The Round and Furry Song

Despite the fact that Christmas was more than 6 weeks ago, my youngest son, Ryan still insists that I sing “Silent Night” to him every night at bedtime. I don’t mind. It is my favorite Christmas carol. So, each night after reading stories and bestowing a kiss goodnight, Ryan usually makes his request for “The Christmas Song,” his name for “Silent Night.”

So I was surprised last night when he said, “Mommy will you sing the "Round and Furry" song?”

I had NO idea what he was talking about.

“Sorry, sweetie, I don’t know that song,” I explain.

“Yes, you do. You always sing it,” he scolds.

What on earth is the "Round and Furry" song???? I quickly go through a mental list of all the children songs I know. My mind is blank!

At this point Ryan starts to get aggravated. Why on earth doesn’t his mommy know the "Round and Furry" song?

But, luckily, instead of crying, he decides to sing the "Round and Furry" song for me so that I will understand.

It goes something like this:

“Silent night. Holy night. All is calm. All is bright. Round and furry mother and child.”

OH MY GOD! 

He means “Silent Night.”

I have to hide my face in his pillow to stifle the laughs. But that doesn’t work. Soon tears of laughter are streaming down my face. My other boys and Jeff come running into Ryan’s room to see what is so funny.

Oblivious to the reason for my laughter, Ryan is quite proud of himself, for making mommy laugh and drawing the attention of the entire family – and best yet – delaying bedtime.

As I fill in the rest of the family on the reason for my laughter, Jeff wisely replies, “That’s one for the baby book.”

He’s right.

And as soon as the kids are laughed out and asleep, I pull out Ryan’s baby book, happy to be adding something to the most forgotten baby book in the house. (sorry kiddo, but by the time you arrived, the house was already in chaos).

As I rifle through the pages, I find other words Ryan has mistaken in the past.

My favorite is “Last-erday” Ryan’s word for yesterday and one that I now use because I just like it better.

And then there is Water Lemon for watermelon. I think I like that one better too.

I start to think that maybe from now on, I’m going to speak solely in Kids-Speak, because  aren’t we always being told that the key to remaining young is to continue being a kid at heart?

So tonight, just like lasterday, I am going to sing Ryan the “Round and Furry” song at bedtime.

I feel younger already!!

Manic Mondays

Mondays are tough. I knew that long before the Bangles belted out their Manic Monday woes. 

As a high schooler, Monday’s were met with a mad rush to pack my back pack before the bus rolled up outside my house. As a college student, Mondays meant enduring hours of lectures before unwinding at 10 cent Buffalo Wing night. And as a young adult, Monday morning was usually the time when I realized that by sleeping until 2:00 p.m. all weekend, I had forgotten to pick up my clothes at the dry cleaners, buy something to pack for lunch, and get change for the metro.

But as my alarm clock buzzed I was accountable only to myself. Whatever I had forgotten or neglected only impacted me, and what I had thought of at the time as my crazy life.

Now as a wife and mother, the game has changed.

I am personally responsible for getting an entire house full of people out the door with matching shoes, winter coats, water bottles, school snacks, weekend homework assignments, pressed shirts (you’re welcome honey), all with as little screaming, yelling, and fighting as possible.

Ok, truth be told. The only one really yelling is usually me.

But, hey, I am the one with all the responsibility.

And to make matters worse, not one member of my family, myself included, is a morning person.

And yes, I am the one responsible for hitting the snooze button not one, not two, but three times, before realizing that we are all going to be extremely late.

And so Monday morning begins.

“Wake up, honey,” I say shaking Jeff’s sleeve.

“Grunt, grunt, grunt,” I hear in reply.

I then run through the kitchen, start my coffee, and head to the kid’s rooms.

“Wake up sweetie. Mommy loves you. Time for school.”

Next room.

Repeat.

Next room

Repeat.

Apparently, my kids enjoy sleeping as much as I do. So the cycle begins again. This time with less pleasantries.

“Wake up. You are going to get a tardy.”

Repeat.

Repeat.

WAKE UP!!!!!

WAKE UP!!!!

WAKE UP!!!!

As the boy’s precious, but groggy faces finally make their way downstairs, we start playing a fun Monday morning game which I like to call: “What did you forget you had to do/make/buy/build/create for school this morning?”

