Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The coolest field trip ever

I woke up at 7:30 Sunday morning. I'd been out late celebrating a friend's birthday the night before, and it was a weekend morning, which I also love to celebrate by sleeping in. But this particular morning I got up at 7:30 without complaint.

The reason: a Cub Scout field trip. One of the boy's Uncle John runs a special effects studio and had offered to give us a tour. It was the coolest thing I've seen in a long time!

This studio created some of the best-known special effects characters around. What's that, you've never heard of the Terminator, Aliens or those prehistoric creatures in Jurassic Park? Well then, perhaps you've heard of Iron Man, or the new James Cameron movie Avatar, out in December.

John explained how they create the characters (though CGI and digital mapping), then showed us some of the computers they use. There were some NBA puppets on the wall from an upcoming commercial, and some mock-ups of Iron Man from the first movie.

Then he led us out to the workshop. The kids went nuts, running from creature to creature, hands out, exploring everything. They stood in front of a Terminator robot, and oohed at the oversized bad guy from Iron Man (I can't remember his name), here:


(Sorry, these are from my phone -- I forgot to take my camera. D'oh!. And yes, that's Mark with a drooped head and open mouth.)

Then they stood in front of Iron Man, as he looked in the first movie. Here's Mark with him:


They also got to see a cool USMC robot and touch Iron Man's updated suit of armor, which will both be in the next movie, out in 2010. (We couldn't take pictures of those.) At one point, I turned to see Mark wearing Iron Man's helmet, and I almost had a heart attack. I envisioned him dropping it on the floor and denting it, and almost screamed at him to take it off. Then I bit my tongue and remembered it was Iron Man's helmet, and when would he ever have another chance to wear that again?

The boys were suitably impressed by the robots, and by the animated, lifelike animal puppets nearby. The puppets worked using pneumatic cranks, so the boys played with those, too. But the thing that impressed them most was a giant horse head; or specifically, the horse's tongue.

"Touch it!" a scout ordered, and I complied. It felt disgustingly lifelike, and kinda creepy! Figures that impressed them more than any of the fancy, expensive robots.

We got to see some works in progress -- the shell of what will become a killer whale, a giant cockroach (gross!) and a termite, a rocket ship the team was building and painting while we were there. We got to see the designer's work areas, including the mechanics area, where all the motors are created to make the character's mouths move. We saw the foam room, where they create the creatures, and the computer that syncs voices to a character's movement.

We even got to go up to the conference room, which had some excellent models of more creepy crawly things, including the Alien Queen. John shared more stories with us (like how Jeff Goldblum almost got the wits knocked outta him by the T. Rex). He told us how they studied movement to make the creatures convincing, and did a mean velociraptor impression (he was actually a velociraptor in Jurassic Park -- the scary one in the kitchen, stalking the kids).

True to form, the adults were very interested in the stories. The boys spun around in the chairs, a little bored once the robots were out of sight and the grownups kept asking questions. Mark was most interested in the bowl of fruit on the table -- he kept asking if he could have a banana.

It was a long drive and an early morning, but it was totally worth it!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

How do you spell "inappropriate"?

September is a busy birthday month in our family. Two nieces and a nephew all have birthdays in the same week, which requires some serious gift shopping.

My nephew Grant was easy -- my brother Scott said to get him "anything Star Wars." But my nieces Gabi and Nathalie were a little more challenging. Nathalie just entered middle school, and Gabi likes Star Wars but is also a bit of a fashion queen. I didn't think they'd appreciate two-sided light sabers as much as Grant did.

So I wracked my brain until I came up with the perfect present -- gift cards to their favorite clothing store, Abercrombie & Fitch. They wear lots of cute t-shirts and sweatshirts from there.

I headed to the mall, and found the store on the directory. I walked inside, taking in the cool vibe and displays. Then I stopped short and sucked in my breath -- there in front of me was a giant poster of a couple of half-clothed high schoolers intertwined. It was a fairly intimate pose, and it shocked me a little bit, because I was shopping for my young nieces. I don't usually see images like that in children's clothing stores!


I walked toward the cashier. Along the way, I passed more attractive but scantily clothed models. I was beginning to question my brother and sister-in-law's judgment -- is this really where they take their kids to shop? It certainly didn't seem age-appropriate.


And it surprised me because Scott and Mary are super protective of their girls. My brother says the girls can't even date until high school, and when they do, prospective dates must first meet with him. He'll take them to the shooting range to show them his accuracy with a gun, and put a little fear into them.

I found the gift cards at the cashier. They came in cute little blue fabric books. But when I opened them and saw this, I almost had a heart attack:


Hey, I'm all for my nieces liking cute boys -- but Nick Jonas or Robert Pattinson is really more their speed.

"Do you have any...um...other gift cards available?" I asked the cashier.

She shook her head, then smiled at me, and winked. "Isn't he hot?" she asked.

"He is," I agreed. "And I would be thrilled to receive this card with him on it. But I'm shopping for 9- and 11-year-old girls."

She instantly stopped smiling. "Oh! No, we don't have any others, but you can buy some at the Abercrombie kid's store."


I exhaled deeply, relieved to hear there was a separate children's store. She directed me to it, and when I entered, I breathed again with relief. Giant posters also lined the walls here, but they were filled with cute kids who were fully clothed. The gift cards themselves were also more appropriate, with the profile of a young boy smiling sweetly. It was all completely innocent, and any doubts I had about Scott and Mary disappeared completely.

Geez, who knew birthday presents for my sweet little nieces could be so unnerving? And who knew gift card shopping would make me so thankful for having a son?? Mark's clothing choices are very specific -- he refuses to wear anything short or skimpy. And today, I am quite grateful for that...

Monday, September 28, 2009

At the car wash...

Mark's raising money for my cousin Kathleen's birthday present, and offered to wash my car to e a r n a few bucks.

He got out his step stool, a washcloth, a bucket of soapy water, and the hose and went to work. While he was washing away, I wandered inside for a few minutes.

This is what I saw when I popped my head back out:



Good thing I got to him before he started washing the roof!

Friday, September 25, 2009

Where's Chairy??

We interrupt this usually cheerful, light-hearted blog with an important announcement. Heather is feeling cranky, and that is, unfortunately, reflected in today's entry.

My brothers Tim and Smed used to have an ugly green La-Z-Boy chair named Chairy (after the chair in the Pee-Wee Herman show). For some reason, Chairy became a sort of soapbox, a platform for railing against whatever bothered them.

