Fen had her BFFFFFF sleep over Friday night, and they looked so cute Saturday morning when I peeked in at them all curled up and intertwined with legs and pillows. I actually made chocolate chip pancakes for everyone, and I’m really not a pancake mom, so this was a big awesome deal for me.
I took Fen to a dentist appointment next, and thought she’d breeze right through the cleaning and depart clutching a brand new blinky toothbrush. This is where the weekend gets interesting, so pay attention. When I heard the words, “We need to take a set of x-rays”, I thought, “Okey dokey, Smokey”. This happens all the time at dentist offices, and it’s not painful, so nothing to worry about. Until I then heard the words, “Oh, you’ll need to take out your earrings, honey.” And that’s when it all began.
The most sensitive girl in the world‘s face crumpled, her mouth opened, and she let out a wailing, “noooooooooooooooo” to rival any 4 year old who was actually crying because the dentist was scary. This meltdown was entirely because she had, in fact, vowed to not change the small cherry studs she had been sporting for 6 weeks, since she was terrified her holes would bleed.
Three of us had to cajole, prod, bribe, threaten and finally, she tearfully removed the earrings, but only after me pinky promising that she could let her holes close up.
I was so exhausted after that episode that when the dentist told me Fen would have to have teeth removed, as well as extensive orthodonture, I think I just stared at her and drooled.
Of course, I had no idea what was in store for me on Sunday.
Oh, Sunday. I was trying to be a good mom and score Fen a ton of points on Club Penguin, and then she just kept scratching her damn head, and then it was that split second that every parent dreads: the discovering of the bugs. The lice creatures. The blood-sucking monsters from hell.
I’m completely Virgo when it comes to nit-picking, so it took me no fewer than 5 1/2 hours to shampoo, comb, tweeze and um, cut a million thousandy tiny nearly invisible eggs from the almost exactly colored strands of her hair.
When I was finished, my blank expression and copious drool perfectly matched that of the day before. What are the odds of becoming semi-catatonic two days in a row? What strength must I possess to refrain from cursing rabidly at my eight year old daughter because she inherited my own poorly-designed mouth and went and caught the cooties?
Just to cap off this lovely Memorial Day weekend, and fill me with suspenseful dread, this morning as I waited at the checkout line with some Diet Cokes for Christian, I heard the checkout girl say, “uh oh!”, and I turned my head to the computer monitor and beheld the mark of the beast.