Haircut Oopsie Daisy!

I'm starting to think she knew what the outcome would be.

   You can probably guess from the title of this post where this is headed.  Megan, going on two and a half years old, had yet to have a haircut in her little life and was starting to look like the neighborhood scraggly kid.  She was always pulling out her clips, leaving me sometimes wondering if I was talking to the back of her head when her hair would sweep over her face.  So we decided this past weekend to take the girls to Walmart Family Hair Salon to get a little trim, and Megan graciously volunteered to go first, bless her heart.

   Don't be fooled by the fact that the salon was in Walmart.  There was nothing wrong with the stylist and she quickly gained my trust as soon as she started parting Meg's hair and pinning them up on her head, carefully cutting the wee strands in between her two fingers.  In my mind, I didn't think all that hassle was really necessary because Megan's hair has less volume and thickness than a Barbie doll's, but the lady was doing a thorough job and I appreciated it. 

   The problem then came when, at the very end, the stylist asked, "Bangs?" and Andy replied, "Sure" at the same time I said, "Nope."  We turned to look at each other, and the lady said, "Well if you say her hair is always in her face..." and Andy was quick to say, "Yeah, hon, that's true. She's always taking her hair things out anyways.  It'll be easier."  I didn't want to argue in front of her and especially in front of the girls, so I just shrugged and shook my head and said, "Do whatever."

   Looking back now, I wish I had fought harder.  In fact, I should have fought harder.  I'm embarrassed to say I let this happen.  I don't know why I backed off so easily - and I certainly hope it doesn't signify some sign of weakness in my mothering skills.  But this was certainly an accident, and from this point on, I vow I will never let my husband be the judge of my daughters' future hairstyles.

   To truly appreciate what my big problem is before I reveal the "after" shots, one must understand that an Asian girl with bangs with medium shoulder-length hair will inevitably look like the stereotypical Chinese schoolgirl.  (Not that there is anything wrong with the Chinese, or with being a schoolgirl.) It's a fact, and there are no exceptions.  When I was 8, I asked my mom for bangs and later suffered the consequences when I got spanked by my dad for looking "Chinese." (translation: not Korean).  When Kaylee was 10 months old, Andy gave her bangs and it was so bad I considered feeding her scalp some CHIA-pet food to make it grow out.  And now, it's happened again.  

   Somebody give my kid a plaid jumper with a Peter Pan shirt, knee high socks, and a Hello Kitty backpack and she'd sure be mistaken as a recent immigrant to the U.S. looking for more diversity to her math and statistics curriculum.  The thing that is just not funny at this point is that come January, the girls are starting a new school - and it happens to be a private one. Their uniforms are burgundy and navy plaid, and they most definitely have Hello Kitty backpacks.  Oh my word.

   What's worse is that for some reason, these bangs make my sweet little Megan look like the brattiest little rascal when she's in the middle of a fit.  In fact, I'm pretty sure every TV show or animated film with a bratty kid always has them featured with bangs.  I'm not saying that all kids with bangs are brats...just that all bratty kids have bangs.  And this is not my imagination or a mere exaggeration.  Since her haircut, Megan has risen to the calling and officially became filled with 'tude and sass.  

   To prove my point, Megan has never thrown a tantrum in a public setting all throughout her toddler times.  She's now practically a preschooler, and with these new bangs I guess she decided she needed to live up to the expectation.  So there she was, in the middle of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C., in the midst of the busiest tourist times of the year....throwing one of the biggest tantrums of her life right there by the remains of Lucy the Neanderthal.  For those who know my darling little girl, you might ask, "what could have possibly triggered little Megan to throw such a big tantrum?"  It might have been when I told her to take her hands off the caveman's penis and scrotal sac while singing songs about carrots and tomatoes.

   In the past, any of her outbursts always drew the "awww, the poor little girl" looks from strangers.  But this time, it was different.  It was more like, "Oh my goodness.  Who raised this child?!"  And I believe and will always believe this change in perception is solely to be blamed on the presence of her bangs.  I stood around the corner for 8 minutes watching my child kick and scream while throwing off her boots, finally deciding to intervene when she started shedding her socks in fear that her pants would be next.  4 tantrums and 30 minutes later, we said bye-bye to the museum and promised next time we'll come again for her fourth grade field trip.

Tantrum at the Museum.  See how the bangs make it so much worse?

   So yeah, you can say this is a huge Whoopsie on me.  It's been about a week and still when I look at her, I just want to beg for her forgiveness.  The good thing is that Megan's at the age where she doesn't really care too much, and I'll be ready for the blow again in 10 years when she looks back at these photos and blames me for ruining her baby pictures.  I'm prepared to show her my-equally horrible 2-year old photo sportin' a bowl haircut that lasted till I was 5.  And following my parents' guilt-tripping methods of teaching the values of appreciation, I plan on telling her: "When I was your age I didn't have hairspray and gel to fix the hair problem. Quit whining."

   But just as my parents knew they had shoes to wear while walking 10 miles in the snow to school....I'll always know in my heart that I had hairspray as a child.  (And that my future teenage daughter has every right to blame me for this one.)

   

Who's the Smarty Pants Now?

