Turkey For Me, Turkey For You ...

... I like to eat turkey in a big brown shoe. - The renowned poetery scholar, Adam Sandler.

I am thankful for family, friends, and Facebook. In that order. I am off to Boston to eat some turkey. Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday full of love, laughs, joy, and pumpkin pie.

Raise A Can

The letter below is a repost from November 19, 2009. Because good things bear repeating. Dad - Thank you for all you've done over the years. From you, I inherited a love for people, creative nature, and sense of humor; I am happy I did not also inherit a thick, black moustache. Love on your birthday and always!

Dear Dad,

In honor of your birthday today, I baked you a cake. Well, not really, but Mom did. We both know that is much better because it will be delicious and cooked in all places, unlike my cakes. What I did do was download some Internet pictures OF cake for you to enjoy for your birthday, which is practically the same thing as baking, in terms of effort. Those will come later ... too many good ones to comment on. Who knew so many cakes were created to celebrate teeth?

As you know, you retired this month from practice, but you enjoyed being a dentist for 34 years.

I remember I thought it was so cool when you'd come to Career Day at my elementary school. In first grade, you handed out those pink tablets that kids chew and then their teeth would turn pink in places where they had not brushed enough. Judging by these tablets, nobody in the first grade class had brushed their teeth for at least four years.

Dentistry is admittedly not the most "cool" profession (we all know, that would be accounting) but in third grade, I met Patrick Ewing when he came in for an appointment and that was cool to me. Sort-of famous people are impressive to little kids. From what I recall, he had tall incisors. When I was in fourth grade, you saved a German Shepherd by performing emergency skull and jaw surgery after he got hit by a truck. (I don't know why the vet was not on call, but whatever ... my memories, my retelling ... ) Add that to my Dad Is A Hero column!

Then, sometime between middle and high school, you switched from World's Greatest Dad, My Hero to Mr. Terrible, He Who Is Intent On Life Ruining And Fun Prevention. You were strict growing up. You may recall, I was grounded fairly consistently from years twelve until eighteen. I was expected to have a job. I was not allowed to wear clothes that were either crotchtacular or cleavagey. If I was giving off even a hint of that street-corner vibe, I was sent upstairs to change (and while I was it, I could wash that paint off my face too).

Don't get me started on boys or drinking. The look you gave my boyfriend when he came to pick me up for Prom said loud and clear, "Don't test me. Home by midnight is not a suggestion, but a threat, I know where you live and I don't think anyone would miss you."

I do not even want to discuss what happened when you and Mom were on vacation and I had a friend or two (hundred) over and a few of said friends tampered with the nitrous tank in your office (Words of advice: IF YOU DO NOT WANT YOUR KIDS TO PLAY WITH THE NITROUS DURING HIGH SCHOOL PARTIES THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE, THEN YOU SHOULD TELL THEM THAT AHEAD OF TIME. Like, duh ... I was not a mind-reader).

One of the biggest points of contention during adolescence was that you would not let me get my driver's license until I was seventeen. At the time, you might as well have forced me to wear headgear and a yellow "I'm With Stupid" t-shirt to the Homecoming Game. No driver's license = Social Death. And then you refused to buy me a car, cruel and unusual punishment in its own right.

Get this Internet: I was told if I wanted a car, I HAD TO BUY MY OWN. But adversity makes one stronger and I managed to survive despite your continued efforts at life-ruining. I grudgingly admit that since I started college able to read, spell, and as not-a-parent, maybe you were doing something right.

When you were not attempting to ruin my teenage life for the sheer fun of it, you were working. You had a practice in Georgetown, where you were a professor, and one in Columbia. The hours were long, the commute was long, you were busy. Always a consummate professional, your patients loved you. It was due to you that I learned work ethic and responsibility to cases and clients. You always cared about the people you treated, not just the cases, and that was a lesson I carried with me through the years. You did pro bono work for people that could not afford dental care, something I eventually tried to emulate in my own practice, even if it meant scheduling time for them on weekends or late evenings.

No matter how much of yourself you devoted to your practice, you taught me that work did not preempt family. You always structured your practice to be there for kids' stuff growing up. You never missed any of my horse shows or Scott's baseball games. On weekends, you would take us to DC to visit the Museum of Natural History or one of the art museums (probably because it was free, but also because it was educational). Now that Ethan is playing soccer, you've always been there to cheer him on when he makes a goal, or sometimes, just trips over another kid and falls in the mud. You cheer for that too.

A toast to you on your birthday, the best dad I have. Mom shared this picture with me. It is a favorite of mine, I think it captures you in all your wisdom and dignity.

Georgetown Dental School Graduation, 1974 (**Casual Dress Day?)

Two weeks after you graduated with open lab jacket, triumphant Budweiser in hand, and prominent chest hair on display, Mom married you. I mean, how could she say no to all that? Scott and I know the rest of the story. We'll have some cake in your honor tonight and I promise to floss when I am done.

