chickenfickle

tummy is upset

tasted so good going down

the bathroom is mad

I have a dog and he’s 11 years old now. I’ve noticed this year that he’s suddenly gray around his muzzle and he doesn’t act like a puppy anymore. Lately, he’s been enjoying the hellish heat and likes to just lay outside on the black driveway. I guess the air conditioning is too much for him. He sleeps late in the morning, spends most of his day asleep, and goes to sleep early. I’d like to come back as him in my next life except for one thing-he snores.

He’s always snored (and farted and chased cats) but this year, it has gotten really bad. I used to be able to say, Hey, Bailey, be quiet and he’d give out one last grunt and be done. But no more. He’s like a little old man who sleeps on a round cushion next to my side of the bed. I actually kicked him out a couple months ago. I put his bed outside our door. I slept like a baby for weeks. But slowly, he made his way back in. At first, he would lay inside the doorway, then he moved into the closet. I told Husband to put his bed in the closet but he didn’t want the clothes to smell of Eau de Canine. So Bailey has just been moving closer to his old spot, next to me. And over the past couple weeks we’ve had some bad storms and he seemed so sad, that when Husband moved his bed back in, I didn’t argue. I caved and let the snorer return.

But I can’t sleep at all. He serenades me with his snores, snorts, sniffs. I toss and turn all night. He sleeps great, that big stinky snorer. All snuggled in his bed, back in his spot, next to me. I finally fall asleep around 5am but I have to get up at 8 to get the girl to summer camp-he sleeps till 11! In fact, he’s sleeping right now. Grrr…..

Now, don’t get me wrong. He’s a great dog. He’s been with us for a long time, lived in all our houses, moved from one state to another. He tolerates #3 pulling his ears and tail. He’s a good watch dog, too. I know when the mail comes or the wind blows. But the snoring, oh, if they made those nose strips for dogs, I’d totally buy them. I’d wrap duct tape on his snout if I thought it would work. I looked online for some info and the suggestion was to stop smoking around your dog. It’s not like Bailey and I light up stogies together at night. Another was to get him a pillow to elevate his head. Shall I get him some pajamas, too? Perhaps a glass of warm milk? I just want him to stop snoring.

So what should I do? I could try to go sleep before him (not likely.) I could try some earplugs (that’s stupid, I know.) He’s 77 years old. He’s not going to change. But, I haven’t slept right since these three kids were born so I guess I can get through this, too. Sadly, I know he won’t be here much longer and then I’ll miss his snoring.

He was my first kid, after all.

So, a couple weeks ago, Husband put the kiddos to bed. When he was done, he came downstairs and told me that #2 had a little black spot on his tooth and wanted to know when he was due back at the dentist. I told him they were all going the following week but I would call the dentist in the morning to see if they wanted him in sooner. Okay, that satisfied Husband, end of conversation.

Next morning, I called the dentist. Hello Justine, this is #2’s mom. Husband saw a little black spot on his tooth but he’s due to come in next week. Can he wait or do you want him sooner? Justine told me that as long as it wasn’t bothering him, keep it clean and he could wait. Okay, that satisfied me, end of conversation.

That night, it was my turn to do the bedtime routine. Baby done, girl done, time for #2. I told him I wanted to see the little black spot. Well, I didn’t have to look hard. Why? Because it wasn’t a little black spot, it was a black hole. A giant gaping hole in my son’s tooth. Who would classify this as a black spot? I know who, that BLEEP.

I go downstairs. Husband is on couch with his i-something, watching tv. I sit next to him. I saw that little black spot you mentioned, I say. Oh? he says. Yep, except it’s not a little black spot, you BLEEP. It’s a giant gaping hole! Why didn’t you tell me it was so big? And not a spot, but a hole? He tells me he didn’t know what else to call it. Well, I know what to call you, you BLEEP. I called the dentist and told them it was a spot. Now I have to call them again and tell them it’s a hole. Now, I’m going to sound like a BLEEP.

Next morning, I call the dentist. Hello, Justine, it’s #2’s mom again. Um, seem to have made a small mistake. That little black spot, well, it’s actually a giant gaping hole. What? Bring him in today? Yes, his father will be happy to bring him in. And thanks for not calling me a BLEEP even though I know you are thinking it.

