Birthdays at boarding school were alright. I mean, you were miles from your real family, but there were always lots of members of your school "family" with whom to celebrate. But then again, there was that dreaded lunchtime song. Lunches in the dining room were family style as opposed to the buffet style breakfast and dinner we were served. Family style meant we had to sit at assigned tables and partake in the meal together. At some point, an adult would ring a cowbell indicating we must all be quiet to hear announcements. After general announcements, came the birthday recognitions. If it was your birthday, you had to stand while all almost-200 people sang Happy Birthday to you. It was the longest rendition of Happy Birthday you'd have ever had the opportunity of hearing, and by the time it was over, you'd sit down, red-faced.
Thankfully, I spent all of my school years sharing the lunchtime birthday recognition with Mark. Of course, I never dreamed I would marry him, but sharing that moment always made that announcement so much more bearable. Not only was he a "big kid" and therefore cooler than cool, but it also took some of the pressure off during those few moments of song.
Now, while there is no lunchtime song--unless performed by four adorable children--I still love that I get to celebrate my birthday on the same day as Mark. Of course, I must point out that yesterday Mark turned the big 4-0, while I am 3 years behind him! But there is no one I would rather grow old with, and I am so grateful he was born and that our paths crossed in the just the right place and in just the right time years down the road from those moments following the infamous cowbell!
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Pierced
There was nothing I wanted more at the age of 13 than to have my ears pierced. But my parents wouldn't budge. The magical age was 16. Three more years. I couldn't understand. It's not like I was requesting a beer or that the devil be tatooed on my arm. My best friends had had theirs pierced for years. Plus, it was African custom: all baby girls got their ears pierced. I think the order of operation was clip the umbilical cord, pierce the ears, then bathe, feed, and swaddle. But not with my folks. And they did get asked by a couple of Africans about it. I'm sure the Africans would just shake their heads and say, "Those strange missionaries. How is everyone to know she is a girl if her ears are not pierced?"
Despite the fact that my parents were firm in their stance, I begged and pleaded and cajoled. And I finally got my way. Sort of. We made a deal. If I practiced the piano for a half hour every day of summer vacation, I could get my ears pierced. I wasn't a willing piano student, so practicing every day for a half hour was torture, but I did it.
Kolo, one of the African doctors, did the honors, and he followed the same procedure he would for any African baby. He used a suture needle and threaded a strand of suture thread right through my ear lobe. I wore the tied off thread for the obligatory 6 weeks. It may have looked strange, but it sure was easy to care for since there were no diamonds or earring backs to dodge when cleaning. The only danger was snagging the loop on a brush or comb. And there I was, 3 years earlier than planned, a proud earring wearer.
Later on a furlough to the U.S. and in a fit of rebelliousness, I put 4 more holes in my ears. I still remember that night sitting in my little California apartment room, the Beastie Boys playing softly beside me so as not to attract the attention of my parents. One by one, I pushed the sharp point of a stud earring through my lobes so that I ended up with 4 on my left ear and 2 on my right. Thankfully, I escaped infection. And, surprisingly, I hid all of my piercings from my parents with my long hair. Later, of course, I wizened up and realized that one doesn't need that many extra holes in one's head, so I let them all grow back except for two in my left ear and the solitary beginning one on the right.
Now I have a whole new generation of little girls. While I wouldn't want to punch their ears full of holes at this tender age, I have no Age Sixteen rule either. In fact, when Alex was 3 I had her ears pierced. However, they got infected, I think due to the fact that I was cheap and didn't select the pricier 14k studs. I was working at the kids' preschool then, and spending an hour cleaning up an infected ear every morning was tough on both of us, so I took them out.
Since then, every time we pass a Claire's, I've asked her, "Do you want to get your ears pierced today?" She's always said no, although the Princess, if in earshot, has replied with a resounding "YES!! I do!" Despite Alex's resistance, when her BFF Grace expressed a desire to get her ears pierced, I suggested we have a Girls' Day Out and go together for the piercing. She agreed.
