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.