Transcendentalist

My children were very bad yesterday, because of all the candy, obviously. After lunch, I insisted that their teeth were going to fall out and no more candy ever ever ever. The problem is that I love candy. So I tell them not to eat it and then throughout the day, I hide and eat their stash. Yesterday I was putting the clothes in the dryer (Really? * We can send people to Mars but we can’t create one machine that washes and dries? C’mooon…they both spin!) and I found a pack of mini-Twizzlers in Chase’s pocket. They were all gummi and jacked up from going through the wash, but this was not a strong enough deterrent. Because: Twizzlers! I ripped it open and started chewing. Joy.

But then I bit down on something hard. Weird. I examined the messy gob and found a tooth in it. A TOOTH. Upon second glance, I realized it was one of my crowns. I was terrified. It was like having one of those dreams in which your teeth are falling out and you wake up so relieved it was just a dream except that my teeth were actually falling out. No waking up. Tish walked in and I showed her the tooth and she started crying. I thought she was worried about me, but no. Not Tish.

Tish: What’s that red stuff in that tooth? Are you eating candy without me????

Me: Yes, Tish. I was.

Tish: And your tooth fell out???

Me: Yep. I told you.

Tish: UH-OH. WE BETTER ASK THE COMPUTER WHAT WE SHOULD DO.

The computer is her third parent. Actually, maybe her first parent.

So I ran to the computer and Googled: WHAT DO I DO IF MY CROWN FALLS OUT? Got some good info. Thank you, Mama Google.

Craig was at soccer practice with Chase and so after my Google consultation I tried to create a plan that would not include telling Craig. Craig is a total dental goody-goody. He goes to the dentist every six months, on the dot, and he flosses every day. Twice a day, often. I do not floss. I have no idea why not. I can do other hard things, but not this thing. I’m just really tired. This makes Craig insane. He leaves dental floss by my toothbrush every night. He sends me annoying links about gum disease. He buys me fresh toothbrushes every few months. He panics every time I open a package with my teeth. It’s exhausting.

Craig is the poster boy for dental hygiene. I mean this literally. There is a mammoth poster of him on the wall at our local dentist, smiling his huge lily-white, healthy gummed smile, mocking all of us terrified, sweating, miserable anti-dentites. The entire dental staff adores Craig, and he loves them right back. GUSHES about them while I glare at him. When he visits they treat him like their son who’s just come home from college. They ooh and aah. When I visit, they just eeewww. They raise their eyebrows. They look at my bleeding gums and then shoot each other glances and say to me: You’re not flossing. You’re still not flossing. And then they get some dental floss out and they give me a flossing lesson. Every time, another flossing lesson. Like I’m five. And the thing is that I have to listen and pay attention and act like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone floss because my only other alternative is to say, “JESUS - I KNOW how to floss, I JUST CHOOSE NOT TO.” Which seems worse. So like an idiot, I watch them carefully and I say, “OOOOH, I SEE. THAT’S HOW IT’S DONE. I USE THE FLOSS ON MY TEETH. AAAH….THAT’S WHERE I WENT WRONG. I WAS USING IT ON MY ELBOW…..I SEE NOW. AHA. YES. I SEE. LOOKS FUN!” It is always so uncomfortable and infuriating and humiliating that when I leave I vow to floss every day. But then I don’t. Because I get tired again. This time I planned to floss for the two weeks before my annual appointment, to trick them.

But now I have to go there today. To have them put my crown back on. And I didn’t have two weeks notice. And I’m scared. I’ve already bitten off all my nails. BOO.

In other news, I’d like to thank you for your love during the past week. The comments: they were overwhelming to me. I work so hard on this blog, because what we are doing here seems so very, very important to me. But every once in awhile I wonder if I’m being ridiculous. Every once in awhile I wonder if the magic is in my head, if I’m silly to spend so much of my time and heart here. The responses to the last post helped me put that fear to bed. This place is important, and you are thankful for it. I am equally thankful for you.

During the past two years, readers have often asked when I’d send my writing to an agent. Craig and I had some serious talks about that, and in the end, we decided not to. I can’t give you any practical reasons because as usual for me, it came down to: it didn’t feel right. I don’t want to be overly ambitious. I don’t want my Monkees to ever feel like they are means to an end. I don’t want my writing to be a means to an end. Writing helps me heal everyday and that is quite enough. I don’t want to ask any more of it. I decided that if my goals for writing are to make a difference, to heal myself and help others heal – it is already a success. Magic was happening right in front of me, no need to overlook that in search of more, more, more. Always needing more really can be the kiss of death. So Craig and I decided together that what we have here, at Momastery, is more than enough. We would not pursue more. But we’d keep our eyes open for invitations, and if the world offered us one, we’d respond.

We got an invitation last weekend. I’ll give you the details soon, but for now I’ll just tell you that I have been spending four hours a day fine-tuning fifty essays to send to an agent. I’ll finish up this week and send it all off. We will see what happens. When I hear back, you’ll be the first to know. Maybe the seventh to know, actually. Craig, Sister, Tisha and Bubba, Chase and Tish will be first. Then you. I’ll tell you before Amma. She’s on my last nerve- that one. It’s Ammageddon at our house.

For now, please know that what happens with this agent is not of huge consequence. I did my best, which is a good feeling. But the outcome is out of our control, it is up to God. What is of huge consequence is what we are doing here. Taking care of each other, laughing together, stretching and comforting each other. Offering the world a safe place to land. Keep offering yourself, your thoughts, your fears, your love. It’s making a difference. We know that.

And for today, please pray that there is somehow an entirely new staff at my dentist’s office, none of whom are familiar with my dental reputation. And for God’s sake, no flossing lesson.

Love,

G

* P.S. Craig just read this essay and said that in fact, no one’s been to mars. Whatever. Go brush your teeth, buddy.