I choose gratitude

My former co-worker had this theory about Tuesday. It's the worst day. Upon consideration, I have to agree. Yeah, Monday is hard, but maybe you're still holding onto a shred of optimism: This could turn out to be a great week! But Tuesday it sets in: It's going to be a difficult, ordinary week, and there's still a lot of it left.

It's fitting that a day like the one I had yesterday would go down on a Tuesday. It started as usual with, "Paul, PAUL, hurry up and get your backpack and get in the car. We're going to be late!"

I don't know how I haven't gotten it together by this point in the school year, much less this many years of transporting my kids to school, but it's like this a solid 85 percent of the time.

There was a short lull before the day's big attraction, taking Gus to have cavities filled. We had already had failed experience trying to have the fillings done at our regular dentist. He made a huge blunder in actually showing Gus the needle (what?) and saying, "It's time for a mosquito bite!" (Gus happens to have quite a bug phobia - very bad choice of words.)

The appointment ended quickly with a referral to a pediatric dentist. Two weeks ago, we took Gus to his initial exam with the new dentist. They did an x-ray for the first time, and we discovered that Gus has not only the four cavities we thought; he actually has cavities between nearly all his teeth. I absorbed this news with a potent mix of shock, shame and humiliation. What kind of parent lets this happen?

Here's how it is. Yes, we let Gus eat treats, but not wantonly. We allow few sugary beverages. We brush Gus's teeth for him but were blasé about flossing. 

In truth, I never gave flossing my kids' teeth much serious thought. How was I supposed to be expected to get my big adult hands in their tiny mouths to floss? I kind of hate this argument, but here I go. My parents never flossed my teeth; I didn't start flossing until adulthood, and I turned out okay (yes, I actually really hate when people say this, but that's a topic for another post). What's the worst could happen? Maybe a few cavities. Or a mouthful. Believe you me, ever since, Mark and I have been working our big adult hands into Gus's tiny mouth for nightly flossing.

In order to get Gus's dental work done, we had to sedate him. Per instructions, an hour before his appointment I crushed the pills - Valium - and mixed them with chocolate syrup. I was relieved when the whole process worked fairly smoothly. I kept watching the clock waiting for Gus to be, you know, sedate. Turns out he just acts like his normal self and staggers a bit drunkenly. Figures.

When we arrived at the dentist, I pinched the bridge of my nose as an employee detailed for me what the fillings would cost. She politely informed me that Gus's dental insurance coverage for the year had been exhausted with this first appointment (the work would be done over two), so the second one would be much more expensive. Plus I had uncertainty hanging over my head. If today didn't go well, the dentist said he'd have to do the work in a hospital. Sweet Jesus, what would that cost?

Much to my relief, with the help of nitrous oxide on the dentist's part and prolific use of bribes on mine, Gus came through the appointment quite well. I felt a little vindicated in my guilt when the dentist informed me that Gus's tooth enamel is extremely soft, hence the vulnerability.

I should have basked in making it through this trial, but later that afternoon at the grocery store I mentally pinched the bridge of my nose as I watched the tally of my bill grow. Let me tell you, it is not cheap to feed a family of five.

I hightailed it home, threw the frozen food in the freezer and rushed to picked up Paul. Gus sweetly informed Paul that I'd bought him lunch at McDonald's, and Paul threw a huge fit. Yes, when it became apparent that Paul wanted to deck his brother, I actually pulled over the minivan and made Paul move so he was no longer sitting next to Gus. Good times.

I quickly unloaded and put away the rest of the groceries so I could get Ben to piano lessons in time. A quick trip to the bathroom, and there goes my leaky bladder again. Perfect timing. This is a remnant from Ben's birth. After two hours of pushing, my pelvic floor muscles will never recover, Kegel though I may.

On the way to piano, we are running late, natch. And I encounter the near-daily annoyance of someone going straight in the lane I want to use to turn right. I must wait. Curse you, thoughtless person and stupid intersection of Midway and Oneida! On the way home, Gus falls asleep, ensuring that it will be difficult for him to nod off at night. Oh well, I turn on WPR, and it's pledge week. Pledge week? Again?! Could this day get any worse?

I manage to get supper on the table, and after that I'm exhausted, spent. I'm grumpy. I indulge in a little whining.

