Switching Dentists

You know when someone is treating you not quite how you would like to be treated and you aren’t sure why? Believe me, I don’t expect any royal treatment when I’m out and about, but I do expect to be treated nicely by receptionists and so on, especially when they meet me for the first time and I’m bringing them a potential FIVE little patients.

I could never quite put my finger on the treatment I got at the kids’ dentist office over the last couple of years, but it was akin to the scene in Pretty Woman where the workers at the clothing store tell Julia Roberts she can’t afford something when she hasn’t even asked the price.

Maybe I get snot from people because I homeschool. Maybe it’s because I let my 2-year-old get a cavity, so that qualifies me for White Trash Status. Maybe it’s because I have the balls to have 5 kids and stay home with them. Don’t know. And lately I. Don’t. Care.

So it seems Callie may have ANOTHER cavity (yes, I am deeply embarrassed to be admitting that … even though I personally brush her teeth, apparently my Sugar Mama status has caught up to us, not to mention she may have inherited my and my grandma’s “soft teeth.”

I call the dentist to get her an appointment. I expect a QUICK appointment (within a week) because I can SEE the cavity. They tell me their first available is 17 days away, and get an accusing tone with me because she hasn’t been there for 2 years. In my defense, I don’t see how ONE cleaning every six months will make a difference if I’m totally on the brushing thing AND then there’s the little matter of how Callie kicks and screams when they even try to LOOK in her mouth. I don’t want her equating the dentist with torture, so I’ve just kept her away. White Trash again, I suppose. And I know you’re wondering, and no, the kids don’t have a particular love for the actual dentist.

I pondered the snotty receptionists at the dentist and started looking through KC Parent magazine for alternates. I found one who had an appointment in just 3 days, AND the receptionist was extremely sweet. I know I made the right decision because when I called the other dentist to cancel, the receptionist pulled 20 Questions on me:

Snot: “Did the matter resolve itself?” (Yeah, lady, the cavity just disappeared! It was like something out of Harry Potter or the Bible.)

Me: “No. I just found someone who could get her in sooner.”

Snot: “Is this her first time here?”

Me: “No. Does it matter? I can SEE a cavity … wouldn’t you try to fit someone in quickly? I think ya’ll are just too busy.”

Snot: “Is she seeing someone else, then?”

Me: “Yes.” (meaning: Lady, you can put down the phone number for Child Protective Services because I’m not going to try to drill the cavity myself to save money since I’m all White Trash with all my barefoot hillbilly kids)

My point is: why do we stick with providers we don’t like or other people (including friends) who are rude to us? This goes for family, too. If someone exudes negativity toward you, you don’t HAVE to be able to explain it. Just get the hell away. This goes for if you get negativity off of ME, as well. I apologize, and let’s just stay the hell away from each other.

AT&T and My Technologically Abusive Husband

I love when AT&T calls me about once a year to discuss new products and services.

First they want to know how I access the Internet. I tell them I don’t. They ask if I even have a computer. I say yes. They ask if I want the Internet. I say no, not unless my husband dies first.

Then they ask me about DirecTV and other cable and want to know how I get my cable now. I tell them I don’t. I tell them my converter box rocks. And that I won’t get cable unless my husband dies first.

Then they ask about our cell phones. I tell them I’m on my mom’s Sprint plan (no Internet, no texting) and Aron has a TracPhone.

Then I tell them I wouldn’t get any of that stuff from them anyway since they screw me so bad on my land line service, which I’m stuck with since Aron won’t part with it.

I live in a strange household, don’t I? It’s almost like Aron is technologically abusive toward me. Good thing for him he rocks in every other way.

No Shoes, No Service

By now you’ve probably heard about the Burger King in St. Louis that asked a woman to leave because her 6-month-old didn’t have shoes on. They said it violated a health code.

1. Babies don’t need shoes. Eva is 20 months old and has maybe worn shoes 6 times in her life. She’s a little pigeon-toed, and my doctor (Mr. Ultra Careful) said NOT wearing shoes is the best thing for her. Of course we put shoes on her when the ground is hot, and when winter comes she’ll have shoes and socks. We’re not COMPLETELY stupid.

2. Check your county for “no shoe” health violation codes. I dare you to find one. I once saw on CBS Sunday Morning where a guy NEVER wears shoes. He goes into places and they tell him it’s a health code violation, but it’s not. People just make crap up.

3. We’ve been asked to either put shoes on our little kids (I make my kids 2 and up wear shoes) or leave sometimes, but that’s more because they are afraid the kid will step on a crack pipe and sue. Damn our litigious society and damn that woman who sued McDonald’s for the hot coffee incident.

4. Don’t people have better things to worry about, like making the burger “my way”?

The Best Grandpa

The other night I took a baby doll in for Aron and Eva to play with and called Aron "Grandpa." He says, "I'm gonna be the best grandpa ever. Except I'll be old and damn near dead."

Well, genius, when you're almost 43 and still crankin' out the kids, you're likely to be a grandpa AND still have little ones running around the house. I realize this causes many of you to shudder. It's okay. Just go back to your Wii or your ESPN or your Young and the Restless, and you'll forget all about this blog post soon as if it was/were (I never could remember the difference) a bad dream.

Eva Peeva

This is Eva, my 4th and most naughty child. She's a Table Climber like her sister was. But she's so darn cute I just want to eat her up. My diaper bag is behind her in this picture ... I could carry her in it.