The kids next door needed to have their teeth cleaned today. Miranda asked me if I wanted to go along to the dentist. That would make the ration of kids to adults would be 3:2 and not 3:1. This was an event not to be missed, if only to celebrate paying big bucks for a day’s work. Writing a cheque to the dentist is only rivaled by having to go to court and pay for a lawyer. Both sometimes necessary; both come with peeling hundreds of dollars out of one’s wallet. The kids were astonished at the cost. We explained that everyone has to be paid: the receptionist, the hygienist, the financial controller, the janitor, even the dentist. Still, the whole experience seem astronomical in terms of cash.
I played Lego’s in the dentist’s waiting room since a beautiful Lego table was set up . I also read to the girls, beautiful books, classics like “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein were at hand.
As I was turning pages, Betty’s hands were pushing mine away, trying to do the turning, and I noticed her palms.
So dirty. I got the kind of glimpse of her hands that made me think instinctively, I have got to get her into the bathroom next door and wash her hands.
I have to lure her away from the dental office.
She refused to go.
I said I am going anyway by myself.
She followed.
When she follows after saying no, I always think, go figure.
Then I had to show her how much fun it is to wave my hand under the soap spout and that it is OK to take not just one or two, but three piles of creaming green soap on my hands, and then scrub, scrub, scrub. She followed but the soap did nothing. Still those dark creases on her hands like the gummy part of duck tape. I took her hands and began to work them myself picking that dirt off, which is when I had my aha moment. That little three year old girl’s hands have been on the geodome monkeybar-like structure in our back yard so much that she has created heavy callouses on the palms of her hands. Oooh, poor little thing.
I don’t know what I was thinking about. I have seen her hanging from the top bars, her feet not quite touching the ground, swinging her legs back and forth and reaching out her little foot to get stability on some part of that rounded structure. I am pretty sure if I lined up all three kids, it would be a toss-up as to which set of palms is the most calloused. No use trying to clean those marks up.
I played Lego’s in the dentist’s waiting room since a beautiful Lego table was set up . I also read to the girls, beautiful books, classics like “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein were at hand.
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| Betty, learning to light a tea light. Whom else but grandmother will teach you how to use a match. |
So dirty. I got the kind of glimpse of her hands that made me think instinctively, I have got to get her into the bathroom next door and wash her hands.
I have to lure her away from the dental office.
She refused to go.
I said I am going anyway by myself.
She followed.
When she follows after saying no, I always think, go figure.
Then I had to show her how much fun it is to wave my hand under the soap spout and that it is OK to take not just one or two, but three piles of creaming green soap on my hands, and then scrub, scrub, scrub. She followed but the soap did nothing. Still those dark creases on her hands like the gummy part of duck tape. I took her hands and began to work them myself picking that dirt off, which is when I had my aha moment. That little three year old girl’s hands have been on the geodome monkeybar-like structure in our back yard so much that she has created heavy callouses on the palms of her hands. Oooh, poor little thing.
I don’t know what I was thinking about. I have seen her hanging from the top bars, her feet not quite touching the ground, swinging her legs back and forth and reaching out her little foot to get stability on some part of that rounded structure. I am pretty sure if I lined up all three kids, it would be a toss-up as to which set of palms is the most calloused. No use trying to clean those marks up.
yea for matches!
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