Chairy sat in front of the T.V., which always had some sort of news program on. That's probably what started it all; just sitting in Chairy got my brothers all mad. They would watch the news and vent. During commercials, they would rant about the injustices of the world and the ills of society. They would shout about politics, sports, the decline of society. They would decry the loss of humanity and general decency in civilization. And then they would jump out of Chairy and return to their happy, fun-filled selves.

I've had a rough week, and I've got a bit of the grumpies today. So instead of the usual light, funny Mark stories, I'm taking a seat in Chairy (metaphorically speaking) and presenting my list of rants.

These are the things driving me crazy lately:

"Harvest Festivals." Listen, if your party is in October, is filled with ghosts, goblins, or mummies, and requires my son to wear a costume, then call it what it really is--a Halloween party. Don't call it a Harvest Festival unless we're actually bringing in crops (and trips to the pumpkin patch don't count).

Hairless dogs. Or cats. It's just not right. Puppies and kittens are supposed to be furry and cute -- wrinkly bald versions are the exact opposite. They creep me out. (Although I did see a very playful hairless puppy at the pet store today.)


Mouthy, sassy little children with bad attitudes and a predisposition for lying. You can guess what inspired this one (yes, it's about four feet tall and rhymes with "shark").

Editors. (Jill excepted!) This week has been a living reminder of the quote: "The relationship of the editor to the writer is that of the knife to the throat."

Blurred seasons/holidays. A couple weeks ago, the grocery store featured all the summer items on clearance. Right next to them was a display of Halloween candy.

And yesterday, I walked out of the 99 degree weather and into Target. Which was filled with down jackets, ski hats and other winter apparel. It all makes my head hurt.

Homework. Especially when it's not mine, and I'm not even in school anymore. And especially since I'm not good at math, which accounts for most of the homework. But I check and correct it every night to set a good example. And while I'm ranting, who thought it was a good idea to give 4th graders algebra? Seriously, it even says it on the worksheet -- "Algebra." (I thought Mark was kidding when he said he was doing algebra in class.) At this rate, I won't be able to check Mark's homework come spring!

Airlines. I loooove to travel, but seriously, this nickel-and-diming stuff is getting old. Can I just buy a ticket with ONE PRICE that includes the seat, seatbelt, one piece of luggage, a soda and a bag of peanuts? And then put my credit card away until I reach my final destination?

Politicians. In the famous words of Rodney King, "Can't we all just get along?" No need for actively working against each other, screaming at the President in Congress, or just generally acting like unruly kindergartners. In fact, remember that old essay about "Everything I Ever Needed to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten"? All members of Congress need to go back and read that a few times. And then heed it!

OK, that's it. I feel a little better now. Still grumpy, but a little less so.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Back to School night

Last night I went back to school. It wasn't really much of a homecoming, as I'd been there earlier that morning with Mark, passing out apology letters to the principal, nurse and some other adults.

I picked Mark up from after school care, and we crossed the playground to eat dinner before the program started. As we sat at the table, some of Mark's friends stopped by. They chatted, in the way that most 4th grade kids do, which I always find amusing.

Mark's friend Ryan was bummed he'd missed Mark checking his blood sugar.

"It's SOOOOOO cool!" he told a younger boy, who was drinking/spilling a can of root beer. "He pokes himself with a needle and makes his fingers BLEED!"

The younger boy was appalled, but didn't want to look scared. "That is cool," he replied, though the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

Then Ryan showed the crazy faces he and Mark made at a girl named Nicole. (I didn't blame him after I found out it was this Nicole.) They also shared a mutual dislike of a girl named Samantha, who Ryan said was "mean -- really, REALLY mean!"

"She's my sister," said Root Beer Boy.

"No!" screamed Mark and Ryan simultaneously, but Root Beer boy just nodded.

"She's really mean to him," Ryan explained. "It gets him all mad."

Cute little Root Beer Boy smiled the most angelic smile ever and told us, "Yeah, I have anger issues." Then he scampered off to play.

The principal took the stage then, introducing the teachers and staff. A little girl walked by Mark, smiled shyly and said, "Hi, Mark." Her smile and demeanor set off my "someone's-got-a-crush-on-my-son" radar. Mark confirmed this by grunting, then getting mad at the cute little girl, his usual reaction to displays of affection.

"She's annoying," he grumbled. "She always tries to sit by me."

He perked up a little when she asked if he wanted to buy some candy, but I shook my head no. If he couldn't be sweet, he couldn't have sweets.

I joined the other 45 parents in Mark's class, who were cramming themselves into little blue plastic chairs. We sat at small wooden desks in the hot classroom and listened to the teacher discuss homework (do it), bad behavior (don't do it), and the year's curriculum (emphasis on California).

Overall, I was very impressed. He was low-key and humble, and I wondered how he managed to not get eaten alive by 35 wild fourth-graders (25 of them boys).

Mark spent the time making faces, digging through his desk and just generally being a nuisance. I gave him some paper to draw on, until I discovered he hadn't done his homework. Then I gave him that instead, and the stink eye, since he was supposed to complete it during Homework Club after school.

I've met the teacher a few times before, but it was nice to see him in action -- his room all decorated with signs and artwork the kids created. There were even some California Mission projects on display, which started me sweating. I do not have any creative or artistic bones in my body, and I've been freaking out over creating a mission for four years now. I know technically it's Mark's project, but I kinda feel like I'll be graded on the final project as well.

So other than the reminder of my impending Mission disaster, I'd hail Back to School night a success.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Pele' ain't got nothin' on this kid

Saturday was Mark's first official soccer game, and boy was it a good one! I wasn't sure how the boys would do during a real game. All their goofing around and smack-talk during practices had me worried.

I mean, Mark was goalie at the last practice, and when I looked over at him, he was wearing his scrimmage jersey around his neck like a cape, pretending to be a superhero. (I told him, "Why don't you pretend to be a goalie instead?") So I was a little apprehensive about how they'd do in a live game against another team.

Turns out my worries were unfounded. They played great, running all over the field, scoring lots of goals, and having a great time.

Mark was even into it. He still didn't want to get too close to the mob, but he did get the ball a few times, and even made this awesome attempt at a goal.



I'd like to say he kicked with all his might for the team, but the truth is, my cousin and I promised him ice cream if he makes a goal. (Hey, it's motivation, not a bribe!)

