I wrote last week about going to the dentist. Tonight, I write about taking my 9 and 12-year-old and how magical it was.
At 1:15 P.M., I rolled up to the middle school to get the 12-year-old.
‘Don’t make eye contact with him.’
‘Keep your mouth shut around his friends.’
‘Look down submissively.’
These are the mantras I am forced to repeat in my head in an effort not to “embarrass” him. Last week, while walking out of soccer practice I announced,
“Your coach really kicked your butt today!”
He looked at me as if I had just asked if he was done making poo-poo. Once in the car, he declared how horribly embarrassing that was for him. I just sat there dumbfounded.
Up at the middle school, I rang the door bell. Before I even touched it, hey just buzzed me in like I was at a women’s’ prison, visiting my grandmother. When I went up to the front desk, I simply told them I was taking my son to a dental appointment and had my ID ready. They didn’t check my ID and I deduced it was just one less tweener they had to deal with. I could have been a kidnapper.
Next up? The 9-year-old. His school was built in1583 and parking was only spaced out for horse and buggie. I found a parking place though it was the last spot and it backed up to a foaming-at-the-mouth bulldog behind a chain linked fence.
Once both boys were in the car, they began one of their 59 arguments they would have for the day.
“I’m going to get a cookie when I get in there,” C announced.
“C, you can’t do that, they have enough junk to clean out of our teeth,” the 12-year-old protested.
The cookies they speak of, is one of many perks I’m convinced jacks up the price of our dentist. In addition to the fresh out of the oven cookies, they also offer you water, juice or Keurig coffee as soon as you walk in. There is also flat-screen in every bay, wi-fi and lastly, every “treatment plan” (I’ll explain this later), is carefully placed in a beautiful black folder, embossed in gold.
While one tech removed an elephant and boulder from the 12-year-old’s mouth, 2 rooms over I was amazing C’s tech with my intellectual capabilities.
“So when’s the last time they’ve had their teeth cleaned?” I asked her.
“Let’s see here,” she said while turning to her computer screen. “Says here, May of 2016.”
“So I’m not the worst parent! It hasn’t been a year!”
“Actually it has, I said May of 2016.”
‘Ok,’ I thought in my head all cocky, totally thinking that we were in 2017. I’m such a dumb ass!
After the cleaning and evaluation, kids get swag bags, containing the following:
- A toothbrush (my oldest said it will be great for cleaning his shoes)
- Floss (will never be used)
- A brushing timer (will never be used)
- Colgate Mint Toothpaste (will never be used on account that “it’s too minty”. Their words, not mine)
To round out the bags, each child is given a token to choose 1 prize. Out of all the prizes C could have chosen, he chose an orange poop emoji. This, 10 minutes after telling the dental hygienest that’s he’s in the gifted program at school.
We have a combined total of 6 cavities between the 2. After insurance, this equates to over $500! This is all in the “treatment plan” I mentioned above. And instead of saying: patient’s responsibility of amount due after insurance, do you know what they have the nerve to call it? Patient’s investment. Pullleeessseee. This is on par with a review at work where instead of saying: you suck at this or you need to improve that, they call it, “areas of opportunities”. What are we? Pansies?