The day finally came yesterday, and we all met in a Claire's crowded with Christmas shoppers. Grace and Alex went first. Both of them turned down the suggestion that the Claire's teddy bear sit in their laps for comfort during the piercing as well as the soothing lollipop after, both ideas denied with a politeness but a slight eye roll just in case anyone would question the maturity of these very grown-up 10-year-olds.
Despite the fact that my parents were firm in their stance, I begged and pleaded and cajoled. And I finally got my way. Sort of. We made a deal. If I practiced the piano for a half hour every day of summer vacation, I could get my ears pierced. I wasn't a willing piano student, so practicing every day for a half hour was torture, but I did it.
Kolo, one of the African doctors, did the honors, and he followed the same procedure he would for any African baby. He used a suture needle and threaded a strand of suture thread right through my ear lobe. I wore the tied off thread for the obligatory 6 weeks. It may have looked strange, but it sure was easy to care for since there were no diamonds or earring backs to dodge when cleaning. The only danger was snagging the loop on a brush or comb. And there I was, 3 years earlier than planned, a proud earring wearer.
Later on a furlough to the U.S. and in a fit of rebelliousness, I put 4 more holes in my ears. I still remember that night sitting in my little California apartment room, the Beastie Boys playing softly beside me so as not to attract the attention of my parents. One by one, I pushed the sharp point of a stud earring through my lobes so that I ended up with 4 on my left ear and 2 on my right. Thankfully, I escaped infection. And, surprisingly, I hid all of my piercings from my parents with my long hair. Later, of course, I wizened up and realized that one doesn't need that many extra holes in one's head, so I let them all grow back except for two in my left ear and the solitary beginning one on the right.
Now I have a whole new generation of little girls. While I wouldn't want to punch their ears full of holes at this tender age, I have no Age Sixteen rule either. In fact, when Alex was 3 I had her ears pierced. However, they got infected, I think due to the fact that I was cheap and didn't select the pricier 14k studs. I was working at the kids' preschool then, and spending an hour cleaning up an infected ear every morning was tough on both of us, so I took them out.
Since then, every time we pass a Claire's, I've asked her, "Do you want to get your ears pierced today?" She's always said no, although the Princess, if in earshot, has replied with a resounding "YES!! I do!" Despite Alex's resistance, when her BFF Grace expressed a desire to get her ears pierced, I suggested we have a Girls' Day Out and go together for the piercing. She agreed.
The day finally came yesterday, and we all met in a Claire's crowded with Christmas shoppers. Grace and Alex went first. Both of them turned down the suggestion that the Claire's teddy bear sit in their laps for comfort during the piercing as well as the soothing lollipop after, both ideas denied with a politeness but a slight eye roll just in case anyone would question the maturity of these very grown-up 10-year-olds.
The Princess, however, was more than willing to give the Claire's teddy bear a seat during the procedure.
And I elected to have two Claire's employees accomplish her piercing simultaneously, one on each ear. I was worried that otherwise Audrey might decide one was enough, thank you very much, and we'd be leaving the store with a lopsided princess. She shed a few big, huge crocodile tears after both earrings were secure, but it was nothing that the promised lollipop couldn't fix.
And I elected to have two Claire's employees accomplish her piercing simultaneously, one on each ear. I was worried that otherwise Audrey might decide one was enough, thank you very much, and we'd be leaving the store with a lopsided princess. She shed a few big, huge crocodile tears after both earrings were secure, but it was nothing that the promised lollipop couldn't fix.
Both girls enjoyed coming home to show off their new ears. Of course, as beautiful as their sisters look, the boys would never admit it with a compliment. However, Daddy's compliments more than made up for silly brothers' neglect.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
In Which She First Develops a Bad Taste in Her Mouth for the Tooth Doctor
Brought to you by the question the dental hygienist posed yesterday during my torture cleaning:
"So, did something traumatic happen to you that caused you to feel this way about dentists?"