But the funniest part was when Mark engaged in a little housekeeping. There was a big hole on the field, which the referees had marked off with orange cones so no one tripped in it. With all the boys running on the field, some of the cones got upended, but no one took any notice.

Except for Mark, that is. As the mob of boys chased the ball upfield, Mark followed them -- but stopped mid-run to correct the cones. He placed them back in place, then continued running upfield with the other kids. It was hilarious.

Mark's team won easily, and the team got a good start on their pizza party money. (The parents contribute quarters in a coffee can every time our team scores.) And best of all, Mark didn't go low and have to sit out the game.

Can't wait for next week...

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Boy Scouts have a new motto

Along with a new school year, September marks the return of Boy Scouts.

This year Mark is a Webelo, which begins his transition from a Cub Scout to a Boy Scout. Instead of just a number, his den gets a new name and learns a whole new set of oaths and mottos. He'll have more activities, added responsibilities and new badges to earn.

That's a lot of changes. However, during our first meeting Friday night, I noticed some things remained the same. Namely, the boys may be a year older, but they're still the same squirrely, enthusiastic kids.

We held the first meeting at a local pizza joint. After dinner, their den leader took on the first task: introducing the new oaths and mottos. He really is a patient man, especially as the boys were more interested in turning their hats inside out, smacking each other in the head, or running off to the video games.

The den leader asked if anyone knew the Boy Scout motto. He was met with blank stares, so he gave them a hint. "It's only two words," he prompted. "Be...?"

"Quiet!" Mark answered, sending the room into fits of laughter. I felt my face instantly turn red, and I joked, "Sounds like a good motto to me!"

The den leader gave them the real answer (Be prepared), and then led them to the next task: naming their den. He showed them various patches with animals on them. They passed on the wolf and eagle but got really excited at the cobra.

"OK, what kind of cobras?" the den leader asked.

"The Killing Cobras!" one kid shouted, and the rest cheered him on.

"Maybe not so...violent," the den leader said. This was followed with suggestions of the Crazy Cobras, the Cool Cobras, and the Killing Cobras again (somebody has a short attention span).

"How about the Contemplative Cobras?" the den leader asked. This was met by simultaneous groans.

I'm not sure what they finally picked (there was a lot of shouting going on). But they all seemed happy with the name.

Then it was time to go over to the school for the pack meeting, which includes the dens from all the other grades. I stood outside the auditorium before it started, as crazed Scouts ran past me from every direction. At one point, a kid almost slid into me on his scooter. He turned it abruptly, which saved my ankles, but sent him flying off the scooter. There was a hushed silence for a moment, while everyone waited to see if he was hurt.

"He's okay!" his friend shouted. "He falls all the time, but he never gets hurts."

The fallen boy waved his arm in the air to prove he was, indeed, all right. But he was wearing a blue cast on that arm -- his friend was only half-right. He does fall a lot, but apparently, sometimes he does hurt himself!

The meeting was fun. The pack leader talked about the month's theme, pockets. He pulled out a backpack and asked the boys what a good camper might have in his pockets. The parents all knew what the first answer would be, and the boys didn't let us down: a pocket knife. Which was followed by guesses of a gun, an arrow, and assorted other weapons.

Because it was the first meeting, it was short. The pack master had barely announced there were cookies outside, when a rush of Scouts zoomed past us. I was sitting in the back row, and Mark still beat me outside. I found him munching on a cookie, three others in his hand. "I'll go get you some cookies," he said, but I stopped him.

"No thanks," I said. "I'll just share yours." I knew his "generosity" was really a ploy to keep all four cookies to himself.

And so ended our first night back at Scouts. I watched all the kids chasing each other on the lawn, and I smiled. It's going to be another fun year.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Pfc. Dinsdale

Mark sometimes talks about what he's gonna be when he grows up (a video game developer, a teacher). But yesterday he spoke angrily of what he cannot be.

"It stinks that I can't be in the army when I grow up!" he said. You can't enlist in the military if you have dia betes; you can stay in if you're diagnosed while serving, but you have to show good control.

This is a big deal for a little kid; Mark loves playing army, either with his friends or with his toys. I don't think the army would necessarily be a good fit for Mark anyway -- he doesn't respond well to authority, to getting up early or missing sleep, and he doesn't like to hustle. I think he'd have a short military career for those reasons, but hey, no need to kick a kid while he's down.

I spend a lot of time telling him he can do anything, and that dia betes can't stop him. So I don't blame him for being mad, or feeling left out of the one thing he might actually want to do but can't.

"Well, there's that guy we saw on D Life," I answered. I reminded him of a soldier who discovered he had Type 1 just before being shipped off to Iraq. He proved to the army he could manage his dia betes, even during war, and was allowed to stay in.

"Yeah, but he didn't have it when he joined," Mark said.

"Well, maybe you could argue your case," I replied.

"Argue?" Mark raised his hands up, flabbergasted. "With the ARMY??"

OK, so maybe he has a better grasp of the military than I thought.

"Who knows?" I said. "Maybe it would work. You never know."

He shook his head. "I've already tried," he said.

I started laughing. "Oh, really?" I asked. "You've tried to enlist before?"

"Yep," he answered. "A bunch of times. They keep saying no."

Maybe that's why he doesn't finish his homework -- he's too busy talking to army recruiters after school.

Anyway, I was glad to end the discussion with laughter. I know he was teasing, but I also know it bothers him to be told no because of his crappy disease.

And I plan to stoke that indignation. I'll still tell him he can be anything he wants to, but sometimes telling him what he can't be is more motivational. Nothing like a little bee in your bonnet (or army helmet!) to spur you into action.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Stop talking, start eating!

The frustrating thing about managing dia betes is that it isn't really manageable at all. It's not like a schedule, which you plan according to what works best for you. No, dia betes is more like a naughty child; you can ignore it for only so long before you must address its behavior.

With each new season -- summer, school, soccer -- Mark's in sulin needs change. He's growing, and during growth spurts, he needs more in sulin. He's playing sports, so he needs less in sulin. Or he's sitting still in class all morning, and needs more in sulin, but then he's really active all afternoon, so he needs less in sulin. It's a slippery slope.

It's Day 7 of school, and I've been constantly fine-tuning Mark's in sulin pump. He's had a lot of lows, so I'm troubleshooting a lot -- is he low because he didn't eat all his lunch? Does he need less in sulin for his meals, or a lowered basal rate (the amount of in sulin he receives continually)? Or both?

