A Chip Off The Old Tooth

Well.

I  imagine that you’re thinking that the CEO here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated has resorted to keeping bankers’ hours, which means that she comes in to work whenever she’s stopped off at Starbucks for a grande cup of I MEAN BUSINESS, and then she just closes up shop in the mid-afternoon, because no one really wants to work when it’s raining.

That would be partially true.  I did stop at Starbucks yesterday, where I ordered my grande, no-water, skinny chai EXTRA HOT.  And then I promptly forgot about the EXTRA HOT, because I was so happy to have it handed out the window to me, I took a big gulp.  GOOD-BYE, TASTE BUDS.

I had every single good intention of boring y’all to tears last night with another riveting blog post, but then two things happened.

1.  The boy and Kellen commandeered my Big Mac here at my desk to download all manner of computer programming.  The download took every bit at long as it takes for me to work up enough gumption to cook dinner each night.  Then, once the download was complete ( And the angels sang Hallelujah!), the big boys had to fine-tune everything and then engage in some sort of video battle with one another, and blah, blah, blah.  I sort of blacked out and lost some consciousness after they said, “Look!  I just exploded Kellen!” for the four hundredth time.

2.  I chipped my tooth.  Apparently I have fallen into that category known as PEOPLE WITH BAD TEETH.  I always thought that I had good teeth.  Good, straight teeth.  Teeth that could have catapulted me into a modeling career with Ralph Lauren.  But then I chomped down on a sunflower seed last night while the two big boys were laughing like a pack of fifty hyenas over exploding one another with animated TNT, and the backside of one of my teeth just WENT.

Naturally, I hollered at Hubs, telling him, “I have broken my tooth!”  And then I went on to ask him approximately four hundred times WHY HAS THIS HAPPENED TO ME and WHAT SHOULD I DO ABOUT IT?  Hubs’ explanation was that, as we age, our teeth become brittle, and obviously this was a CLEAR SIGN that I was approximately ELDERLY.  Chalk it up to things we must endure in our forties.  And then he told me to just call a dentist in the morning, because LISTEN, WOMAN!  THE HOCKEY PLAYOFFS ARE ON AND I AM  NOT A TOOTH EXPERT.

So that’s exactly what I did.  I called the dentist, and I’ve now become one of those people who “need some work done on their teeth.”  It’s a new beauty low for me, but the other option didn’t bode well.  You see, the back half of my tooth is GONE, which means that the tooth is now MUCH THINNER than it used to be.  Although no one can tell the problem I’m enduring right now when I grin, I’m afraid that this thin tooth is going to just break off, because we all know that’s exactly what thin things do.

Saltine crackers?  SNAP!

If this happens, everyone will certainly be able to tell.  I’ll look exactly like I live in a van, down by the river.  Hubs told me that a broken-off tooth is a sign of pride in the NHL, and then he threw out the hopeful possibility that I would be able to whistle through the gap left behind, in the event of REAL BREAKAGE.  I believe his exact words were, “You could hire yourself out as a whistler at birthday parties, and make a little extra money on the side.”

With that as a potential income, who would even think about calling the dentist?

I have an appointment for next week to have concrete poured onto the back of my tooth.  It should cost approximately one American dollar less than NASA’s entire space budget.

I hope this explains why I didn’t have a blog post last night.  It’s hard to think straight when you keep rubbing your tongue against a chipped tooth and wondering what you’ll do if the front half crumbles off and makes you look like you smoke meth eight times a day.

In other news that is completely unrelated to computer downloads or teeth (Pretend, that there’s a nice transition here, but clearly, it’s not how I’m rolling tonight.), we had dinner with Thing 2 the other evening.  Oh, we have dinner with him EVERY evening, because he’s one, and he can’t go to McDonald’s alone yet.  The boy kept tickling the little stinker’s bare feet under the table, and Thing 2 howled with laughter.  It was such a precious time, I had to grab the camera.

IMG_4593 IMG_4595 IMG_4597 IMG_4599 IMG_4604 IMG_4610We make every effort to have very sober, very serious dinners at our home.  It’s not polite to cackle with the giggles when you have avocado smeared all over your face.

But then… ain’t nobody ever chipped a tooth while eating a soft avocado.

Carry on, people.  Carry on.

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