So Husband takes #2 to the dentist. After a half-hour, I call to see what’s happening. I figure that’s plenty of time to fill a cavity. Husband answers and I ask how things are going, did Dr. Pete fill the cavity? Husband says no, he didn’t have a cavity. What? What’s going on? Husband proceeds to tell me that #2, my first-born son, my little man, is being prepped for a root canal. I’m stunned. Can’t speak. But then I let out a bunch of BLEEPs. Apparently, the little black spot was so deep that once the dentist viewed the x-ray, he was afraid he would crack the tooth. So, a pulpotomy was the only way to save his baby tooth. BLEEP. Super BLEEP.

Finally, they arrive home. I grab #2’s head and check his eyes, ears, nose (because that somehow has something to do with a root canal) and then look at this mouth. Are you ok? How do you feel? #2 tells me the dentist put his tooth to sleep, his cheek feels funny and he wants to watch a cartoon. Husband looks at me and says he didn’t flinch at all. The dentist numbed his cheek and gums, then pulled out a giant needle, told him to look at the wall and shot him up with novocaine. Did the procedure and he never said a word. Well, good for him, but I got a couple words I’d like to say. And they all start with BLEEP.

So, let this be a cautionary tale to all you moms out there. When someBLEEP, tells you it’s a little black spot, don’t believe it. Don’t BLEEPin’ believe it.

Numbers are all around us. Our address, our social security number, how much we earn. You wake up at a certain time, you check the temperature, you watch the morning news on X channel. Time is important. Money is important. And they are all numbers. So it got me thinking, what number is important to me?

Is it my age? I wish I’d had kids earlier because they actually turned out pretty cool. But I’m not at death’s door quite yet. If I take care of myself, I’ll probably be good a little while longer.

Is it my weight? Of course that’s something I think about every day. I weigh myself when I get up and wish I were thinner. Maybe the two bedtime cupcakes weren’t such a good idea. But, no matter how much I try, I keep coming back to this weight, so I’m just going to be happy here.

Is it money? I stay at home with the kids so money is always on my mind. I feel like I should be contributing more, but then again, I watch three kids, I take care of the dog, I keep the house together, do the grocery shopping and the laundry, run the kids around, etc. And if I went back to work, then I’d have to put the two big ones in daycare after school and the little one in daycare all day and how much would that cost? And then I’d miss out on everything they do. They grow up too fast as it is so I’d rather be on a budget and get to enjoy them while I can.

So what is it? What’s my magic number? I guess the number is zero. Why? It represents infinite possibility. It’s in everything-years, names, science and math. It’s not worthless, far from it. Without zero, you wouldn’t have operator assistance, you wouldn’t have binary code, you wouldn’t have 100 calorie snacks.

Zero, my hero.

Ah, my old friend. When will our relationship be like it once was, when we were young? I miss you, you know. Sure, we’re together every day but it’s not like it was. There’s just not enough time and I admit, I’m often distracted and thinking of other things.

I remember when it was just the two of us and nothing else to do. Time was nonexistent. Then, there were three of us but that worked okay. We shared the same ideas and got along fine.

But now, well, things have changed. There’s work, kids, a house to take care of, other obligations. We don’t spend the same amount of time together that we used to and it’s hard because I feel like I need you now more than ever. And I think you miss me, too.

So, what do we do, old friend? When can we be the friends that we used to be? I’m waiting for the day that we will once again be the carefree couple from the old days, no worries, nothing in our way.

Until then, I’ll see you in my dreams.

Do your kids watch tv? Don’t lie and say no, how else would you have time to read compelling journalism like this or use the bathroom? Admit it, you use the electronic babysitter. I do and I don’t apologize for it. My kids have learned a foreign language thanks to the tv! They can cook! They are up to date on news of the world and the best cleaners for stubborn, greasy stains! All those people who say their kids don’t watch tv either have a nanny or a really messy house or a huge bladder. Now, don’t misunderstand. I enjoy spending time with my kids and doing things with them. We’ve had a lot of fun this summer going new places and doing lots of projects. The older they get, the more fun they are. But, sometimes, just sometimes, I need a break. A little “momtime” if you will. And so, I turn the tv on. And I turn myself off.

So, why call this blog “chickenfickle”? Well, there’s a story behind it (there’s always a story, isn’t there?) When my middle son was younger, he couldn’t pronounce the name of a well-known Southern chicken restaurant. He called it Chickenfickle and the name just stuck.