Yesterday Mark was low almost all day long. I don't have dia betes, but here's how I describe lows (based on what Mark's told me): You know when you've waited too long to eat, and you're so hungry you can't think any more? You're emotional, you're cranky, you're dizzy and you can't think straight? You're so low energy you feel like you just want to lie down and sleep? That's what lows are like, and they usually subside after eating something.

But poor Mark felt like that all day yesterday. He was low at 9 a.m., 11 a.m., 1 p.m. and during soccer practice after dinner. The nurse called me each time, and though the answer was obvious (program Mark's pump to give less in sulin), I couldn't fix it until we got home.

So instead, we treated the lows by feeding Mark. He ate breakfast at home, then two snacks before lunch. After lunch, he had three more snacks, then came home for dinner. Which still wasn't enough, because all the running during soccer sent him low again.

I was troubled that my little boy felt so bad all day long. I finally unhooked the pump for an hour just to let his blood sugar come back up.

But Mark saw the silver lining. Where I was bothered by the lows, he was thrilled by the endless buffett.

"Were you bummed you had to eat so much?" I asked him. He loves to eat, but sometimes the forced feedings push him over the edge.

"No!" he answered happily. "It was awesome! I ate all day long!" He smacked his lips, and smiled at the thought.

So I guess that's the silver lining, the thumbing our nose at dia betes. Mark may not have felt his best, but he spent the day doing what he loves best -- eating.

I guess the naughty child didn't win after all. At least, not today.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Two liters of happiness

I volunteered to work at Mark's soccer carnival last weekend. The bad news is my slot started at 8 a.m. (on a SATURDAY!). The good news is, they put me in the nachos and snow-cone booth, which was slow. Apparently, nachos and snow-cones are not considered breakfast food.

My volunteer work brought on a bout of single-mom-itis, which flares up in social events that aren't conducive to decent babysitting hours or dragging your kid along. The other moms in my booth had left their kids home with Dad. Since Mark has no patriarchal babysitter, he got to be the lone kid worker in our booth.

Unfortunately, there was no one to help, so I sent Mark off with instructions to buy carnival tickets and play any of the games within my sight. He returned with my change, and eagerly described a booth giving away soda as prizes.

"The BIG bottles!" he exclaimed before running off. He could barely contain himself.

Next thing I know, the little stinker returned with a big smile and an even bigger bottle of soda.

"I WON!" he shouted happily.

"I can see that," I said, admiring his two-liter bottle of Diet Coke.

"I even got the caffeine-free kind," he announced. I rarely let him drink soda, because a) it's not good for him, and b) the last thing that kid needs is a caffeine rush! But he'd bested me by choosing his wisely.

He was so proud, I couldn't stomp on his little heart. I let him keep it.

The minute we got home, Mark insisted he was starving for lunch.

"It's only 11," I answered.

"But I'm sooooo hungry!" he cried. I relented, and he immediately filled a glass with his liquid gold -- Diet Coke!

"I can't wait to drink this every night for dinner!" he told me gleefully. "I'm gonna drink Diet Coke for a week!"

He finished off the first glass before I even finished grilling his cheese sandwich. "Slow down," I warned. He nodded, but two minutes later, I caught him chugging straight from the bottle. He carried the bottle with him wherever he went the rest of the day.

By dinner time, Mark was on his third glass. He showed off his prize to my cousin Kathleen, and again announced it was caffeine-free. I suggested he offer Kathleen a glass, and the smile immediately left his face.

"But it's mine!" he protested. "I won it, so I get to drink it."

"Yeah, but you don't have to drink it all at once!" Kathleen told him. I gave him the stink eye for being impolite, so he changed tactics.

"Well, you probably need the caffeine," he said, helpfully. "I'll get you a can of Diet Coke with caffeine instead."

She nodded and whispered to me as soon as he left the room, "He's so happy, I didn't want to drink his soda!"

"I know," I said. "I don't have the heart to tell him he can't drink it all today."

By the time he went to bed, the bottle was down a liter, and Mark was a content, stuffed little boy. And I was glad, too; I realized my son doesn't need fancy clothes or expensive video games to make him happy.

Now I know his happiness can be bought for a mere 99 cents.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The return of Sponge Bob

My biggest fear about school starting had nothing to do with classes, homework, teachers, or even diabetes. No, my biggest worry was getting Mark out of bed every day.

See, most parents have kids that automatically pop up around 6 a.m. Those kids open their eyes, greet their parents warmly, and head off to breakfast. That is not my kid. My kid can easily sleep until 8 or 9 everyday, no matter how early he retires the night before (for which I am eternally grateful on weekends, but weekdays are a whole different story).

On weekdays, my kid usually grunts, pulls the covers over his head, and refuses to get up.

I can fully understand this; I am not a morning person either. I require an electric cattle prod or something stronger to get me out of bed before 7 a.m. But this is not math, where two negatives equal a positive; this is real life, where two night owls start their morning with the following grumpy exchange.

Mom: "Mark, time to get up."

Mark: "No. I don't wanna get up yet. I'm going back to sleep."

Mom: "I don't wanna get up either. But we have to."

So my nightmares actually begin after I wake up. It's no fun to wake up and immediately start arguing.

It got so bad that I eventually broke down and bought the biggest alarm clock I could find. It's got a happy Sponge Bob on the face, but the noise it makes is anything but happy.



It's downright terrifying, especially when it jolts you awake. The bells sounds like a fire alarm, and the only thing worse than the incessant ringing is the fact that it doesn't eventually go off by itself. So if Mark doesn't physically get out of bed to turn it off, it keeps ringing.

The first few times I used it, back when my cousin Kathleen still lived with us, Mark counteracted it with his steely resolve. It rang throughout the house, a shrill, deafening noise I thought might drive me crazy. We waited for him to turn it off, but he just let it ring.

"I can't believe he's sleeping through that!" I shouted over the din, but Kathleen shook her head.

"He's not sleeping," she yelled back. "He's ignoring it. He can't for long."

But he did. I finally gave in, and turned it off. I didn't want to go deaf.

Eventually, Sponge Bob did do the trick. Mark grew to fear the shrill ringing, and eventually hid Sponge Bob in the closet. He didn't want any visual reminders of his existence.

And the closet is where Sponge Bob sat until last week. Mark was getting up progressively later as the summer wore on, and I knew where that was leading. So when school started last week, I silently moved Sponge Bob back onto his dresser.

Mark's eyes grew big, and I swear he started to tremble a little.

"No!" he cried. "Not Sponge Bob! I'll get up, I promise!"