This morning was no different.

We played, “I Can’t Find My School Planner That I Must Have At All Times That I Took Out of My Bag to Look Up What the Super Bowl Roman Numerals Really Meant” Game.

Fun?

Not really.

And let me just add, that being late, or even close to late – DRIVES ME NUTS.

I am the type of person who likes to be EARLY. I enjoy having a cushion of time to spare.

I am realizing that with children, this is hardly an option.

Luckily, everyone got to school on time, albeit by the skin of their teeth, well feed, properly dressed, but without the aforementioned school planner.

That, I did not find until noon when I located it stacked in between the cookie sheets.

I’m not going to ask…..

at least not until Tuesday.

Where did your little voice go?

Stuck at home this past week with sick kids, I decided to go through the many video computer files I have taken of the children since 2003. These are all small files that I would occasionally take with my camera, of simple, every day events – back in the days before I could do so on my phone!

It has been so much fun.  In fact, it has been addicting.

I absolutely love taking photographs and as a result I must have one billion pictures of the kids. I never want to miss a moment. But it occurred to me as I looked at these “lost video files” that there is nothing like a video to best capture a moment in time.

All of the sudden, while sitting at my computer, the kids were babies again. And there is nothing in the world like hearing their baby sounds fill the house. Where did those little voices go? The change was so gradual, I had forgotten.

Instantaneously I forget all about sleepless nights, endless diapers, and regular feedings. Instead, I just wanted to hold my children in my arms as babies again – if only for a moment.

Watching these videos also provided a week’s worth of family entertainment. The boys got the greatest kick out of seeing themselves and each other miniaturized.

“Look at your big, chubby cheeks,” Brendan said to Colin.

“Ha, ha. Look at your huge diaper,” retorted Colin with a laugh.

I was perhaps most struck by the way in which they loved and enjoyed each other right from the start.

The looks on their little faces as their baby brothers were placed into their chubby little toddler arms is absolutely magical. The videos capture the moments in which they became brothers – and what I hope are lifetime best friends.

I also found it amazing how young Jeff and I look in these early videos and how easily we got excited by the smallest things.

Over and over again we took videos of Brendan pointing to his belly on command, Colin making funny baby faces, and Ryan rolling over.

This week’s video exploration inspired me to continue taking videos not only of the big events, but the little, every day moments such as those captured in these small video files, because I truly believe they paint the truest and most beautiful look into our lives as a family.

Thank You Honey!

Did you know that pharmacies close at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday nights?

I think I knew that, but it just didn’t register.

It didn’t sink in until last night at 6:08 p.m. when I drove up to the Walgreen pharmacy window and instead of seeing a pleasant, helpful pharmacist, I saw a big metal curtain and a padlock.

Oh *&%^$#!

My three year old Ryan and I had just left after hours urgent care where he was diagnosed with a mean case of strep throat. The little man needed his medicine and he needed it now!

Considering the fact that we are well into the 21^st century, I figured I would find a nearby 24-hour pharmacy. There have to be many of those, right?

WRONG.

The closest one, I discovered was 20 miles away.

I debated.

It was almost bedtime. Could we get away with waiting and filling the prescription in the morning?

CRY CRY CRY

No! My baby needed medicine now.

Preparing to embark on the 20 mile journey the phone rings.

“Brendan is sick now too,” Jeff informs me.

Trying my best to remain calm, I figure that I had better take him to urgent care first, get the inevitable strep diagnosis, and then make the 20 mile trek.

Two hours and two diagnoses’ later, I ask my patient and loving husband if he will make the trip to the pharmacy. Thankfully, he agrees.

An hour comes and goes ….. No Jeff. No medicine.

Another hour comes and goes…..

Apparently quite a few people need prescriptions filled on Sunday night.

By the time Jeff finally arrives home with the medicine it is almost dawn.

I resist every urge to say to my poor, exhausted husband, “Maybe we should have waited until the morning.”

Instead I climb the stairs, wake up my two sick sons and proceed to dose out their penicillin. In less than 20 seconds, Ryan throws his up.

I try again.

He resists.

Oh no, I think. I can’t let Jeff see what’s going on. The poor guy spent the entire Pro-Bowl waiting at the 24-CVS with half the local population.

I plead with Ryan to take his medicine.

