Fear and Loathing In The Diaper Pail

Got my wisdom teeth out Wednesday. I’ve had better experiences in my life, but it wasn’t all THAT bad, I suppose. Being in bed barely sipping pudding and getting queasy from the pain medication when I stand up is, however. I’m tired of lying down! I was given  pretty rad strap-on ice pack, though, so I can sleep with it on without having to hold it.

Liam has had a hard couple of days. Sunday he was running to his bed, tripped on his rug and cracked his forehead on his bed rail. So he has a bump, a scrape and a bruise that is turning a cheerful, springy shade of green.

Yesterday we went to Lowe’s and he was horsing around on a flatbed cart and fell off, cracking just about the same area on his forehead again. So now he has a purple bump right next to the green bump, and a road-rash black eye.

Later in the day, he fell on the patio and scraped his arm and bruised his shin. Then in the evening he fell off the back steps and cut his elbow. Then this morning he tripped on the patio AGAIN and scraped both of his knees, which he refuses to even look at. He pulls his shorts down over them and says, “Away! Away!”

So he’s not looking too hot today. He better get with the coordination program, though, or it’s gonna be a looooooooong summer.

My car is paid off!!

Back in 1999 my then-husband and I leased a brand-new VW Jetta. It was my first new car and replaced the 1986 red Chevy Nova I’d been driving since my junior year of college. The Jetta smelled new and had a clean, black and tan interior and cool purple dashboard lighting. Everything worked.

In 2001 my then-husband became my ex-husband and I took over the car. The lease was up and we’d gone over the mileage limit, and being totally poor, I had no choice other than to buy it.

It is now 2007. The Jetta has been in two accidents. The locking mechanism doesn’t work so well. My new Alpine stereo has been stolen out of it, so now the original factory stereo is reinstalled, except it’s all busted up and some of the buttons don’t work. The thief also broke the glove compartment door. One back door doesn’t open at all. There are dents and scratches. The panel that covers the gas cap doesn’t shut. The black and tan interior now seems sort of grayish and there are water spots and a cigarette burn and random Cheerios strewn about. I can’t find the floor mats. I have to leave the cup holder open, otherwise I can’t pull it back out. There’s no leg room and my two-year-old is more than capable of kicking my back from his car seat while I drive. The check-engine light is always on, but there’s nothing wrong. There are over 117,000 miles on it. The new-car smell is loooooooooooong gone.

In all, it’s time to get a new car. I want something built in this century. Something more family-friendly, with more cargo space. Something that doesn’t shout, “Single Twenty-Something!!!” and instead speaks in a normal tone, “Responsible Yet Hip Thirty-Something.” No minivans. Something bigger, but not too big. I’m thinking small SUV or sport wagon.

So while it is time to let the old VW off the hook, I look forward to a new(er) car that fits who I am now, not who I was then. But I will still miss those cool purple dashboard lights.

So if wisdom teeth are so wise, how come mine don’t know any better than to leave me alone?

I have my wisdom teeth. All four of them, thanks in part to a braces regimen inflicted on me in the fifth grade, shortly after I was the first kid in class to get glasses and just about the time it starts to matter to a girl how she looks. I brought new definition to the term, “awkward stage”. Also, “dork”. But I digress.

My braces left plenty of room in my little mouth for my wisdom teeth to develop, which they have, and they are more than happy to visit me two or three times a year, erupting from my gums with a, “Hi! Just so you don’t forget about us!” I teethed alongside my son a couple times last year. Partly it helped me understand how he felt as his teeth cut through his little gums. And partly it made me wish he’d toughen up and take it like a man. I’m not a particularly patient or forgiving person when I’m in chronic pain.

My wisdom teeth are visiting me right now. Three of them, anyway. They started coming up a week ago. Then about four days ago, one became infected somehow. My gum swelled up all around my back molar and the pain was excruciating and constant. It hurt to talk and eat and I couldn’t sleep. Liam’s demands that I read his Thomas the Tank Engine book seven times made me want to jump out the window. Unfortunately, we live in a one-story house. As luck would have it, I had a regular dentist checkup scheduled for yesterday, so when I went in I told him about it.

He said I must have gotten a food particle or something stuck in there and the swelling made it impossible for me to brush it out, so it became irritated and then infected. I got a panoramic x-ray taken of my teeth (cool!) and he showed me how the one wisdom tooth that hasn’t come up is actually sideways. He recommended I get my wisdom teeth taken out and wrote me prescriptions for an antibiotic and my Very Favorite Medicine Ever, vicodin. My dentist also said the sideways tooth may not be able to be removed or my face could be numb for months. I think I’ll let it stay in there unless and until it starts bothering me.

So I’m not in pain anymore and the antibiotic is stickin’ it to the infection and my gums are starting to go back down. I have my wisdom teeth extraction scheduled for the day after my birthday. I figured I might as well enjoy my birthday in peace. Adam is taking the day off to watch Liam and my dad will drive me to and from the surgery. I will probably be a sloppy, soupy mess for a few days. I’m not a big ol’ hardass like some people I know. People who are so committed to teaching me how to do the wire at work that they come in right after their wisdom teeth are taken out, wearing a ski mask packed with ice. You know who you are. I’m much more of a baby.

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Liam is on a Coldplay kick right now. But only two songs. “In My Place” and “Clocks” from the Rush Of Blood To The Head CD. Things could be worse. The songs are not sung by Muppets and they’re both on the same disc, so I dont have to change them. I can just hit “program” or “repeat”. So yeah, I listen to the same two songs ad infinitum, but they’re sung by adult humans in a band I like. I don’t ask for much these days.

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Liam is also on a Mr. Rogers bender. An episode where he uses a vacuum cleaner, to be specific. “Hood! Cume!” he insists. I dont know how he got to calling Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood “Hood”. Nobody calls that show by its full name. It’s just “Mr. Rogers”. Everybody knows this. But I guess he hears it in the song. In the episode, Neighbor Aber uses a vacuum that scares Lady Elaine, but she won’t admit it. Daniel Striped Tiger doesn’t mind the vacuum, though, and neither does Trolley. After make-believe, Mr. Rogers goes to visit some puppies at Mr. McFeely’s house. They are all sleeping and cute. They make me want a puppy.

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I can’t have a puppy.