And so I compromised. I set my clock radio for 6:55 every morning, and the Sponge Bob alarm at 7. When Mark hears my alarm go off, he scrambles out of bed to turn Sponge Bob off, and get ready.

It's worked like a charm so far, just the threat of that deafening clang. And I am grateful it has, because the noise is so loud and so scary, that even I'm wide awake and on edge at 6:55.

The bad news is that we have a new dictator in charge -- a little yellow sponge. But the good news is we've been early to school and work every day so far.

So thank you, Sponge Bob...I think.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Kick the bucket

Yesterday Mark was mouthing off a bit, so I rewarded him with a chore. "You get to water the plants," I told him, and he grimaced.

He was outside all of two minutes before the complaining began.

"Mom, where's the thing?" he called out.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but sometimes it's easier to answer than ask for clarification. "I don't know," I called back.

Apparently he found it, because soon enough he asked if I would tighten the sprinkler nozzle on the garden hose. "It's leaking!" he shouted. "Come tighten it."

I know Mark, who's a real-life example of what happens when you give a mouse a cookie. I'd tighten the nozzle, then he'd ask me to show him how to water, and pretty soon, I'd be doing all the work while he was playing basketball. So I stood my ground, pretending to read the newspaper.

"Try tightening it yourself," I answered. "You're a strong kid, use those muscles."

Momentary silence, which was interrupted by Mark informing me the hose was broken.

I sighed, and reminded myself to respond to the situation, not to react. (I've been reading my Have a New Kid by Friday book.)

"The hose works," I responded. "I've been watering the backyard with it for six years."

"Six years, huh?" He snorted. "Then I guess you broke the hose."

"If the hose doesn't work, find another way," I suggested.

He seethed outside for a couple minutes, then stomped inside and demanded to know where I put the watering can. When I reminded him he'd used it last, with his Grandma, he stopped looking and picked up the phone.

"Fine," he said, smirking. "I'll call Grandma, and she'll tell me where it is. What's her number?"

I shrugged. "You can call her if you know her number."

He stared at the phone for three minutes, then put it down. He walked into the kitchen, scrounged around the cupboards a few minutes, and found this:



I kept reading, and listened as he filled it with water, then dumped it out. He refilled it, and I heard another long whooooosh as he dumped another gallon of water down the drain.

"What are you doing in there?" I asked.

He answered with a loud, "GRRRRRRR!" and resumed slamming the cabinets again. Finally, he stomped by with this:




Mark brought it outside, and filled it five or six times with the hose. When he finally finished, he scooted away before I could find another task for him. I never did find out why he kept dumping the bucket water down the drain...

...Until this morning, when I put the bucket away, and noticed noticed two large cracks in the bottom. He wasn't pouring the water out of the bucket, it was just draining itself.

I always say Mark spends 30 minutes plotting to get out of a two-minute chore, and this was a prime example. He didn't even need a sprinkler head on the hose in the first place; most kids would've simply watered the plants with the hose.

But not my boy. Just goes to show that sometimes, if you give a mouse a cookie, he'll bake a cake instead.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Perhaps I spoke too soon...

One of my nephew's friends, Alan, came to brunch with us on Monday. Alan was diagnosed earlier this summer with Type 1 d i a b e t e s, and spent his summer l e a r n i n g to carb count and give himself shots. He and his parents have done a great j o b adjusting, and l e a r ning, and it really showed.

Alan ordered a low-carb breakfast so he wouldn't need a shot. Mark, who has a pump and not nearly the discipline that Alan has, ordered a huge plate of french toast. That french toast looked yummy, and after a while, Alan couldn't stand it. Tim handed him a slice, and Alan broke off a small bite to taste it.

I explained that we do the same thing at our h o u s e. My rule on eating is that for snacks and meals, whatever goes in Mark's mouth must also go in his pump. (Meaning, if he eats anything, he must program the pump to give himself i n s ulin for the food.) But for tasting small samples or bites of stuff -- well, I'm a little more relaxed with that.

"We have a saying in our house," I told Alan. "One bite won't kill you."

Alan nodded his head. What I didn't know was that at that exact moment, at the other end of the table, Mark was experimenting. He'd put Tabasco sauce on his french toast to see how it tasted.

I'd literally just finished telling Alan that one bite won't kill him when Mark started screaming.

"My mouth is on FIRE!" he shouted. "My lips are burning!" He gulped down his water and smeared sugar-free syrup on his lips to quench the burning. None of it worked, and he kept screaming in agony.

I just shook my head and sighed. I looked at Alan and said, "OK, I take that back -- I guess one bite might kill you!"

Only my kid...

Thursday, September 10, 2009

The return of Markel Jackson

My nephew Nicholas is obsessed with soccer. He told me he's moving to England at 13, when he signs his professional soccer contract.

His parents are okay with that; as long as he has a signed contract, he doesn't have to go to c o l l e g e. But apparently, that's not all he's skipping. His sister Hannah was telling me how early their high school starts (at 7:30) and Nick just gasped and said, "And that's why I'm not going!"

"When do you think soccer practice starts?" I asked him. "11 a.m.? Mid-afternoon?" I could tell he's Mark's cousin by his work ethic...

Nick's love of soccer was so infectious that even Mark was affected. Mark, the boy who refuses to run after the ball, actually played soccer with Nick, kicking the ball against a bounce-back goal.

At one point, the ball sailed past the goal and into the garage. Mark raced to get it, but was distracted by somethin' shiny. When he came out of the garage, he did not have the ball; instead, he carried a new accessory which he turned, then flipped up onto his head.



"Look what I found!" he yelled, excitedly. He tipped the straw fedora at a jaunty angle, flipped it to the side, and swaggered down the driveway.

"Yo, Nick,wassup?" he said in his coolest voice, but Nick was not impressed.

"Dude, where's the ball?" he demanded, but Mark shrugged. His temporary passion for soccer was lost to his first love, fashion.

Nick retrieved the ball, but not Mark's interest. Instead, Mark flipped the hat around his head, and started jumping up onto his toes, a la Michael Jackson.

"Ooh!" he shouted, then started dancing around the driveway. Nick kicked the ball at him, but Mark moonwalked around it.

My brother Tim had finished loading the car for our day's adventure.

"Hey kids, let's go!" he called out. "Nick, Hannah, come on." He paused when he saw Mark's new hat, then yelled, "Justin Timberlake, get in the car!"

