I have a question for you:
Take Gianni yet again, for the squillionenth time, to the dentist to fix the cavities?
Enroll him in the local hockey league and accidentally/on purpose forget to buy him a mouth guard?
Yeah, I thought so. But I have to rant a bit, so hang on to your bustles. First of all, I already know I am the world's worst mother in the history of mothers and I've known he's had these cavities for probably eight months now. By the time we relocated and got settled in, and started health insurance, and changed health insurance, and bagged health insurance and got medicaid, and then made an appointment...well, then I had the joy of confirming my suspicions of evil sugar bugs in my pooky's teeth. That led to dentist #2. Of course, that led to a whole new exam. Which led to more confirmation. Which led to waiting another month for another appointment. Which led to Pooky doing excellently for exactly half the appointment, then flipping himself over like a cheese omelet and refusing to open his mouth for the other half. Which led to a temporary filling which will fall out in approximately sometime in the near future and most likely at the most inopportune time EVER, and will reveal a huge hole in his two front teeth. So all of this oh-so wonderful experience led to yet another dentist...who guess what? wants to see him for a regular old exam first because goodness knows they can't take the other TWO dentist's word for it because that would just be SENSIBLE and we wouldn't want to be that. Well, that's just peachy keen except medicaid has this little bitty problem of having three exams in three months...so they aint paying. So I am forced to pay out of pocket for a dumb exam that will tell me what everyone in the universe already knows: the child with the world's worst mother is riddled with cavities. Oh, and here's another gem in my ranting: the new dentist who will have to sedate the guy wants me to sign a paper saying, and I quote, if the doctor tells me - the parent - to remove myself, I will do so IMMEDIATELY.
Can you say, no, and HELL NO?
I'm already the world worst mother, I don't particularly see the need to see myself on the five o'clock news being interviewed about why I was out in the waiting room reading Redbook when my sedated toddler was fondled by a crazy child molesting ax murderer posing as a pseudo dentist.
So, I guess I'll just enroll him hockey, help him climb trees, apprentice him to a roofer, sign him up for rugby... I'm taking suggestions at this point.
I know I should shut up and make the appointment and maybe, oh I don't know, homeschool my kids, but I recorded Les Miserables 25th Anniversary concert for Anna and so I've pretty much lost her in all things academic for the next little bit. Although she probably knows a lot of French Revolution history and could sing it for you, it's unrealistic to get her to do long division when she's daydreaming about her Cosette next to Nick Jonas' Marius. Nick isn't half bad either, although next to Broadway voices, he's a bit puny.
Oh, and if you need to make a dental appointment for your own pooky because you're the world's second worst mother, and you need to find one who will sedate the pooky so he won't pull the cheese omelet act, then what you want to say on the phone is, can you anesthetize him? NOT can you euthanize him?
Two totally different things there, and the wrong wording can make the receptionist put you on hold while she dials CPS. You are welcome.