Dentists Are Dead to Me

It’s official: Dentists are dead to me.

I was pretty sure that we were coming to this when I had that fateful dentist appointment a couple of years ago.

But this?  This takes the cake.

And frosts it with cavities.

Poor Sweetgirl.  We have just returned from her semi-annual dentist check up.  She’s had a stellar report each time that we’ve gone. We brush. We swish. We don’t floss. But, hey, we don’t live on candy around here, either. Neither child drinks the usual suspects for cavity inducing liquids.

So, we expected a great report again.

Sweetboy had just gotten a great report again, moments before.

And, Sweetgirl has the cutest little pearly whites I think I’ve ever seen! And I’m only mostly biased.

Seriously? What's not to love about that smile?!

Seriously? What’s not to love about that smile?!

Apparently though, she did not get my healthy toother genes.


She bravely marched into the x-ray chair for the very first time this morning, all smiles and cute little pearly teeth. She opened wide and allowed the hygienist to arrange the spacer thingy in her mouth for the optimal viewing of her tiny teeth.  She held still.


It was for five seconds, but PEOPLE! She did it!

We returned to our room and she hopped up into the pink (coral) chair to pick out her prize from the revered Prize Box.

Not so fast there, missy.

“Oh, Sweetgirl, you have some boo-boos on your teeth,” the Dentist said in his adorable Argentinian accent.  (I may give him a few extra points for delivering such devastating news in such a pleasant way. MAY.)

I immediately jumped out of my seat. “What kind of boo-boos?”

“She haas seeex cavities on her lowers teeth,” he calmly said.

Sweetboy said, “OH NO!”

I said “HOW MUCH?”

Sweetgirl said, “But, is the medicine to fix them PINK?”

I kid you not.

In that order.

He then gently explained that this will require two separate visits, laughing gas, Novocaine, and a viewing of Frozen.

I asked him if he could pass some of that laughing gas to me.

He was not amused.

Or, surprised.

So, clearly, I am going to have to pray about my stinky attitude toward all Dentists who are not from Argentina.

I’ll do that while I’m at the drugstore trying to find children’s dental floss. That’s pink.

Yes indeedy.


Oh, They’re Listening Alright

We had to go to the dentist today. Saturday.  I’m not a fan of Saturday dentist appointments.  Saturdays really should be spent doing something, anything, other than having someone pick at your teeth.  No offense to my friends who are in the dental industry or married to dentists.

And, also, every time I enter a dentist’s office, I feel the need to break into the song from Little Shop of Horrors, “I Want To Be a Dentist”.

In other news, my children strongly dislike their dentist appointments.  This is odd to me, as they both have been endowed with practically perfect teeth.  Captain Ahab and The Nana passed down some amazing “toother genes” as we like to call them. (We are nothing if not scholarly in our verbiage.)  It’s not like they’ve had to endure hours of work done, or anesthesia, or pain of any sort. Unless you count the pain from their twice yearly flossing.  Because, y’all, we don’t floss.  Sorry, it’s true.  I don’t want to lead you astray, thinking our dental routine is any great shakes.

Anyhoo, what my sweetkids do like about the dentist office that we go to, is the waiting room.  It has video game consoles and a castle climbing structure.  And it’s a good thing, because when I arrived, they notified me that they were running about 20 – 25 minutes behind.  Sweetman had just texted me, moments earlier, to ask us to swing by Starbuck’s on the way home and pick him up a coffee.  I texted back, and then… well, you can see his horrid sense of humor in the picture, below.


I may have completely ignored his choice of emoticon because if I don’t, the razzing just goes on and on and on.

Each time come to the dentist, my sweetchildren also seem to have an incredible ability to make fast friends with whatever other kidlets are there.  Today was no exception. What was exceptional, was the name of the little girl that Sweetgirl befriended.  It was, “Neveah”, pronounced Nuh-vay-uh.  I told the adult how beautiful it sounded and asked where it came from. “It’s Heaven. Spelled backwards.”

Before I could process that or spell check it in my head, my own child’s name was called for our appointment.  We merrily headed back and Sweetgirl proceeded to tell the Hygienist how excited she was to pick out a prize, take a ride in the chair, and get a new toothbrush.  My little talk-a-saurus hopped up on the chair, still chatting away, telling our Hygienist how she liked to talk and talked all the time and didn’t like to stop talking.  The Hygienist mouthed to me, over her head, “I’m sorry!”.  Oh, my child…

However, as soon as that chair started it’s “ride” backwards, terror gripped her.  I could see the scream starting in her throat and leapt up from my wooden child’s chair 3 feet away to soothe her.  The poor Hygienist didn’t have a clue what was coming down the pike; and I don’t want to overstate here, but Sweetgirl can be a bit, um… dramatic.  Shocking, I know.

We narrowly avoided a crisis by showing her the sparkly sunglasses that would help protect her eyes while the big light shined on her mouth. The Hygienist then started in with how she needed to shine the light because Sweetgirl’s mouth was like a little cave, and the light helped her see well enough to do her job.  Sweetgirl proceeded to try to talk through the entire teeth counting and scouring parts of the visit, unless she was screeching over each new tool brought to her mouth, or sound made by “Mr. Thirsty”.  It was a delightful 5 minutes that felt more like 500.

We stopped for a moment to get the toothpastes out. Sweetgirl was offered a choice of 3 different flavors, one of which was cotton candy.  Sweetgirl exclaimed, “Cotton candy!  I never had that taste before.”  The Hygienist lauded her for this and thought it prudent to explain how cotton candy is made out of sugar and is very bad for your teeth.  I didn’t think then was the time to correct Sweetgirl about the fact that she loves cotton candy and asks for it anytime we see it at a fair, grocer, or store.  Right?

By this point, I do believe that the Hygienist was starting to get the picture, and realized that she better get on with it, and quick; otherwise, she’d need to break out the chocolate before our visit was over.  And not for us. I’m no dental expert here, but I’d guess they don’t take too kindly to the dental staff shoving chocolate into their mouths, in the midst of a dental appointment.

You’ll be happy to note that the rest of the visit went along uneventfully.

Sweetgirl and I stopped by the grocery store in the same plaza for some essentials.  We were, after all, out of my Salted Caramel Gelato, and I needed butterscotch chips. Also, we were down to our last roll of toilet paper.

Almost 2 hours later, we pulled out of the drive-thru at Starbuck’s.  Sweetgirl piped up from the backseat, “Mama, why is cotton candy bad for you?”.


I thought that conversation had gone right over her head, but no! She’d been listening, alright.  And mulling it over in her head. Because, now, I had to re-explain what cotton candy is made out of and how sugary things can rot your teeth if you eat too much and how if you don’t brush your teeth often enough…

She interrupted me to say, “But, Mama, you give me sugary stuff all the time!”  (Which, hello!  I do not!)

But, all I could think was, “Thank You Lord that she didn’t say that in the dentist’s office.”

Yes indeedy.