My dentists can be kept in business with patients like me. I know I bought one guy a boat that he absolutely did not deserve. My jaw is killing me, and here I am with a rising bridge and a tooth nearby and a something something all inflamed and unhappy. I told my husband about my grief and he said he had a similar problem a few days ago. "It was around the time of the pork." "Are we now tracking our days by the food we eat?" I asked. "Well, that kind of food anyway." The chop kind of food? The dinner at home kind of food? The fact that pork is not a verb kind of food? "Was the pork chop, like, super aggressive? How do you know it was the pork?" I asked? (thinking about the t-bone steak I couldn't stop eating tonight although I've been in pain for days). Lord Honey talked me into trying tea tree oil on the gum of the sore tooth, and flossing it in with manly I-don't-go-to-the-dentist-strokes. Frackin' nasty! But if it keeps me from buying toys for dentists then so be it, I can be a pseudo hippie. If it works, we'll look back and say it was around the time of the t-bone.
Mother of two, step-mom to two more. Married. Work in the theatre of the absurd, behind the curtain, and pulling the strings. First daughter was a preemie, new Baby has MCADD, or Medium Chain Acyl-CoA Dehydrogenase Deficiency (Mighty Crappy Aggravating Disorder) and mild Cerebral Palsy, because the fun never stops around here. Foggy mind. If I wore a button it would say: Lose mind now, Ask me how! Things you might find here: bits and pieces of fluff about babies with wacky disorders, mommying, knitting very slowly, and stuff I don't say at work. If you want to send me free stuff just email me at gingerbblog at gmail.