The following post was first drafted in 2015. It's too amusing not to share even at this late sate. No names were changed to protect the innocent. You'll see why.

We got our teeth cleaned today, the boy and me. The appointment date was written on the calendar in blood. Let me explain.

Last year before kindergarten began, Eddie had to get his teeth cleaned. Because it's what you do before school starts. He went when he turned four, and he went six months later, so he had been twice, but for some reason his five-year-old cleaning was the most traumatic event in his young life. He screamed, begged, pleaded, and cajoled. It was like I had taken him to rehab. At one point I physically attempted to place him in the dental chair, which was a huge mistake. When cornered he possesses the strength of a young rhino. After said fiasco, young Edward was put on restriction for a week; no TV, no outside time, no family dinner on Sunday. A week later, his grandmother volunteered to take him, because she is a saint. And I am a coward. He got his teeth cleaned, but it was not a day at the beach.

Six months later I get a phone call. It was the dentist's office. Crap.
"It's time for Eddie's cleaning," the scheduler whispered. "I thought maybe...he might...want to see a pediatric dentist." Basically we got kicked out of the dentist's office. Told to seek other options. Maybe a veterinarian. They do it with sedatives, right?

So I planned to call pediatrics and make an appointment. But then there was that scandalous news story about the pediatric dentist that yanked kids teeth out willy nilly and kids were getting injured. And it reminded me how much I love my dentist.

So I did the responsible thing and waited an extra six months. Because I'm a coward. And we went today. It was wonderful. We got a hygienist who was totally a kid person, went at Eddie's pace and asked him about himself, treated him like a tiny person. And miraculously the rhino stayed hidden. Eddie even earned his own latex gloves and mask and assisted with my cleaning. He did the suction straw. And I am uninjured. Thanks, Dr. Hanna's office!

Crazy Rude

My kids are not allowed to say butt or fart. My in-laws mock me, but I'm responsible for what they say, and to me, it doesn't make much sense to teach them to say please and thank you and use their manners and then allow them to use crude words. We try to keep it classy. Soap box moment over.

So Eddie asked me yesterday, "Mom, does (insert name of kid friend) know Jesus?"

"I'm not sure. I think so, buddy."

"But he says butt." Wait, what?

"Well, just because someone uses words that are crude, that doesn't mean they don't know Jesus."

"What does crude mean?"

"It's a word that means crazy rude. Put those words together and you get crude." I am a genius.

So after the initial shock of this conversation wore off, I was horrified. I'm teaching my child to be judgmental and be critical of others and question their relationship with God based on the words they use. How did this happen? How do I undo this? Time to freak out, Momma.

And then I started to really digest the six-year-old logic behind the questions. How better to judge people than by what they say? He didn't ask why this kid looks a certain way or how smart he is or what cartoons he likes or how many toys he has. He wanted to know about his heart. What a powerful and pure motive for a little kid to have. And not only was he asking about his friend's heart, but he asked based on what he knows he should not do, the rules that have been laid out for him. Now, not everyone is governed by a crazy puritanical mother, so we discussed how different kids have different rules and that's okay. But he is expected to follow our rules.

What a great reminder though to be careful what you say. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. Even kids get that. So watch it, people. My kid will hear you and want to talk about it. And then you end up on my blog.

Summer Wrap-Up

Well, technically I never "wrapped in," so how can I wrap up? There have been no blog posts in almost a year. It's a travesty. I mean, come on! I suppose I should summarize the year.

Here are the highlights. A few months into kindergarten, Eddie's teacher thought he was having seizures. Scary as hell. I took the poor kid to the doctor twice for two separate instances, and she said it's a highly dangerous lapse of attention called "zoning out." My kid was bored since everything at the beginning of the year is review and we spent the summer doing homeschool. So I learned my lesson. No learning all summer. It is verboten.

But eventually school got interesting and he quit counting ceiling tiles. And finished kindergarten at the top of his class. Eat dust, other five-year-olds!

I guess that's only two highlights. My memory is not what it used to be.

So Eddie's starting first grade in a few weeks, and I've still got Moira at home because she's not four until October. I have no idea what I'm going to do with this kid. It's like I can't even remember what life was like before summer break and she had a constant playmate. Ugh. If anyone else with little kids wants to get together after school starts, please let me know. I'm desperate.

What Jesus Says About Ebola

I hate watching the news. I seriously hate it. There is always something stupid happening somewhere, and I never feel better after having heard about it. So while I'm on the treadmill at the gym where my viewing options are limited, I watch ESPN. It doesn't stress me out. I would much rather worry about which NFL teams have injured players than worry about Isis or Ebola. Either way, it's not something I can control.

But there is literally no way to escape from Ebola madness. And I'm the type of person that worries. I think anyone who has kids instantly becomes prone to worrying about scary things we can't control. But I can really work myself up into a fine frenzy bordering on panic. And Ebola is not here. I have had no contact with it. There is no way my family can catch it now. And yet the worry. Because every new development, relevant or not, is instantly on cable news. 

I asked my husband why. Why does the media get people so worked up when very few people actually have any need to be cautious right now? And he reminded me that the news media doesn't actually get paid to report the news. They get paid to sell advertising space. And fear-mongering sells. People watch because they're too scared not to, and watching just makes them more afraid.