“You don’t want the doctor to give you the medicine in a shot, do you?” I ask.

(Do they even do that?)

Sensing the lameness of my threats, Ryan ignores me.

It is not until I offer him both Root Beer and chocolate that he even tries to swallow the medicine again.

One hour later he is in bed with at least ½ of the recommended dose.

With a few hours of sleep under my belt, the whole process starts over again.

One sip + root beer + chocolate + one more sip = exhaustion.

Around noon, I call my sister the pediatrician, who unfortunately lives in NY and can only offer me her advice.

When I tell her about our woes she replies:

“I don’t know what kind of urgent care place you went to, but I would never prescribe penicillin for strep. It tastes awful. Kids throw it up all the time!”

Oh great. Just great

She obviously does not appreciate the lengths we went to – to unintentionally make our kids puke.

However, she does advise me to call my pediatrician and explain the situation.

I take her sage advice and after what I am sure is waaaay too much information, the boy’s doctor calls in a new, non-vomit inducing medicine.

Time for one more phone call.

“Hi honey,” I say. “Could you please pick up something at the pharmacy on your way home?”

The Sick Day Paradox

Today is a sick day in our house. It appears that the evil Strep monster has decided to pay a second visit this winter.

And while I absolutely, positively HATE when one of my children is sick, I have to admit that sick days make me feel like a good mom.

Because on sick days I know EXACTLY what my child WANTS and NEEDS from me. And it is ALL within my power to provide.

Sick days are days when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything I do for my sick child will make them feel better and feel loved.

The mystery of how to make my child happy --- has been temporarily answered.

I don’t have to wonder if they will like what I packed in their lunchbox because I KNOW they will appreciate every last spoonful of chicken soup that we share together on the couch before a nap.

I don’t have to worry that they will pull away from a hug for fear that their friends might see because I KNOW they will spend the day curled up in my lap, enjoying the attention.

And I don’t have to find the perfect activity to fill their free time because they will enjoy the small, often forgotten, activities like puzzles and card games that we will play together.

It is also a day when it is o.k. to eat popsicles for breakfast and watch cartoons for hours. It’s o.k. to build a fort out of sheets in the living room with little to no regard for time and schedules.

But most importantly sick days make me thankful – thankful for the fact that my child is only temporarily ill and will be back to his fun loving self very soon. Because, while I enjoy babying my baby for a day or two --- it is the HEALTHY, picky-lunch-eating, hug-dodging, whirling dervish that I thank God for each and every day.

The homework surprise

I have done a lot of homework in my life - twelve years of Catholic school, followed by four years of college, and two years of graduate school. When I received my last degree I foolishly thought that I could throw off the shackles of homework forever.

I was wrong.

I had children.

And while I do NOT do their homework for them – making sure it gets done, and done well, is a daunting task.

I firmly believe, unless my mind is failing me, that even now – in 1^st and 3^rd grades - they are required to do much more homework than I was expected to complete when I was their age.

Their homework exhausts me.  

The first problem is that homework needs to be completed at a time of day when we are usually running from one after school activity to another. Or the boys (and I) are exhausted by the day’s events.

It’s like limping across the finish line of a marathon and discovering that you have to ride your bike home.

The second problem is that I don’t really WANT to do homework with the boys. I have spent the entire day away from them, and to be perfectly honest, I’d rather just have fun. The boys love to come home and play kickball, basketball, or go for a bike ride. So whenever we can, we do.

I should be accustomed to helping the boys with their homework by now.

In our public school system, homework begins in Kindergarten, cleverly disguised as “enrichment.” At the end of each month the students are required to submit a stack of assignments.

How many 5 year olds do you know who are motivated and/or willing to sit down and do their homework on their own?

My favorite Kindergarten “enrichment” projects were innocently sent home as:

“MONTHLY FAMILY PROJECTS!”

Aka, time consuming, “pain-in-my-you-know-what” assignments.

Do you know how long it takes to do a 5-person family hand collage – at Christmas time no less!?

Or a leprechaun trap with at least one moving part?

(I’m not kidding!)

Or a “this is your life” poster board display with at least 10 photographs?

Well let me tell you ---

MORE TIME THAN I WOULD LIKE TO SPEND!

And being the Type-A person that I am, it is unacceptable to throw together just any ole thing for these projects. I want them to be amazing!