Happy Birthday Dad!

We love you!

He Wants To Be A Billionaire

Jeff keeps all sorts of old shizz in our spare room in the basement. Like gold coins, and maybe, garbage bags of his hair and nail clippings. I have no idea. It is his hoarding domain down there and it scares me.

Last night, I was desperate. Ethan lost a tooth and it had been a long day, so I went rummaging in the basement. It was not his first lost tooth, nor his second, but his third. The first missing tooth got a handwritten note, some silver glitter (fairy dust) on the floor and pillow, and a shiny gold-colored dollar from the bank. The dollar was worth one dollar (this point will be important later). The second tooth got a crisp two-dollar bill from the bank worth - are you paying attention? - two dollars, and a handwritten note, but no glitter, because the first round of fairy dust was still lingering in places that the vacuum refuses to acknowledge. I will have to explain to the next buyer of this house that I am not a stripper, but that I merely like crafts. Ok, not really, I hate crafts. But I like glitter. Especially fairy glitter.

So ... the third tooth. Last night at midnight, I surveyed the contents of my purse for something fairy-worthy to stuff under a pillow. The verdict was not good: several linty Tic-Tacs, a half-eaten Fruit Roll-Up, or four dusty nickles. Nickles seemed anti-climatic and I did not want to part with the linty Tic-Tacs or Fruit Roll-Up in case I needed a snack for later. Ethan was sleeping and I knew if I waited until morning, the tooth fairy would not make an appearance (she's not on her game before coffee). If the tooth fairy failed to show, I might as well tell the kid that those rainbow cupcakes from the bakery were made from the blood of Care Bears and My Little Ponies.

Ah HA! I recalled there was one gold coin I'd seen about a hundred years ago floating around in a basement office drawer. A brave visit to that corner of the spare room where all the spiders live yielded - and I kid you not - Jeff's college fake ID. Idaho. Brown hair/brown eyes. Five-foot six. Which seems close, except he is blond with blue eyes. Oh, and SIX-FOOT FOUR. Small details. I also came across a calendar from the realtor who sold us our house, in 2002. That will be useful someday. Before I unearthed the meth lab and Egyptian mummy that are probably hiding down there, I accomplished the mission and found the gold coin I'd been searching for. Good news! The Tic-Tacs remained in my purse, and I got to keep my nickles. I noted that the gold coin was imprinted with $10. Using my superpowers of analytic reasoning, I assumed that meant the value of this particular coin was, in fact, $10.

Ethan took his $10 coin to school, carried it around in his pocket, ran around the playground, dropped it in the dirt, and at one point, traded it with a friend for a large rock dug out from under the baseball diamond, which he traded back after ten minutes.

There is a jeweler around the corner from Ethan's school. They have a "Cash For Gold" sign in their store window, which Ethan finds intriguing. Since he has never owned anything gold before, there was never any reason to visit. Now that he was the proud owner of a "real" gold coin, Ethan begged to take his gold coin to see how much it was worth, to "see if he could get some cash." Sure! We had nothing to do for the next hour! And I am sure the jewelry store staff have nothing better to do at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday then entertain us!

I did not look closely at what the tooth fairy was handing out. The gold lady at the jeweler did. She was pleased to inform Ethan that his tooth fairy basement relic was real gold. And originally minted in 1894. Then she asked if he wanted to sell it to her for $675.

That ought to pay for his veneers.

True

You never how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.

Furry Beasts

This is me. In my mind.

I may be in need of a shopping intervention. The fur vest (faux, naturally, no PETA calls for me) that the size-double-zero, pink-striped hair, seventeen-year-old working at Ann Taylor talked me into ("It is SO perfect on you! It's sick!") seemed like a good idea. But when I put it on at home, the only one who did not laugh was the cat. And I could tell by the look in his eyes that he only wanted to get my vest alone so he could light a few candles, cue up some Marvin Gaye on the iPod, and do PG-13 type things to it, so I am not sure he has my best intentions at heart.

As for pervert animals, I am still recovering from a nature walk we took this week. I will leave you with this visual: I was ready to walk through colorful leaves to observe the placid forest creatures, like soft little bunnies with plush fall coats and long eyelashes. Instead, we ended up watching Bambi's mom get violated and then had to sprint back to the car to avoid getting high-fived by the alpha male's horny deer antlers. I still feel dirty. Stay tuned for a recap of the deer peep show ... with pictures. I know you can't wait!

Goodbye, October

A shot of one of my favorite families on Halloween. You know who you are. Thank you for hosting us for trick-or-treating. I'll send you the Jenny Craig bill after I finish all our candy, sometime in mid-April.

"May you have warm words on a cool evening, a full moon on a dark night, and a smooth road all the way to your door." ~Irish Toast

Farewell, October. Hello, November. May you be gentle and filled with laughter.