"Hey Uncle Tim, can I have this hat?" he asked, and Tim nodded.

"You can if you get in the car RIGHT NOW!" he answered. Mark quickly scrambled into the backseat.

Kim cracked up when she saw Mark in his skinny jeans, pink shoes and black fedora. She couldn't get used to a boy who actually cared about clothes -- the boys in Northern California refused to wear anything but sports jerseys, she said.

"I thought having a boy made me immune to all the fashion trends," I replied. "But God sure has a sense of humor, giving me the one boy who cares about clothes..."

That hat never left Mark's head. It wobbled a little as Mark did the Thriller dance, but never quite fell off. I walked through airport security with my mini Justin Timberlake, and spent the next morning at the endocrinologist, where Mark received lots of compliments on his new hat.

He finally took it off Wednesday morning, but only because he was going to school. He didn't want to lose his hat the first day.

I think he's gonna save it for this weekend, when he's bringing sexy back.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Tales of a fourth grade nothing

When I awoke this morning, the air seemed a little fresher, and the sunshine a little brighter. I swear I heard birds chirping happily outside, and cheerful Disney music playing in the background. I couldn't figure out what was going on, until I heard a loud groan from the bedroom next door. I realized it was the first day of school!

Mark was not nearly as chipper as I was to see summer end. But he rallied, and was dressed, groomed and ready to go in record time. (I savored it, realizing it's the only time it'll happen this year.)


We joined the parade of parents and uniformed kids heading to school. Mark dragged his feet, and though I knew he was excited, he was also kind of sad.

"Why are you so bummed?" I asked him. "You get to see all your friends again! You'll get to play with them all day long."

"I like the play part, I just don't like the work part," he said, glumly. "I'm here to play, not to work!"

Which pretty much sums up my son's whole attitude toward life.

Kids and parents filled every inch of the playground. Mark's new teacher came out for them, apologizing for being late -- he'd just dropped his own son off at kindergarten. The kids lined up outside the door, then entered quietly, introducing themselves to Mr. P.

Once they were all in, Mr. P. invited the parents in, too. We filed in, and watched the kids fill out surveys about themselves. The kids were squished in close to each other; I counted 35 seats, all filled, and wondered how long they'd stay quiet like this.

The bell finally rang, and the parents drifted out of the class one by one. I touched Mark on the shoulder, telling him to have a good day, and he responded by immediately pulling away as though I had the plague. That little exchange reminded me why I was so happy to see him back in class (and ecstatic that he will someday have his own kids, who will be exactly like him!).

I headed off to work, cell phone turned up high, and ready for the first call of the day. I'm not sure if it will be that Mark a) "forgot" to go to the nurse at lunch, b) lost his log sheet with his lunch carb count on it, c) "forgot" to go to Kid's Club after school, or d) all of the above. But I am sure that my cell phone will invariably ring at some point today.

Ahhh, the joys of being back on our normal routine...

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Labor of love

I love the annual Labor Day weekend, when we celebrate work by...well, not working.

Mark and I celebrated with a long weekend in Northern California visiting my brother Tim, his wife Kim, and their kids. They planned an awesome weekend full of kids, soccer, and fun.

We arrived Saturday. Tim and Kim took us to a pool party at their friend's house where the food was great, but the pool was better, because it gave all the kids something to do. Mark swam himself low twice, but I just kept filling him up on glucose tabs and juice boxes.

I also got to meet a friend of theirs whose son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes this summer. It's always nice to meet someone who speaks the lingo, and understands the challenges, although it's a bittersweet thing to have in common.

On Sunday, we drove to The City -- San Francisco! Mark's never been, and I thought it would be a cool day trip. It was indeed.

We spent our time at Fisherman's Wharf, seeing all the touristy stuff. First we started with a little lunch:



OK, just kidding, we really had chowder, sourdough rolls and calamari, which were goooooood. We wandered from pier to pier, staring at navy ships, submarines, and crazy street performers.

Eventually, we made it to Pier 39, where I remembered seeing a few seals last time I was there. Well, those seals have multiplied, and pretty much taken over Pier 39!



I couldn't believe how many there were. They were cranky, too, jostling for position and climbing over one another. I don't think any of them got a good nap, but we had fun watching them.

Next stop was a place called Chocolate Heaven, which completely lived up to its name. Mark really thought he'd died and gone to heaven; at least, that's what it looked like he was trying to do!



Last stop of the day was the best -- hot fudge sundaes at Ghiradelli Square! Although they were good, they were also big, and neither Kim or I finished ours.

The kids refused to give theirs up until they finished every last bit. A few minutes later, I turned to see Mark and Nick with their shirts raised, comparing swollen bellies and lamenting that they were too full. Apparently, it's a thin line between happy hot fudge and "I think I'm gonna hurl."




Luckily, we made it home unscathed, though no one wanted dinner until well after dark.

We had dinner back in San Jose. It was good, but the after dinner show was our real treat. Tim and Kim drove us a few streets away, where some owls live in a palm tree. We saw two of them, screeching and screaming from the top of the tree -- no soft hooting from these birds! They were HUGE, and as we unloaded the car, one of them spread its wings and flew away nervously. I couldn't believe the wingspan on the owl -- must've been five feet! Very cool.

Our last day had a biblical theme. First we took the kids, including one of Nicholas' friends, to breakfast at the Heavenly Cafe. Then it was on to the Garden of Eden, deep in the redwood forest. (No, we did not consume any apples!)

We hiked down a path through the redwoods. It was gorgeous, the dappled light pouring through the tall trees. We walked along a railroad track, which Kim said reminded her of the movie Stand by Me. She hurried us along where the path was narrow, warning that trains travel on the track frequently.

The path eventually opened on to a swimming hole. There was a tiny beach filled with families and a group of college kids. The water was beautiful, and the trees surrounding it magnificent. There were two little waterfalls, and a huge rock, which the kids scrambled up and then jumped off.

Nick takes a flying leap

Mark shows off his Karate Kid moves


It was such a blast watching the kids. They swam in the freezing water, and took turns tubing down the little rapids.

Mark cleared the first rapid easily, but then got stuck in the swimming hole. He tried vainly to paddle his way out, but eventually just gave up. When Hannah couldn't stand it any longer, she swam in and rescued him.


Mark headed toward the second and bigger rapid, but didn't heed the "butts up" rule. Instead, he smacked his tailbone on a rock -- ouch! Firsthand lesson of what creates rapids -- rocks in water. I could tell it really hurt.