While whipping myself up a fresh batch of worry yesterday, I wondered what God would want me to do with all this information. What does Jesus say about Ebola? Right. Well, in that case, what does he say about worry? So I did a quick Google search and got slapped with the red letters. Here's what he says:

"And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" Matthew 6:27

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." John 14:27

"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me." John 14:1

"I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." John 16:33

And this is just what Jesus said. There are plenty of other verses I could reference, but I really wanted to hear from Jesus. 

So the Bible says very little about parenting (believe me, I've looked), but there are a multitude of verses dealing with worry, It's such a natural human thing to be anxious over things we can't control in life, and things we may never even have to deal with. It comes down to this: we can either live in fear and pass that fear on to our children, teach them to worry by sheer example and make sure they think that the world is a scary place, or we can enjoy our lives and our families the way God intended and trust Jesus, our deliverer. That's the example I want my kids to see.

Brave New Hypocrite

For those of you who don't know (basically everyone who does not speak to my mother on a regular basis), we've made the difficult decision to send Eddie back to private school this fall. We never expected to change our minds about homeschooling, but I am confident that the right choice was made. And now for a moment of silence.

Basically, he has become a giant ball of clingy fury since summer started. We changed churches over the summer and made a few other changes, and it's just more than he can handle. Plus he misses his friends and teachers. He thrived in preschool. We enjoyed learning at home, and he is very teachable. The education itself is not an issue. But the separation anxiety we're struggling with right now needs to be resolved, and I think keeping him with me at home is only reinforcing it. So it's back to school we go, at least for now. And I get to spend another year devoting more time to my precious little daughter. I reserve the right to revisit homeschool at the end of the year. But if he's still in love with school, then I will find a way to keep him there.

So, that being said, I now have to change the name of the blog. Because keeping a captain's log of our journey, short though it was, has been fun and I don't plan to stop. And begin suggestions...now!

Don't Blink

To the parents at Starbucks with their young son,

You guys seem like nice people. Your one-year-old son is adorable and well-behaved, and enjoyed quietly running around the tables and waving to other patrons. I kinda wanted to pick him up and squish his cheeks.

I understand what your life is like right now. You're tired. So extremely tired. You're wondering if you're ever going to get a decent night's sleep again. (The answer is no, by the way.) You're tired of mashing food, of filling bottles or nursing, and you're loving your child immeasurably, but missing how simple life used to be. But this tiny life is incredible and makes it all worth while. And you guys are doing a great job.

But here's the deal. I know you're tired, and the only thing you really want sometimes is a break. And there are times for that. But that time is not in the middle of Starbucks at 9:30 at night, sucking up the free WiFi while your baby tries desperately to play with you. He's too little right now to realize how checked out you are, but soon he's going to get it. He's going to realize that whatever you're doing with your handheld gizmo is more interesting, more important, and more gratifying to you than spending time with him.

You know how people say that kids grow up so fast. All you do is blink and they're grown? It's true. So in the words of my favorite Doctor, Don't blink. If you blink, you'll miss it. And guess what. You're missing it. While you sit there on your "smart" phone, you're missing it. While you check Facebook, you're missing it. While you play Angry Birds, you're missing it. While you watch "Real Housewives of Instanbul," you're missing it. Turn off the distractions. They're distracting you from what matters. And we all do it. I'm just as guilty as you are. But I'm realizing that the things you learn about your kids while you're checked in beats the heck out of whatever Haz Cheeseburger Cat is doing.

Your son is only going to want to play peek-a-boo for a breath of time, and then all you'll have are memories. Unless you're too busy being distracted, and then you'll have nothing. Be present, sweet parents. Because this happens too fast to be anything but.

Going all Katniss on the Bullseye

Only two posts this week. Really there's been nothing exciting happening. We did very little schoolwork this week, which I felt bad about, but then my husband reminded me it's still summer. Technically, I don't have to do anything right now. And I'm throwing a baby shower on Sunday, so why stress out about school right now? Next week we'll get back to the routine.

I do have something to gripe about (gasp! quelle surprise!)

I went to Target on Thursday with both children. Always an enjoyable experience, she says sarcastically. And I encountered this, the bane of my existence:

Actually I bought pork chops. This image was ripped off from Target Savers, but you get the idea. 

Big Red Sale Sticker.

Now if you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know I love a sale. In an unnatural way. So why is the Big Red Sale Sticker the plight of my shopping experience? Because with Target's meat, at least at my local Target, you're basically playing meat roulette. Will it or will it not be fit for human consumption? And then I have to call my sainted mother, oracle for all that is spoiled, and make her sniff my meat. Try saying that with a straight face. And in this particular instance, the aforementioned pork was slimy. Fabulous. Which required another trip to Target to return the pork chops AND a watermelon quarter that also bore the dreaded Big Red Sale Sticker and was also spoiled. Again with the two children in tow.

Now, I have been enamored with Target since they first came to my city over ten years ago. I have been a faithful worshiper at the altar of the Bullseye up to this point, but this is not the first time I've had to scrap my dinner plans because Target sold me maggot food. So to say I've been underwhelmed lately would be an understatement.

My sainted mother left this little nugget on my Facebook page last week, knowing full well that it would make me crazy. She's mean like that, and wants to see just how granola I really am. These brave people are spending a year without groceries, which gets my brain hamster running because I'm a food snob and hate prepackaged food. I also love farms and making things myself. And now Target has pissed me off, so what's a mom to do? I'm also considering having all my food and groceries delivered because I'm lazy and my giant vehicle gets 12 miles to the gallon. And the UPS man is hot.