I told her this story, though you may understand it better since I do not have fingers and various devices protruding from my mouth:
Growing up as a missionary kid, I never had the opportunity to get to know my relatives very well because I only saw them every four years when we would come back to the States for a year's furlough. Because we furloughed in California where my maternal relatives lived, I spent more time with them. During weekly visits to my grandmother's and holidays spent sitting at the kids' table with my cousins, I established at least a surface relationship with most of my mom's family.
The rare visits with my dad's family in Georgia were the special ones, though. There was something so comfortable and friendly about my grandparents' house in the small, southern town, a striking contrast to the noise, smog, and busyness of Los Angeles. Rincon was a town where everyone knew your name. I would go down to the post office with my grandfather, and the postmaster would greet him, "Good morning, Mr. Mac! Oh, and this must be your granddaughter." Obviously, he had been sharing his excitement about our visit.
I loved their house too. Outside was the ever-present smell of pine trees with a passing whiff of the paper mill in nearby Savannah. Not that paper mills give off a pleasant smell, but the odor always reminded me of Rincon, and that was a pleasant feeling. Inside there was the delicious aroma of fresh cornbread mixed with whatever meat dish would grace the table for dinner.
As weird as it sounds, one of my favorite things at my grandparents' house was in their bathroom. It was on their bathroom counter where I would always find the two plastic figurines. Or at least I thought they were figurines. They delighted me because they were a plump grandma with rosy cheeks and wire-frame spectacles, and an equally plump and jolly grandpa. And they stood there, cheerily, on the counter. I was even more delighted when I discovered the truth about these figurines. They were actually containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth at night. And you can believe I crept into their bathroom many a night to sneak a peek at their teeth lying in the recesses of their respective Grandma and Grandpa Figurines.
I had many a discussion with my parents about these fun containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth. I told my parents I wanted to one day have false teeth and a similar container in which to store them. At three-years-old, I had no idea of the prophetic nature of my grand desires. In fact, even as I spoke of my lofty teeth ambitions, my teeth were rotting in my mouth.
As a baby and young toddler, my parents had allowed me to fall asleep with my bottle, and the bottle contained a formula which contained sugar. Apparently, sucking on a bottle of sugar all night is bad for your teeth. So by the time I was four years old, all of my front teeth were rotten.
It was time for the dentist. And I honestly have mostly fond memories of this dentist's office. It took up the 3rd floor of an office building overlooking one of Los Angeles's freeways. I enjoyed sitting in the chair watching the cars go by. Seeing cars as numerous as one finds in L.A. was always culture shock for me. They always gave me a new weiner dog toothbrush. This was a toothbrush in a clear tube, and on either end was one end of the dog. A real dental treasure for a 4-year-old. Finally, they had a treasure chest to beat the band. It was in the shape of an actual treasure chest and was full of such a variety of treasures from which to choose, it was overwhelming.
Despite my adoration for this dentist, I inevitably had to undergo The Extraction. All of my front teeth came out. And I can only assume my x-rays showed no signs of any permanent teeth making their appearance any time soon, so rather than put me on a liquid diet for two years, I got temporary false teeth.
You would think, given my grand aspirations of one day sporting a good set of false teeth, I would have been elated. However, after the False Teeth Installation, I was presented with the harsh reality that I had just been given a set of false teeth that were attached to my mouth. No removing my teeth at bedtime. No putting them in a cute little jar beside the sink. These were no fun at all. With this realization, I was happy to find out that I would only have these false teeth until my permanent teeth emerged.
And with this experience, I learned several things. One, the Tooth Fairy knows that a whole mouthful of extracted teeth is worth way more than a quarter; I can still picture the lovely beaded flower necklace that came with the quarter. Secondly, not all false teeth are as cool as Grandma and Grandpa's. And third, the dentist is not a fun place to be.
For more "Things I Learned", visit Musings of a Housewife.