As a result, I repeatedly have to stop myself from saying, “Let Mommy do it!” and remember that this is THEIR homework.

Making matters worse is the fact that the homework assignments do not change in kindergarten from year to year – so after making something fabulous with Brendan, I have to turn around two years later and do something equally fabulous, but different with Colin. And in two more years, I’m sure I’ll be facing the same projects a third time with Ryan.

For Brendan and Colin, now that kindergarten has passed and they are “graders,” homework is a nightly ritual, and an interesting thing has begun to happen…..

Both boys are becoming very good at completing their assignments. My role now is to answer questions and to review their work. If I allow myself to see past the chaos that is competing for my attention (dinner, Ryan, work, blog) I actually enjoy spending this time with the boys.

I enjoy watching them learn and grow.

I enjoy witnessing their “a-ha” moments.

And I enjoy watching them get excited about a certain subject/topic/lesson.

Homework is still difficult to “fit in” to our hectic lives, but I am learning to appreciate it for the gift it is giving me ---

The opportunity to watch my boys grow into bigger boys, and ultimately into men.

And I am thankful for that gift.

And the fact that they are no longer required to create moving leprechaun traps!!

Hey kids – why don’t you go play with the kitchen knives?

Crazy, right?

Yet, yesterday, during a temporary lapse in judgment, I decided it was a good idea to take the boys, by myself, ice skating for the very first time

As I stood inside the Ice House lacing up my boys skates, I realized that, in essence, I was strapping kitchen knives to their feet and sending them out on a solid sheet of ice on which they had no hope of staying upright.

I then noticed that all the other children, who were about to skate rings around us, were all wearing helmets.

Huh?

In all fairness it has been approximately 20 years since I last wore skates. But I guess I should have seen the whole helmet thing coming.

Bad mom!

Truth be told our skating adventure had been a spur-of-the-moment decision made by a harried mom – me! in the middle of a “teacher work day.”

For those of you unfamiliar with teacher work days – they are days in which teachers need their students to stay at home so that they can work on report cards and end of quarter teacherly duties.

In mom-speak, teacher work days are “oh-my-God-another-weekday-off-while-my-husband-works-what-on-earth-are-we-going-to-do” days.

So after making homemade pancakes for breakfast, hosting a play date, breaking up a fight, meeting dad out for lunch, and ending at least 17 arguments, I was out of options --- so ice skating seemed like a pretty reasonable idea.

It was not until I had the boys laced into their skates that I considered the fact that I only had two hands for my three kids. Oh and did I mention I am as coordinated as a rhinoceros on skates?

But I took a deep breath, made sure my iPhone was in my pocket (we needed pictures of this event!), decided to give 3-year old Ryan the “benefit” of holding my shaky hand, and instructed Brendan and Colin to follow us while holding on to the sides of the rink.

You know, I kinda forgot just how slippery ice can be!  

As the expert skaters, some of whom were no more than 5, whizzed by us, Ryan began to lose his footing. With typical “momma bear” strength I caught hold of him and balanced myself against the wall. I then instructed Brendan and Colin to smile for a picture. (as if I could ever forget this day)!

With sweat beads forming along the bridge of my nose, I decided our human train would continue to limp along until we made it ALL AROUND THE RINK!

After we passed the last “exit” Ryan began crying. “I don’t want to do this anymore!”

“Honey, we just got here,” I say, trying my best to put on my old Girl Scout smile.

“It’s cold, my feet hurt, it’s slippery!”

His crying gets LOUDER.

AND LOUDER.

Now the sweat beads have moved from my nose to my back.

My ankles start to hurt.

“Hey, mom if I fell and someone skated over my finger, do you think it would be cut off,” says Brendan in the middle of the melee.

WHAT?

OH MY GOD! MAYBE!

WE HAVE GOT TO GET OFF THIS ICE!

Approximately five minutes later we have made our way around the rink and reach the exit.

Brendan and Colin want to keep skating.

But I just can’t see sending them out alone wearing their knife shoes and facing the whizzing finger cutting expert skaters.

Ryan, on the other hand, has had enough. We narrowly escape a trip to the ER when I turn around and find him trying to take off his own knife shoes.

Finally, with Ryan safely in his sneakers, I instruct Colin to sit with him while I take Brendan around the ice. Next it’s Colin’s turn.

