Peekaboo with a Diaper (while covered in ginger)

Well I have now made enough Christmas cookies and pumpkin bread to kill a man. I have probably used an entire wheat field and enough crisco that even just making the cookies (not eating them, mind you) might have blocked some of my arteries. Oh and did I mention the Chocolate Chip Star Bars? Every year when I finish my grading at the end of the fall semester, I always have about a week to burn a whole bunch of baked goods and/or drop them en route to delivery. But this year ... this must be my year (despite the two root canals). I only burned one batch and successfully delivered all of the other ones via stroller to all of B's coworkers and via Subaru to all of mine.

Meanwhile ... see this does have a Goose-related sidenote ... as I bake, The Goose busies himself with various tasks such as taking out the chicken bouillon cubes and putting them back in and/or dumping out ginger into his special pink bowl and getting it all over his new shirt (see above). He does participate in some of the cookie making, but since he's never really all that clean, I try to keep him away from the give aways. He's really into the snowflake cookies with blue icing but don't get him anywhere near the Santa Claus cookies with a marshmallow hat tassle, coconut shavings for a beard, chocolate chip eyes, and a red hot nose. Unh-uh. He also likes the snowman cookies, because he's completely enamored by Frosty the Snowman these days since Great Aunt Myrtle sent him a Frosty snow globe which was broken within 10 minutes of opening. She also sent a Frosty book, and now everytime we read (excuse me, "SING!!!") the book, we have to re-hash the story of how the snowman got broken and we were all so sad (especially Mama, who was down on her hands and knees digging out broken glass from under the refrigerator while the dad looked on and consoled The Goose (not that I'm bitter at all, but doesn't it seem like men always get the easy jobs?). It's so good that I'm never bitter about those kinds of things, because otherwise my life would be just miserable, you know?

Goose is really into the skill of narration now, and will often repeat various key words until I finally understand and recite the story (with his help). For example, recently we were in the bathroom preparing for our toothbrushing ritual when we noticed that there was a fly perched atop his Beaver Toothbrush. Apparently this was extremely memorable, because now we have to tell the story each time we brush. It goes something like this ...

Goose: FIE! FIE!! FIE!!!

Mama: Yes, one time a fly got on your toothbrush.

Goose: YUCKY!

Mama: Yes, it was yucky.

Goose: Had to get new one.

Mama: Yep, we had to get a new toothbrush.

Goose: Sing it FIE!!!

Mama: And then we sang that song, "Shew fly, don't bother me, shew fly don't bother me, shew fly don't bother me 'cuz I belong to ..."

Goose: SOME-BOD-EEEE!

The most bizarre things stick in his head. Like the time we went camping and he had hot apple cider. Now everytime we say a prayer he thanks God for apple cider. He also thanks God for Seiya and Mana, two of my former students who babysat for him twice.

And if he says that he sees something en route to Target (we've been to Target a lot lately), then don't you dare doubt it, because in a few seconds you will realize that, yes, indeed, there is a yellow jeep and a big 18-wheeler at the "RED LIGHT STOP." As a side note, I taught him to say, "Red light -- stop, green light -- go, yellow light -- SPEED UP!" His Dad wasn't all that amused.

ION ...

We are almost ready for Christmas, which we will spend this year with Macy & Grandaddy in Mississippi. Tonight I spent 10 minutes decoding the following Goosese: "Grandaddy's tractor. Mississippi. Pulls a bullfrog." I kept saying, "Bullfrog"? What bullfrog? And then I remembered, Grandaddy's tractor pulls a "bush-hog." Amphibians, tractor implements, it's all just details. Details schmetails ... it's the main ideas that matter.

In Kimmy news, we have now set up a Kim Laden Color-Coded Terror Alert System in order to warn friends and family members about my moods on any given day. I think maybe my mental dilemmas are going to get better once I resolve all my dental dilemmas, but lately I have been a piece of work. Last week I finished up my second root canal and today I went back to my regular dentist to have them put on my temporary crowns while I lay there in a valium-induced haze. Unlike the endodontist, my regular dentist won't give the nitrous oxide gas on account of the "liability," so I talked him into giving me a prescription for some valium. Not as good as the gas, but much better than me attempting to survive that drill by using my yoga breathing. Now don't get me wrong, yoga breathing can do some serious good. It's how I endured 8 hours of labor. But that drill ... it must have been created by The Devil Himself. My poor sweet 12-year old dentist didn't know what to think as I staggered into the exam room and said, "If you get that drill stuck in my lip I'm taking you to small claims court just like I did with Northwest Airlines. And this time, I won't lose."

So the trip today was relatively painless other than the part where I decided (while Husband was having his teeth cleaned and I was all done) that I needed my bottom tooth (#18) filed down a little more and that it would be OK if The Goose accompanied me back to the exam room (two valium tend to impair your mothering skills). The dental assistant warned him that the drill was going to "make a noise like a motorcycle," but that clearly was not a good preface and a really loud meltdown occurred. All day he kept whimpering and whispering the word "motorcycle." We're training him early in Anti-Dentite Dogma.

Ever since my first root canal (which must've been at least two months ago), I have been wanting to tell y'all the story about that first root canal. But I also wanted to wait to tell it out of fear that making fun of the dental assistant might jinx me for the second one. The first two-hour Torture Period wherein I got whiplash from all the jerking and whatnot was definitely worse. Seriously, I think Sedation Dentistry is so brilliant (but since it's not covered by our insurance, it is completely unaffordable). During my two visits to the endodontist (who has two of his children working with him as endodontists), I had two different dental assistants, both of whom were extremely interesting characters. Despite the fact that I brought headphones and made it perfectly clear by closing my eyes that I was happy in my nitrous haze, they both felt the need to indulge me with conversation. The first one, whose boyfriend owned a chain of those all-in-one video store tanning beds, kept telling me how her first husband had really done her wrong and left her with a lot of debt. A musician. And now her motto is "WITHOUT FINANCE, THERE WILL BE NO ROMANCE."

Or how about the second dental assistant I got who told me all about every single Lifetime movie she had ever watched. In particular, there was one about a little boy with polio whose best friend was trying to save him by saving up his money and collecting donations. But then he lost the ALL the money -- a grand total of $10 and she just kept thinking, "Why didn't he just put it in his sock!?!?!!??" and it was so, so sad and she just sat there and squalled and boo-hood herself into a tizzy. Thank goodness the doctor came in before I had to hear about the happy ending.

And aren't you glad that I have now relayed that same innane plot to you?

I think that's enough of this.

Merry Christmas to all!

p.s. Click the picture above to see some recent shots of our lives.