"So, did something traumatic happen to you that caused you to feel this way about dentists?"
I told her this story, though you may understand it better since I do not have fingers and various devices protruding from my mouth:
Growing up as a missionary kid, I never had the opportunity to get to know my relatives very well because I only saw them every four years when we would come back to the States for a year's furlough. Because we furloughed in California where my maternal relatives lived, I spent more time with them. During weekly visits to my grandmother's and holidays spent sitting at the kids' table with my cousins, I established at least a surface relationship with most of my mom's family.
The rare visits with my dad's family in Georgia were the special ones, though. There was something so comfortable and friendly about my grandparents' house in the small, southern town, a striking contrast to the noise, smog, and busyness of Los Angeles. Rincon was a town where everyone knew your name. I would go down to the post office with my grandfather, and the postmaster would greet him, "Good morning, Mr. Mac! Oh, and this must be your granddaughter." Obviously, he had been sharing his excitement about our visit.
I loved their house too. Outside was the ever-present smell of pine trees with a passing whiff of the paper mill in nearby Savannah. Not that paper mills give off a pleasant smell, but the odor always reminded me of Rincon, and that was a pleasant feeling. Inside there was the delicious aroma of fresh cornbread mixed with whatever meat dish would grace the table for dinner.
As weird as it sounds, one of my favorite things at my grandparents' house was in their bathroom. It was on their bathroom counter where I would always find the two plastic figurines. Or at least I thought they were figurines. They delighted me because they were a plump grandma with rosy cheeks and wire-frame spectacles, and an equally plump and jolly grandpa. And they stood there, cheerily, on the counter. I was even more delighted when I discovered the truth about these figurines. They were actually containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth at night. And you can believe I crept into their bathroom many a night to sneak a peek at their teeth lying in the recesses of their respective Grandma and Grandpa Figurines.
I had many a discussion with my parents about these fun containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth. I told my parents I wanted to one day have false teeth and a similar container in which to store them. At three-years-old, I had no idea of the prophetic nature of my grand desires. In fact, even as I spoke of my lofty teeth ambitions, my teeth were rotting in my mouth.
As a baby and young toddler, my parents had allowed me to fall asleep with my bottle, and the bottle contained a formula which contained sugar. Apparently, sucking on a bottle of sugar all night is bad for your teeth. So by the time I was four years old, all of my front teeth were rotten.
It was time for the dentist. And I honestly have mostly fond memories of this dentist's office. It took up the 3rd floor of an office building overlooking one of Los Angeles's freeways. I enjoyed sitting in the chair watching the cars go by. Seeing cars as numerous as one finds in L.A. was always culture shock for me. They always gave me a new weiner dog toothbrush. This was a toothbrush in a clear tube, and on either end was one end of the dog. A real dental treasure for a 4-year-old. Finally, they had a treasure chest to beat the band. It was in the shape of an actual treasure chest and was full of such a variety of treasures from which to choose, it was overwhelming.
Despite my adoration for this dentist, I inevitably had to undergo The Extraction. All of my front teeth came out. And I can only assume my x-rays showed no signs of any permanent teeth making their appearance any time soon, so rather than put me on a liquid diet for two years, I got temporary false teeth.
You would think, given my grand aspirations of one day sporting a good set of false teeth, I would have been elated. However, after the False Teeth Installation, I was presented with the harsh reality that I had just been given a set of false teeth that were attached to my mouth. No removing my teeth at bedtime. No putting them in a cute little jar beside the sink. These were no fun at all. With this realization, I was happy to find out that I would only have these false teeth until my permanent teeth emerged.
And with this experience, I learned several things. One, the Tooth Fairy knows that a whole mouthful of extracted teeth is worth way more than a quarter; I can still picture the lovely beaded flower necklace that came with the quarter. Secondly, not all false teeth are as cool as Grandma and Grandpa's. And third, the dentist is not a fun place to be.
For more "Things I Learned", visit Musings of a Housewife.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)