She loves you, she loves you not

Other than birthdays, which were relatively a non issue in a rural area, there is nothing that drove home my status as a social misfit more than Valentine's day. It was something that came every year with equal parts dread and hope. Hope that maybe this year would reveal that maybe I wasn't as much of an outcast as I thought I was, and dread in knowing that my box would be filled with the last choice valentines. Every store box of valentine's had them, the ones that were backhanded, and not so subtlety mean. They always seemed to end up in my box.

The challenges of parenting are many, but my own upbringing has left me feeling prepared for just about anything. Anything except the trials and tribulations of social status and popularity. I have nothing but fear that she doesn't end up where I did, bottom of the social food chain. Seeing and interacting with the other parents at daycare brings it all back. Is she liked? Is she nice to other kids? Do the other parents want their kids around her?

I thought at least that we would be able to avoid Valentine's Day a little longer. Maybe do some pink and red crafts, but that was it. Little did I know that it starts in the older toddlers room. Boxes needed to be brought in from home, decorated to receive Valentine's. Items on the schedule for the week included "card factory". Sure, it is a little more involved than I was ready for, but I could handle that. They would cover the making of the cards. Easy. But then, a list of names of all of the kids in her class showed up. Are we expected to bring them in? Will she get any? Do I need to get candy? Should I be the mom who gets the healthy snack? Should I go for the chocolate?

I am nervous, anxious, and scared about this. I know it doesn't make sense. I know she'll be fine, she isn't even two. She won't even remember it. But I will.

There's three grand in my mouth.

Before I write about my nervous breakdown in a Target parking lot, I figured I should write about my tooth drama.

To write about my tooth drama, I should write about my first dentist. So, here is goes.

My first dentist was a crazy old many with horrible breath. His name was Dr. Stanley, I think. He was my dad's dentist. My dad's crazy, and he like this guy, that should have been the first sign of trouble. His solution to my buck teeth was for me to spend time every day pushing them back in place. The way he showed me what the drill did was to drill a little hole in my finger. He also didn't know what laughing gas was. The first time I saw a pediatric dentist, I'm pretty sure that I skipped and swore up and down that I would be good if I could go back there.

When I was 11, I was in a bike accident. The short story is that I hit the ground with my face and slid. I was out of town at my aunt's graduation from college, and had to go to the local ER where I waited for hours for the local oral surgeon to show up and sew my bottom lip back on. I also broke off most of my front teeth. (bye bye buck teeth) The consensus was that I was lucky to escape without a broken jaw or wrists (I did try to stop myself) They sealed my teeth because I had exposed nerves, and sent me home with major pain killers.

At home I went back to school, two weeks before it let out, and then spent my summer out of the sun, trying to keep the scar that was my face from discoloring. I was so proud I could talk without moving my lips (immobilized), and that I got to eat refried beans and milk shakes, that I honestly don't remember being teased much, but I know I was. My teacher suggested that I not be in school for fear of scaring the other students with my hideousness (I am sure she spun it as being for my own good, but she was a bitch so I know better).

Over the course of the summer the soft tissue issues healed (I still have to explain why my bottom lip looks funny to any dentist/hygienist who sees me), and I had many dentist appointments. First to do root canals after my teeth started to die, and then to rebuild them with composite. Crowns would be done before graduation, since my mouth wasn't done growing.

Other than the composite teeth (one slightly discolored to match the tooth that got the root canal too late), the only other visible scar I had was a bluish mark on my upper lip from lacerations that healed oddly. Those scars have since healed, but it took me 16 years to get the crowns. My parents could never afford them, and I finally saved up enough before I got married. I had the composite build ups break off a few times and get rebuilt, even better than before.

I know that the visible scars that stayed (the teeth and upper lip) had an effect on me. I know that kids teased me, even if I can't remember the specifics. I never thought that they would stay with me this much. I thought I was over it. Until two weeks ago, I was sure that I was.

The prospect of having to spend any time publicly without a front tooth, especially with a discolored stub of remaining tooth, left me a mess. Especially when it looked like the recementing measures taken (the next to last step before major surgery for an implant) would not actually work and I would be left with issues before vacation. I have had multiple panic attack/break downs. Of course, there is other stress in my life, but this seems to be the major trigger. The thing that had made it hard to keep my shit together.

So, before I write about the parking lot drama, just know, my shit, so not together.

*I went in today to have them look at it again, and it was determined it is very solidly in place, I just needed some adjustments since it doesn't fit as well as it once did. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. We shall see. Chicago dogs, here I come.

No Hugs In Minnesota

Along with growing up on an organic vegetable farm, without running water and electricity, I was also home schooled. It was only for kindergarten. When I was old enough for first grade the school district gave my parents some options for what they would need to do if I continued to be home schooled, and they decided to leave it up to me. Being a pretty social kid, I decided to go to school.

It was about a month into the school year when I started, and I was beyond excited. I still remember being just over the moon about getting to meet all of the other kids, and my teacher, and about learning. I was an early reader, and truth be told, I think I wanted access to more books.

I don't remember much about my first day except one story that still gives me a little funny feeling in my stomach. A kid in my class, Jesse, was crying. I don't remember the reason, but I decided that he needed what I had been taught everyone needed, a hug. I went over to hug him only to be told by Mrs. Fisher that "we don't do that". I was heart broken.

When I moved back to Minnesota, I went to Jesse's wedding. (our moms ended up being very good friends) While we were growing up, he had been one of the kids who had teased me the most. (see what you get for hugging?) However, when we were in high school, we'd talked about all of that, and made our peace. Something he reminded me of when I did the dollar dance.

With all of the concern about good and bad touch in school, I wonder who comforts kids when they cry. M's daycare gives hugs, and she comes from very a very huggy family, so I am sure that it is something that we'll have to deal with eventually. At least we have four more years to worry about it.


This post has been brought to you by the letters PBN, as part of a blog blast sponsored by Hanes. You can enter to win free undies, who doesn't need more undies? (or in our case, undershirts, since um, diapers still)