By the time we finish our once-around, I am ready for a nap and an ankle transplant.

But the boys love it!

They are getting bolder!

So, I decide to sit with Ryan, allowing Brendan and Colin to skate by themselves, as long as they stay close to the exit door.

With one eye on the ice and the other on my phone, I begin texting the few photos I took of our escapade.

In fact, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself for pulling off this skating feat.

And then the phone rings.

It’s my sister, who in addition to parenting three boys, is also a pediatrician.

I know exactly why she is calling.

She saw my text and my cute pictures and she thinks I’m an amazing mom!

“Hi,” I say. “We are still at the rink.”

“Why aren’t your boys wearing helmets,” she scolds.

“Because at the 0.000001 miles per hour that they were traveling, falling on their heads, is the least of my concerns,” I say defensively.

A half an hour later, we are in the car with all our fingers, sans head injuries, and big smiles on our faces.

Despite the dangers we faced, we tried out best, stuck together, and had fun. And isn’t that what life is all about?

- But next time I’ll bring the helmets!

MOM! There is NOTHING to do!

Really? With a house full of toys, games, books, puzzles, art supplies, and a host of chores, this is the last thing I should expect to hear from the kids.

Yet, this is how my eight year old son Brendan greeted me this morning.

Just one of Brendan's many toys!

My inside voice was screaming, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE SPENT ON PLAY THINGS FOR YOU!!!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SPACE IN MY HOUSE I HAVE SACRAFICED FOR YOUR TOYS!!”

Luckily, my calmer self triumphed and I heard myself rationally running down the list of activities that I thought he would enjoy.

“I don’t feel like doing any of those things,” he says. “I want to go somewhere fun. Can we go to the movies?”

Ah ha!

Now that is a different story entirely.

It’s the age old battle between needs and wants.

“So, what you are saying Brendan is that you are not in NEED of something to do. You just WANT to do something other than what I have offered you,” I say.

Now I am excited! I have been handed, on a shiny, silver platter, the opportunity to teach my son an important GROWN UP, REAL LIFE lesson.

Grabbing some coffee, I ask my son to sit down at the kitchen table with me.

“I understand how you feel,” I begin. “Everyone, at one time or another WANTS something they do NOT NEED. However, what makes you extremely fortunate is that you do not WANT something that you really and truly NEED. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Can you think of an example,” I ask?

“Starving people want food because they need food to live,” he says.

Now I begin to smile --- he IS listening to me.

“And you tell Daddy you want granite in the kitchen, but you don’t need that!”

BUSTED!

Seems my son has learned a lesson.

And so have I.

I’m NOT getting granite any time soon!

******

Enjoy your day!

Schooled by the student

Henry Ford once said, “Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty.” If he was correct, I most certainly am not old – yeah!

Because ever since becoming a parent almost nine years ago, I most certainly learn something new every, single day.

Usually my lessons learned come from interactions with my three boys. What I’ve discovered could fill a book – or this blog.

Did you know that milk, when spilled on the floor, actually makes hardwood floors appear shinier? Or that blue, gloopy, children’s toothpaste never, truly comes off bathroom rugs?

And did you know that county-fair-won-goldfish will die if put directly in a bowl full of tap water? Or that when thrown from the upstairs balcony a lightweight Hot Wheels car will, in fact, leave a dent in your floors?

All of these lessons are, in their own way, useful. They are the boys’ way of paying us, their loving parents, back for the important life lessons we teach.

However, this morning, when the five of us sat around the kitchen table playing the game of “Life,” I discovered a third type of lesson and it is the variety that I like the best --- The lessons my sons teach each other.

At the end of a hard-fought, two hour game, my youngest, three year old Ryan began to cry – and then scream – because he did not win. (Although he did beat both of his parents who have quite a bit more experience in this whole “life” thing – I’m just saying).

My six year old Colin won and he was thrilled.

But Ryan kept screaming.

“NO, I WIN!”

I tried to explain over the sobs and screams that this was just a game, that he did well, and maybe he’d win next time.

Did he listen?

NO.

So I tried again.

More screams.

And then the lesson came.

Colin, without being asked, went over to his hyperventilating younger brother, put his arm around his shoulder, and said this:

“It’s ok Ryan. When I was three I didn’t win either. So you’ll win when you are six.”