It was an awesome afternoon. The boys found a spot where they could chuck rocks into the water, so they were very happy. And Hannah found a spot away from them and all their noise, so she was pretty happy, too.

We stayed late into the afternoon, until we finally had to pack up and head to the airport. Mark and I arrived tired and filthy, but completely happy. It was an all-around great weekend. The activities were fun, but sharing it with our family was even better.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Inspiration, party of 2

Last night, Mark's hospital hosted a dinner with some really cool speakers: Phil Southerland and Bob Eldridge, founders of Team Type 1. It's a bicycle racing team made up of (you guessed it) people with Type 1 diabetes.

The team's first big challenge was the Race Across America. It's a 3,000 mile bike race from Oceanside, CA to Atlantic City, NJ, which they completed in 5 1/2 days. The first time they competed, they came in second place -- they lost by just three minutes. The next year, they won, by three hours. And this year, not only did they win, they set a new record!

Phil and Bob were awesome. They were funny young guys in their 20s, close friends, and inspiring speakers. Phil was diagnosed as a 7-month-old baby. The doctors told his mom he'd never live past 25, and that he'd go through renal failure and be blind by then. (Hey, thanks for the healthy dose of optimism, doc!) Joe was diagnosed later, at 10. Both of them were very proud that not only had they lived past 25, but they were healthy, strong and thriving.

They showed a video of them training and racing. In some parts, you could tell Phil felt low, because he was really straining just to keep on the bike. At one point, his worried mom was pacing, trying not to freak out, but obviously concerned. I got a little teary at that -- I know that feeling sooooooo well. Even though Phil is strong, tough, and manages his diabetes, she's still his mom -- and moms never stop worrying, especially when their kid's got a chronic illness.

It was really inspiring to hear that not only did these athletes manage their diabetes, they actually became better because of it. They monitored their blood sugars religiously, found the range that worked best for them, and used that as a competitive edge over the non-diabetic racers.

It was also really cool to hear all the technology they used during races -- they can't stop during the race to test, so they left their meters in the car. Instead, they wore continuous glucose monitors (CGMs) inserted into their skin; that way, they could merely glance down at the monitor to see their blood sugar, and eat if they needed to.

(I am so grateful Mark was born in this time of handheld meters and CGMs, instead of even 20 years earlier, when they boiled urine to check for sugar, and used HUGE needles they sharpened once a week!)

The pizza dinner was good, but the talk was phenomenal. Past speakers included other athletes with Type 1, including Sean Busby, a professional snowboarder, and Gary Hall Jr., an Olympic gold medalist. I love taking Mark to these events, because I want him to know he can do anything he wants, and diabetes can't stop him. I want him to be inspired and have good role models he can look up to.

But the funny thing is, that whole plan backfired. I take Mark to inspire him, but it's really me who is inspired. I can't help it; these guys all advocate great diabetes management, and following your dreams. Their optimism and determination is infectious.

And although that doesn't impress Mark yet, it sure impresses me. It reminds me how important it is to constantly manage diabetes. As Mark's primary caregiver, it reminds me to stay vigilant and test him often.

Mark's 9 years old; he doesn't think long-term yet. But I do, and hearing from these amazing people encourages me. Mark may not grow up to be a professional snowboarder, bike racer or Olympic athlete. But if he can manage his own diabetes when he grows up, if he lives a long and healthy life despite diabetes...well, that's worth more than any gold medal to me.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Hold that soccer scholarship

Last night was Mark's first soccer game. It was a practice game, but Mark was thrilled to wear his new uniform. (I've noticed he likes his fancy sports uniforms more than he likes the actual sports...) He was also thrilled to bring his water bottle, which he'd frozen that afternoon.

The boys were antsy, excited to play. I was surprised at how fast the other team lined up on field, all in matching uniforms. They had obviously practiced together (a LOT), and their seasoned players knew exactly where to stand.

Our team...well, they were energetic. They weren't quite sure where to stand, and bunched up midfield, laughing and punching one another. The coach spread them out, blew the whistle and watched the other team shoot right past them and score a goal.

"Wow," said the grandpa sitting next to me. "They're never gonna get a pizza party playing like that!"

The other team made another goal, and then another. Things were looking grim, and they'd only been playing 10 minutes.

Pretty soon, our team woke up, and started kicking the ball. Most of them did, anyway.

Mark was trash-talking a kid on the other team when the ball sailed right past him. He watched it soar over his head and land near the goalie. Then, instead of helping out the goalie, he turned and ran up field, away from his team and the ball.

"What are you doing, Mark?" his coach screamed.

Mark shrugged and yelled back, "I don't know!"

It was painfully obvious he was being honest. Mark's terrified of getting kicked in the head, or the shins, and wouldn't get anywhere near the ball when the other boys were attacking it.

Twenty minutes later, Mark's enthusiasm finally surfaced. Unfortunately, it was for the ice chips in the coach's cooler. He and the coach's younger soon sat on the sidelines, fishing out dirty ice cubes and completely ignoring the game.

"Mark, eyes on the ball!" I called out to him. He took that as nagging, not warning, and dismissed me, until the ball flew dangerously close to him, followed by kicking cleats and stampeding boys.

"Whoa, that almost hit me!" he called out, surprised. I realized my supportive mothering skills are rusty, because the first thing I thought was, "Well, DUH!!" (Luckily, my filters were on and I didn't actually say that out loud.)

The ice chips ran out, so Mark started pounding his frozen water bottle on the ground. When the coach rotated him back in, he handed over the bottle. It immediately started dripping over my backpack through a small crack he'd pounded in the bottom.

I hoped Mark might try harder with a little encouragement.

"Good try!" I shouted when the ball came near him. He ran away from the oncoming mob of boys fighting over it.

The ball then dropped right in front of him, alone on the field, and he had no choice but to kick it. I yelled some more encouragement.

"Good kick, Mark!" I yelled. "Now aim it at the other team's goal!" It took most of the game, but he finally kicked it away from his own goal.

Mark rotated out of the game again, and sat down next to me. Now I was all into the game, and when another boy got in a good kick, I cheered him on, too.


"You never say 'Good kick!' to me," Mark pouted. I just ignored him and his selective hearing.

Mark's team had awoken from their first-game daze, and were kicking some serious booty. They scored a goal, prompting the grandpa next to me to proclaim, "There's the pizza party!" They scored a few more goals, and Grandpa kept upping the food quality for the party.