But at the end of the day I chose to feel gratitude. Medical bills suck. We've had a lot this year: Paul's ordeal, an MRI for Mark, now Gus. I don't want to spend our money on them. But here's the thing, we can pay our medical bills, and we have decent insurance to help. That sets us apart as luckier than many.

Mark has a good job that supports our family. My days are full, but our bellies are full, too, because we can afford groceries. You can't take that kind of good fortune for granted in times like these.

I have healthy kids. Paul is well, and I am so, so thankful for this even when he gets on my last nerve with his whining. 

And my pelvic floor muscles? What does it matter, when out of the deal, I got Ben? He's been practicing "Für Elise" for his piano recital and sounds amazing.

So that's it. I choose gratitude. Not a bad conclusion to reach on a Tuesday night, especially during pledge week.

Good God, man, relax your face!

When Ben was a baby, his aunt, uncle and cousins always commented that he had a "concerned look" on his face. Eleven years later, not much has changed. More often than not, my oldest goes around with a scowl on his face.

It wasn't always this way. Ben enjoyed a lot of smiley years. I suspect it's the preteen angst that's brought on this resurgence of concerned face. Like every other middle-schooler, I'm sure Ben is battling insecurity and the hardship of dealing with lame parents and their even lamer nagging. 

Of course, I lecture Ben about social graces. Frowny-face is especially a problem when he's consorting with adults. Ben and I have been helping with the running club at the elementary school. The coach, who's also Paul's teacher, stopped to chat with us the other day. She was giving Ben tips about how he could help the kids even more. Through the whole conversation, he glowered and mumbled, eyes cast toward the ground.

I wanted to scream, "Good God, man, relax your face!" 

When we got in the car, I reminded Ben about the importance of making eye contact with people. Just try to smile a little bit, I urged. It makes people feel good. I'm sure he promptly filed it under annoying advice from Mom. 

I know that Ben is experiencing a whole internal storm right now, one that will only intensify. I try to tread lightly with him, but some days I manage to step in it despite my best intentions. 

One particular morning, I was trying to pack Ben's lunch and realized he had (once again) left his lunch bag at school. "Could you have left your lunch bag at school?" I queried mildly.

Suddenly Ben went all Mr. Hyde on me. "I didn't leave it at school! It was probably Paul who left his at school," he yelled.

Admittedly, sometimes I'm spoiling for a fight with Ben. I dig in my heals, engage him when I shouldn't. This wasn't one of those times. I was truly puzzled, and I stewed about it. It's often hard for me to let go of my annoyance after an altercation with Ben, but not so for him. Soon after, it was like nothing had ever happened. Hard as it is sometimes, I think I need to take advantage of this and let it go, too.

Undeniably Ben is at that socially awkward stage, but sometimes he manages to surprise. At his spring conference, I was reminded how kids can be completely different people at school. His science teacher told us how well Ben did on his oral report on vaccines. Most kids constantly look at their notes, but Ben did a great job engaging the audience. Our Ben? Ben Thiel? Perhaps there's hope yet.

Genuine smiles are rare these days. They're mostly reserved for moments of levity between Ben and his best friend, Ben. Every once in a while, though, he breaks into a huge grin, dimples and all, and it's like the sun has come out on a cloudy day. It's addictive, and I want to find ways to get him to do it more often.

Ben's always been a little nervous about rides, but at the Mall of America on Monday, Mark persuaded him to ride the biggest rollercoaster. He was nervous, probably couldn't have done it if not for the short line. But afterward, he wore the biggest smile I've seen in a long time. More. I want more of that.

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I wanted to share a quick update about Paul. We had his appointment with the pediatric neurologist a week and a half ago. The doctor, who was fantastic, explained that Paul has a condition called benign epilepsy with centrotemporal spikes. It's often characterized by seizures that occur either at sleep onset or upon waking.

The news is mostly good, in that Paul will most likely outgrow the condition by the time he's a teen-ager. Paul's chances of having another seizure are about 40 percent, and unless he has another one, we don't need to medicate.

This was a hard time, but in a way it's good to be able to put a name to Paul's condition. I don't imagine that a clear EEG would have provided much more comfort. 

Thanks, everyone, for all your care, concern and support.