Is it true?

Maybe, but it’s the six-year old logic and the way in which it was delivered that was today’s biggest, and most delightful lesson.

Colin did succeed in getting Ryan to stop crying. He also taught his baby brother that he understands why he is upset and someday the outcome will be better.

Colin also taught me.

Today, I learned that my boys truly care about each other. Sometimes they don’t need mom or dad to make it all better. Sometimes they just need each other’s shoulders to cry on. Because no matter how hard Jeff and I try, they will understand each other better than we will. They are navigating childhood side by side with us as their well-meaning but flawed parents. And because of this, they will need each other the most. And I am thrilled, that without being asked, they are stepping up to the challenge.

Today I learned that we must be doing something right.

******

Have a great weekend!

My Little Hawaii

I would love to go to Hawaii. I have never been, but I hear it is nice.

I also hear that it takes a lot of time and money to get there. With three children I can think of about one million better ways to spend our hard-earned cash.

Much better ways.

Like on dental work.

Yeah. Not my first choice.

As a child my parents put their money into the care of my teeth. I had it all – twice yearly dental cleanings, and much to my chagrin – braces.  Funny thing is that as a child, I never really thought about going to the dentist as something my parents were doing for me in lieu of taking trips to exotic locations.

And since what goes around comes around, I am sure that at least one, if not all, of our three children’s teeth will cost us a pretty penny.

Problem is --- we are still spending money on MY TEETH!

Actually one tooth – one I now call “Little Hawaii.” I call “her” “Little Hawaii” because with the money I have spent on her, the whole family could have enjoyed an entire week in the Hawaiian Islands.

It all began when I was 8 months pregnant with my first son, Brendan. “Little Hawaii”- a molar on my lower right – BROKE. “She” decided to crack while chewing on a cheese cracker. Not sticky toffee. Not hard candy. A cracker!

“Whoa! That’s weird,” I thought.

I’d read everything I could get my hands on regarding pregnancy. Tooth cracking was not high on the list of side effects.

But with less than a month to go before entering the world of parenthood, I didn’t give “Little Hawaii” much thought.

Four weeks later Brendan was born and I was thrown into a world so full of love, diapers, and sleep deprivation, that not only did I forget about the small crack in my tooth, I forgot about the dentist all together.

I mean who needs a dentist, when, on most days, you only remember to brush your teeth somewhere between 3 and 5 a.m.?

In fact, I didn’t think about “Little Hawaii” again until 18 months later when I was pregnant with my son Colin.

This time “Little Hawaii” made herself known much earlier. I was only 6 weeks pregnant, when what I can only assume was jealousy; “Little Hawaii” began throbbing painfully.

OH MY GOD! THIS HURTS!

Two days and a few shots of Novocain later, the pain subsided. But the panic set in.

“You need a root canal,” said my friend-turned-enemy dentist.

I informed him that he’d have to perform this lovely procedure without the use of x-rays, which I was convinced, would hurt my baby.

He agreed, and two weeks and a significant outlay of cash later, “Little Hawaii” was on the mend.

Again, I went through my pregnancy and Colin’s first year of life paying little attention to the state of my teeth.

But then, at a routine cleaning, my dentist informed me that it was now time to cap “Little Hawaii.”

All I heard was ….

“THIS *&%$# TOOTH IS GOING TO COST YOU MORE MONEY, blah, blah, blah.”

But in the name of oral care, I spent the money and “Little Hawaii” was looking pretty good…

Until

Yep.

My third pregnancy.

My expensive cap cracked and needed to be replaced.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

So the pattern repeated….new cap, more money, nice smile.

Until…

NOPE

NOT

PREGNANT!

But just last week, with a glint of sadness (or was that dollar signs?) in his eyes, my dentist informed me that “Little Hawaii” had to come out. She had put up a good fight, but she was just too weak to go on.

I looked at my dentist like he was crazy.

He then went on to explain all the miracles of modern dentistry that would allow him to extract “Little Hawaii” and implant a new-and-improved tooth into my mouth.

“So what you are trying to say is that this will be the most expensive tooth I’ll never have??,” I ask.

He smiles sadly.

Well, at least someone will go to Hawaii.

Aloha Dr. Dentist!!