(Including, just POSSIBLY the button that reverts it back to factory settings, although I'm so not admitting that I did that.)
(Although it is rather telling that John's first question to me was "How many times did you bang on it?")
(In my defense, it works for the printer.)
Anyway, last week was kind of crazy. I can't remember too much about it, mainly because I was doped up on painkillers, pre-root canals.
Oh, what's that? Yes. I did just say root CANALS. As in, plural. As in TWO. At the same time.
Feel free to bless my heart right about now.
When I got to the specialist's office, he began testing to see which tooth was the problem. And let me just say, when you've been teetering on the edge of wall-punching pain, the last thing you want is to have someone put a q-tip of liquid nitrogen on the teeth that are causing said pain.
And then the last thing you want to HEAR is the dentist telling you, "now, don't get emotional, hon," because you may have started bawling like a 2-year old right there in the dental chair.
Dear Root Canal Doctor,
When you and your liquid nitrogen have just sent someone over the edge of the pain scale, I would seriously re-think telling them to calm down. And if you call me "hon" one more time, let's just say, I won't be using a wall for any pain-related punching episodes.
Although I do appreciate the laughing gas, the numbing stuff, and the fact that I'm now out of pain.
The patient who just dropped more money on dental work than some people spend on cars, and I hope you enjoy your new vacation home, courtesy of my marshmallow teeth.
A few other things I remember from last week:
1. While out to dinner with some of our friends, AG looked over to the table next to ours, where there was a guy with a beard. She proceeded to grab my arm and (loudly) proclaim, "Look mommy, it's Jesus!"
I mean, I'm sure Jesus would love Verde and all, but, um, NO. Not unless Jesus is a young, blond hippie in cargo shorts.
2. One day last week, I told Ally Grace, "You look so pretty!" She replies, "NO, Mommy, I'm not pretty." I'm all, "well, then what are you?" And she says, "I'm not pretty, I'm FANCY."
3. (AND, apparently all my best stories are about Ally Grace and my teeth. It's a glamorous life I lead over here, people.)
We are truly raising a little southern girl, y'all. I recently asked her what she wanted to eat, and she said "barbecue." Then, every morning, when we turn on her radio/sound machine, she asks for "country music." And now, check it out:
If you think I didn't immediately order the grown-up version of those boots for myself, you may not have
read this blog before.
4. Our church had a night of worship, and with MUCH fear and trembling (and many snacks), I agreed to take AG with us, instead of getting a babysitter. It started at her bedtime, so I was pretty nervous....but she was awesome! We stayed til the end, and she LOVED the music.
Although she did keep asking us when she could go up on stage and play the "tocar" (guitar), or the drums.
And she may have tried to steal our grape juice and crackers during communion; persistently asking for some of our "snacks."
Still. One of my very favorite family memories thus far.
How was your week? Hopefully, it didn't involve dual root canals, dying Internet, or people calling you "hon."
Unless you wanted them to.