemingly thought I was wound too tight. Blindfolded, I didn't see it coming. Next thing I knew, I was sucking in laughing gas, tingly all over. About seven shots of novocain later, a wad of gauze they'd shoved into my mouth, shifted, and I was suddenly oxygen starved. Arms and legs flailing, clearly indicating I couldn't breathe, the dentist had the audacity to calmly cease his constant drilling and asked in a bored voice what the problem seemed to be. 

As if I could answer. My mouth was wedged open, full of what felt like rubber blocks, steel clamps and rolls of toilet paper. Eventually they dug enough out that I was able to breath again and demand they remove the laughing gas.  

The rest, as they say, is history. I left the office an hour later with an ice pack pressed to my cheek and what I affectionately refer to as 'dead face'. You know, where you're so numb you drool out of one side of your mouth because your lips aren't quite as closed as you thought they were. A few hours later I was in pain, but after being such a crummy mom, I figured I deserved it. 

By three pm I was almost in tears, worried about how my absence at lunch had psychologically damaged my son. I'd resigned myself to the fact that he'll need therapy for abandonment issues later in life. Does our insurance cover that kind of thing? I'll have to check.

After school, he crawled into the car and I asked the question I ask everyday, dreading the answer this time. "How was your day, honey?" and his response? "Great, how's your mouth?" In shock, I almost drove off the road into the side of the school. Wounded complaints were expected. A tantrum, snotted tears, snide comments. But empathy? As it turns out, my eleven year old son is starting to grow up.