Tooth Is Stranger Than Fiction

Tonight my middle babybird came to his dad and said, "I think my tooth is broken." Dad looked, and then did what all responsible dads do in the face of medical crisis... he called for a second opinion! (Mamabird's.)

We got out the flashlight and poked around in the babybird's mouth. It just looked... strange. There was a little bleeding, and a definite split in the tooth. Like someone had taken a chisel and driven it down one side of the tooth... but it wasn't broken in half. More like a little piece was carved off the side and just kind of hanging there. And it wasn't just gushing blood, like I'd have thought. There were no screams or even moans of pain. And, weirdest of all, there had been no precipitating event. You know... no tooth meets steakbone and steakbone wins. No flying baseballs landing in the mouth. No falling off the trampoline while biting down on a Jolly Rancher. No, he just came up to Dad and said, "My tooth feels like it's broken."

Well, teeth don't just break, right? Or do they? THIS was a question for... Grandpa Doc!

Grandpa Doc is my dad. He used to be a dentist, before years of practice ruined his back and he had to retire. I just did not appreciate, growing up, how useful it would be to have a dentist for a father... until I was a Mamabird. Boys are hard on their teeth, what with bike ramps and scooter accidents and tree-climbing and zip-line zipping and all those adventures they insist on having. Many's the time we've loaded up for an impromptu, after-hours visit to our own personal dental professional. (He never minds. In fact, he often buys pizza. Does your dentist do this for YOU?)

Well, tonight Doc solved the mystery in about, oh, ten seconds. He sat not-so-little grandson down in his lap, adjusted the lamp, peered in at the mystery tooth and said, "That's not a broken tooth. That's a permanent tooth trying to come in around the baby tooth." Well, who knew! Apparently the way baby teeth fall out is that the permanent tooth slowly erodes the root of the baby tooth as it pushes its way up through the gums. As the baby tooth's roots wear down, the tooth gets loose and finally falls out, making room for the permanent resident. But if the permanent tooth is not lined up just so with the baby tooth, the roots don't erode, and you end up with the top tooth pushing through RIGHT BESIDE the existing tooth in such a way that it looks like one tooth with a rift down the side.

You're lucky that babybird is in bed right now, or you'd be treated to a picture of the mystery tooth, bloody gum and all. I just think the whole thing is pretty fascinating. Especially now that we're not talking major pain and suffering for my poor little boy! Of course, he still has to have a tooth pulled. That's never fun. But it sure beats the heck out of a broken permanent tooth, right?

Some Things Must Be Said

I have known my DH since I was 12 years old. (That's how old our oldest child is now. Eeek!) DH and I went to the same middle school. We were on the annual staff together (you know, the yearbook). At the annual staff end-of-the-year banquet, my dad and I provided the entertainment in the form of guitar and banjo music. (I am the banjo-picker in the family. And my dad knows the words to every bluegrass song ever written.)

I'm told that after that banquet, my future mother-in-law told her son, "You ought to get to know that little girl." (She liked that my dad and I were close... and DH's family puts a premium on close families, as does mine.) So all through high school, DH had his eye on me. Oh, sure, other girls might have beguiled him... temporarily. But only I had his mom's Maternal Seal of Approval.

Our senior year in high school, DH and I were friends, and DH decided it was about time to ask me out. Just a few days before he did, though, he discovered that my little sister (only a year younger than us) had a crush on him and was hoping that he would ask HER out. Yikes! What to do? DH did the right thing... he walked away. (I've often thought how God's hand was in the timing of that... if DH and I had dated in high school, no doubt we'd have had an ugly, immature breakup and hated each other for years. That's what happened with many of my high-school dating relationships... victims of immaturity.)

It was actually a couple of years later, once I was away at college, that we finally went on our first date. I was home for the summer, and he invited me to a church softball game. I still remember being so surprised when he came to the door - he looked so much... older! better! than I remembered him. In fact, he was downright good-looking! And as the date progressed, the news just got better. We had a lot in common. We were really comfortable around each other. We just... fit.

It only took about 3 weeks for both of us to figure out that this thing had potential. (Ok, it took me 3 weeks. He had known it for years!) We did have some rocky times, of course, but we stuck it out, and two years later - right after college graduation - we got married.

That was almost 18 years ago. We've been married so long now that it's rare that anyone ever asks us how we met. But I'm thinking about it today, because today is a very special day. Today is DH's 40th birthday.

I didn't know my dear Father Bird when he was a little kid. But we grew up in the same town. Our parents had several mutual friends. Our families ate in the same restaurants. We've wondered many times how often our paths probably crossed when we were young children and we were oblivious. I wish I could be a little fly-on-the-wall at one of those path-crossings and see if he ever noticed me, or if I ever looked at him.

But I have known DH for most of his life. In only a year or two, I'll be able to say that he's spent over HALF of his life married to me. And all that time together gives me some perspective on him. I've seen him at his best, and his worst. And this is what I think:

Dear Husband, I am very glad you were born. You are a good man. You are honest, disciplined, hard-working, funny, and real. You love me and our kids with a deeply committed heart. Your life is intertwined with ours in a way that strengthens us and makes us better people.

You are making a valuable contribution to the world outside our family as well. Your business helps hundreds of people every year. You are a fair and compassionate boss who treats his employees well. And you aren't afraid to do the right thing, even when it is hard to do. Even when it costs you something.

You take risks on our behalf. You tackle challenges with great zeal. You are curious about everything, which makes you are one of the most fascinating people I've ever met. You always have something interesting to say, something valuable to contribute to every conversation.

It is a great privilege for me to get to be not just in your life, but at its center.

Happy birthday, darling. I love you with my whole heart.