"Steak dinner!" he cried at the next goal. By the time the game ended, the boys were up to a lobster dinner.

The game ended as the moon was rising. The boys were completely spent, but happy. The coach gave a rousing post-game speech, which was mostly lost on them, as they smacked each other with water bottles and fought over who ran the fastest.

I left feeling pretty happy. Mark won't get anywhere near the ball, so I can pretty much kiss a college soccer scholarship goodbye. But not all is lost -- he was a good sport, he made contact with the ball, and he didn't actually kick the ball into his own goal. All of which I chalk up to a successful first game!

And who knows...maybe it'll spur interest in a college scholarship for something else...like science, or ice chip technology!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

A+ for effort

One nice thing about my mom watching Mark is that she's become quite the diabetes expert. She's an awesome carb counter, can recognize and treat lows, and is even a little competitive when it comes to his blood sugar numbers vs. hers. Other than changing his infusion sets, there aren't a whole lot of situations she can't handle.

But yesterday she took on the trickiest situation of all -- a trip to the beach. It's tricky for a number of reasons: Mark disconnects his pump because all the swimming sends him low; sand and sea pose a HUGE threat to the pump (damage or loss); the sun ruins the insulin if the pump's not properly stored; Mark tends to lose his site at the beach, which means he can't re-connect the pump. Basically, the number of things that could go wrong triples at the beach.

But that didn't stop my mom and brother Smed. They piled everyone into the car and headed off to the beach. I gave my mom a detailed list of procedures on when to bolus and when to disconnect/reconnect the pump. I warned her to put the little cap in the infusion site when she removed the pump, as it's just big enough for a few grains of sand. We both felt pretty confident.

Right up until lunch...when Mom and Smed couldn't remove the cap from his site. They'd done everything right, but some sand was trapped in the site, and prevented them from removing the cap to plug in the pump.

I told them to pour a little water into the site, and keep jiggling the cap (yes, diabetes has a lot of high-tech solutions). They did, and worked on it for about 40 minutes, with no luck. I could tell they were becoming worried and frustrated, and I kicked myself for sending them on the toughest field trip possible. (This is why I stress when Mark goes to the beach with his camp!)

I also kicked myself because no one else knows how to change Mark's set. I hate to burden anyone else with these tasks (it's easy to do, but has a lot of steps), so I just do it myself. But I've realized that's actually shortchanging my mom, who's always nervous about sites falling off, and not being able to replace them. It's also shortchanging Mark, who's dependent on me being around to change it.

So I went home at lunch to change the set. I walked my mom through the process, and she followed along really well. She's still nervous, but a little less so. I told her if his site falls off, to just replace that part, which is pretty easy -- not to worry about changing the insulin cartridge or messing with the pump. She breathed a lot easier hearing that.

She is definitely not one to shy away from a challenge. In fact, she's already planning their next beach outing -- tomorrow!

I'm so proud of her, and of my brother. Most people would just say, "Well, I'm not going to the beach again!" But instead of freaking out, they simply changed the game plan -- tomorrow, they'll take extra sets, needles, and a bottle of insulin, so that if they can't get the pump re-connected, they can still give Mark insulin. They will not let diabetes ruin their good time at the beach.

So when I say I have the best family ever...this is why! :-)

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Dr. Clown

Yesterday's big adventure was a trip to the dentist. Mark was thrilled about this (not!) and brushed and flossed his teeth for about 20 minutes prior to leaving.

"It won't help!" I yelled to him. "You can't cram for the dentist, you have to do that every day!"

I knew we were in for a long wait upon entering the waiting room. It was packed, with screaming kids running freely in every direction. There was a TV in each corner, but only one DVD worked at a time. While a movie played on one set, the DVD menu played music on the other. And just in case there wasn't enough background noise, the parents in the room were all speaking on their cell phones.

I checked in for Mark's appointment. The office staff scrambled to find his appointment, and I stared at a large sign that read, "An appointment is like a promise. It's meant to be kept."

There was a similar sign in the restroom.
But apparently, promises have no time frame. They expected us to show up for our appointment, but they didn't promise to see us in a timely manner.

We waited in the noisy room for 42 minutes. I know this because I planned to leave at the 43 minute mark, but they called Mark in for his x-rays just as I stood to leave.

While Mark was in back, I watched kid after kid come out bloody and crying. The name "gentle dental" was not at all fitting!

Mark returned from the x-ray room with a new oversized pair of plastic vampire fangs. "Wook, Mom!" he drooled. "My teef are weally, weally white."

"They sure are," I agreed. "And very sharp!"

Mark watched T.V. and slurped on his new teeth for another 20 minutes, until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to get back to work, and I didn't see them calling us any time soon. So I pulled the D card.

I told the receptionist that Mark has diabetes, and needed lunch soon. Both statements were true, though not necessarily related. (He DID need lunch--it was almost 1 o'clock!) But I knew it would get a reaction, and moments later, they whisked Mark off to his teeth cleaning.

Five minutes later, the dentist called me back to discuss Mark's teeth. And this is when the visit got even weirder.

The dentist was dressed in a white shirt, with dogs and cats all over it. He wore a a tie that was equally busy, and a gold toothbrush pinned to his pocket. His glasses were lime-green, and his pants a similar color. The pants had teeth and kids all over them. I couldn't tell if the dentist was wearing his pajamas, or if he was supposed to look like a clown. Either way, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He touched my shoulder in an affected manner, and I could almost hear his dentistry teacher telling him, "Make personal contact with the patients." He held up the x-rays of Mark's teeth, but I couldn't take my eyes off his wacky clothes.

"Mark's still got 12 baby teeth," he said, which seemed like a lot to me. "He'll lose them by age 11 or 12, and I told him that because of the recession, the tooth fairy's only leaving a quarter a tooth these days. So he's got three bucks to look forward to."

I stifled a laugh. Not even the tooth fairy was recession-proof!

He kept on talking, but my eyes drifted to another sign above his head, that read, "The tooth fairy dresses Dr. Brown." I looked back at his clothes and realized it had to be true. My opinion of the tooth fairy was rapidly changing.

Finally, the dentist stopped talking and gave me a fistfull of business cards (not sure why -- so I could hand them out to people with too much free time on their hands?). When he finally set us free, the receptionist looked at me expectantly, but I simply walked out. I'd waited 90 minutes for a set of x-rays and a five-minute teeth cleaning -- there was no way in hell I was making a return appointment!

And if she didn't like that...well, she can just talk to the tooth fairy about it!