My Road is Hot, Hot, Hot

Well, I'm looking over my calendar for the next two months and realize that I've got not one, not two, but THREE week-long trips planned for March and April. Howdy-doody! Slamma-damma-bing-ban! Am I INSANE?

I love travel, but this is a bit much, even for me. All I can say is that I didn't exactly plan it this way. Trip #1 is a family trip, on the books for months, the bi-annual Bird Family Ski Adventure, in which daring Father Bird races down precariously black slopes as if we'd insured him for billions of dollars, laughing maniacally... Eldest Babybird does his Very. Best. to imitate Father Bird, with the added thrill of darting in and out of trees... Babybird #2 grins, organizes snowball battalions, rallies the troops, then beats us all down the mountain... and Babiest Bird peers cautiously down from the top of the Bunny Hill for about 45 minutes, finally decides to risk sliding c.a.r.e.f.u.l.l.y. down it, then can't be persuaded to come in when ski school is over because this sliding thing is just too much fun.

Mamabird... what is Mamabird doing while the family is skiing? Those of you who knew Mamabird in her youth may be shocked to learn that Mamabird has made her Peace with the Snow. Mamabird is no longer the FuddyDuddy KillJoy that she was in her teens and twenties. Oh, no, Mamabird can actually be Seen on Skis, cruising down the easy blues, sun glinting off her fashion goggles, skis almost parallel at every turn. No, she will never, ever be mistaken for Picabo Street, but she's come a long way, baby. And why? Because somewhere along the way Mamabird figured out that skiing was the ONE sport the WHOLE FAMILY could enjoy. Skiing levels the playing field, at least while the dear baby birds are young. Skiing younguns are just about at the same proficiency level as skiing olduns, so we can all go down the same hills, shouting encouragement at each other, laughing at each other, generally having a good ol' time.

The moral behind the Ski Trip is, if you wanna make a Family Memory, you gotta be willing to break a few bones.

Trip #2 is a field trip with Eldest Babybird. This one wasn't exactly planned, at least as far as my involvement. He's going to D.C. with his once-a-week-classical-class. However, no moms signed up to chaperone, so Mamabird has been pressed (bribed) into service. This trip is actually not so fun, as it involves a 12-hour drive there, 24-hour chaperoning duties, an insane touring schedule, not enough sleep, cafeteria meals, and a 12-hour drive home. Plus driving duties. However, Mamabird loves her Baby Bird, who's been a real pain lately. The moral behind the School Trip is, the time together will be a chance to bond with an adolescent who needs all the help he can get.

Trip #3 is a business trip. I'm not telling where, just yet. Let's just say it's warm. It's tropical. There will be beaches involved. And rum. And the baby birds will NOT be attending. (A fact not to be overlooked.) Yeah, we'll have that pesky business to attend to... but once that's done... I see some sleeping by the pool and great Hotel Room you-know-what in our future. (Don't make me spell it out - this is a family blog, after all!) The moral behind the Business Trip is, the best thing you can do for your babybirds is make sure Mama and Father Bird stay in love. (Rum and beaches oughta help with that.)

A Little Inspiration

DH is reading a book called Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi; this morning he read the following excerpt to me, and I was just as inspired as he was to apply it immediately, both personally and in our homeschool. See if it doesn't have the same effect on you:

As far back as there are records of human intelligence, the most prized mental gift has been a well-cultivated memory. My grandfather at seventy could still recall passages from the three thousand lines of The Iliad he had to learn by heart in Greek to graduate from high school. Whenever he did so, a look of pride settled on his features, as his mind returned to the years of his youth. ...For people of his generation, knowledge was still synonymous with memorization. Only in the past century, as written records have become less expensive and more easily available, has the importance of remembering dramatically declined. Nowadays a good memory is considered useless except for performing on some game shows or for playing Trivial Pursuit.

But for a person who has nothing to remember, life can become severely impoverished. ... A mind with some stable content to it is much richer than one without. It is a mistake to assume that creativity and rote learning are incompatible. Some of the most original scientists, for instance, have been known to have memorized music, poetry, or historical information extensively.

A person who can remember stories, poems, lyrics of songs, baseball statistics, chemical formulas, mathematical operations, historical dates, biblical passages, and wise quotations has many advantages over one who has not cultivated such a skill. The consciousness of such a person is independent of the order that may or may not be provided by the environment. She can always amuse herself, and find meaning in the contents of her mind. While others need external stimulation - television, reading, conversation, or drugs - to keep their minds from drifting into chaos, the person whose memory is stocked with patterns of information is autonomous and self-contained. Additionally, such a person is also a much more cherished companion, because she can share the information in her mind, and thus help bring order into the consciousness of those with whom she interacts.

Wow. When I read about such a person - someone who is a delight to be around because they know so much on a variety of subjects and can contribute to conversations in a variety of ways - I am determined to do my part to guide my little people in this direction. It is sometimes easy to let the memory work slide, during school time. When math takes forever and we've had to struggle with a history paper and we've had tears over how and what to capitalize, it's tempting to say, "Enough. Memory work can wait."

But now I think that perhaps memory work is a GREAT way to take a break. If it brings order to the mind... if it helps the mind to organize its work... if it keeps the mind crisp and ready to tackle the tasks of the day... then sign me up! My kids all memorize pretty easily. Memorization is an easy way for them to feel a sense of accomplishment. So it would make sense for me to capitalize on this advantage and fill their minds with the best.

And mine too. I confess that I don't spend as much time memorizing as I used to. But DH and I are both inspired to make this a whole-family project. Maybe we'll start with Proverbs. Or Shakespeare's sonnets. Whatever - I'm excited about this new adventure. And it's nice to feel excited about something - a welcome change.