   By the time I was 10 years old, I'd already decided that I had the whole world figured out and it was time for me to be an adult.  And I distinctly remember how much I hated being treated like a child, when my opinion never mattered and nobody ever gave me credit for knowing anything.  As I grew older, I found that the more knowledge I pretended to have, the more people took me seriously, and the better I got at it, the more I convinced myself that yes, I did indeed have the world figured out.   
   The funny thing is - being a grown-up is not much different than being 10 - you come to a point when you think you know everything there is to know and are just waiting to impart this knowledge and wisdom upon the next generation.  And as we get older, we all learn that you need that level of confidence to land a job and have people trust that you know what you're doing, and we are told it's better to be confident than to sell yourself short if you want to succeed.  After several years of practice, you really start to believe that you know it all, and then one day you wake up and realize that you're pretty much a rockstar.
   For me, this sense of self-assurance didn't come naturally, but I'd like to credit my West Point experience for practically forcing the "faking-the-confidence-funk" down my throat for 4 years.  I learned quickly that if you act like you know what's going on, you've already solved half the problem and you just bought yourself a little extra time to really figure it out.  Over the six years of my time in the Army, I learned some of the best life skills I'll use for the rest of my life (time management is one of them, briefing powerpoints is not).  All that "leadership" training was put to good use as I discovered odd ways to manipulate my children to help with household chores and to make them believe that their mom is the boss of all mankind.  For once in my life, I wasn't all too stressed.  My grades were steady, my mood was even, the girls were happy and consistently fed, and I thought that finally, at age almost-30, I've got myself together.
   The truth is (and this came to me overnight) - I don't have it figured it out at all.  In fact, with all my newfound multi-tasking skills, I've freed myself up with all this extra "time", which, of course, I choose to spend with my children.  And the more time I spend with my kids, the more I realize I have a whole lot left to learn.  I learned by just listening to them, you gain insight into how their little minds think, and all those questions that I used to just push aside when times were just too busy, are actually very challenging and really difficult to answer.  I see that I never gave them enough credit for thinking so much - questioning everything and anything under the sun - and I forgot what that was like to walk around all day just wondering how things work instead of assuming you already knew the answer.


   A little while ago Kaylee asked me what the wires and poles that were lining the streets were for, and I explained that power lines help all the houses get power and telephone lines let us talk on the phone.  Her response had me laughing for days: "Oh, I thought it was just a place for the birds to sit so they don't get run over by the cars."
   It actually is a pretty logical way of thinking - the birds must get tired and need a place to rest during their travels, so someone must have built those wires so they can just stop when they need to and not lose their spot on the road that they are following to their destination.  Cars follow the roads to get to places, so birds must do the same thing from the sky, right?  And if drivers get tired, they can just pull over and stop, but if birds did that on the ground, they'd certainly get run over.  Makes perfect sense.
   Then just yesterday on the ride home from their school she asked me how she would get water from the giant water tower that is located right outside her school building.  She said the next time I forgot to pack to her water bottle, that she'd be fine because she'd just go get some from the water tower.  I told her that piping underground helps get water to all the buildings, and that she could probably just get water from the fountain instead.  Her response?  "That would probably be better. Wow, you're so smart, Momma.  You know everything."
   I laughed on the outside but really, I had to just shake my head while thinking to myself that it's just so the opposite.  When was the last time I thought about how the birds actually know where they're going or what they do to get a break, or how water actually does make it from a huge tower to my sink faucet?  When did I stop thinking and wondering about things, and when did I get too busy to just ponder about the countless wonders of this world?  When did my 4 year old get so smart, and how awesome is it that her little mind is so active that everything she sees is just what it is: a pure wonder?
   In my busy day-to-day life I guess I just failed to stop and look around at all that is just amazing about the world we live in.  When you spare a few minutes and just take it all in, you realize just how big everything else is and how much room there is left for growth, no matter what age.  Being a grown-up just means to be somewhat responsible, but it doesn't mean you have to have it all figured out.  A child can remind us to think, to use our minds and our imagination. A child can challenge us to put aside what we already have learned from the books and come up with reasons to explain the unexplainable. A child can make us appreciate all those things we take for granted.
   I am realizing now that to see the world through the eyes of a child is one of the greatest things about being a parent.  Innocence, purity, and simplicity.  The only thing better is, well, seeing your child through the eyes of the world.  A little human being with a soul so pure and a spirit so free - and a mind beyond limits. 
   Just when I thought I knew it all, leave it up to my kid to prove me otherwise.  But it's ok, she thinks I'm a genius...and I won't mess with that.

Tilapia Fables

   Faculty at school always told me that as soon as you mention that you are a dentist, you will receive a bunch of unsolicited questions from random people about their teeth.  I heard of people being asked to check out someone’s mouth at dinner parties, at the movies, in the parking lot of Sam’s Club.  The thing is, I never found myself in these situations, like, ever.  So I set out one day to think about why that was, and I realized it was because I never really put it out there that I actually know anything about anything when I’m around people.  For such a long time, I had this complex of being below par compared to my 23-year old science-robot peers at school that I really didn’t think I knew a thing about oral health beyond brushing and flossing.  I still don't think I do.

   The truth is, I sometimes really hate being a student…at least from a social standpoint.  I once used to have a job, I had people who worked for me, and I used to be THE boss.  I might have looked younger than my age (actually that was more of Andy’s problem) but people could gauge my experience level just by the rank I wore on my uniform.  Aside from the time of being a brand new 2LT in the Army, I never felt like I had anything to prove.  However, I just hate telling people I’m a student…I know it’s not fully true but it feels substandard.  Especially since I’m years older than my fellow classmates, it’s especially hard to accept that there are faculty younger than me.

   What I despise the most is when I meet parents of other kids at the girls' school, soccer, gymnastics, or wherever.  I know it’s half paranoia, but sometimes I wonder if people think I’m not “established” or “stable” because I’m a full time student without a job.  I wonder if they think I was a teen mom or something and had my kids real young and just kept on chugging along with school, or if they question what the heck I was doing in between undergrad and dental school and wasting all that time in between.  I wonder if stay-at-home moms judge me for leaving the Army to spend more time with my kids only to "ditch" them again in the selfish pursuit of a degree, and I have a serious fear that my own guilt permeates in the thoughts of others.  Either way, it’s very unconventional to see a kid with a parent who uses a student ID and I can’t help but feel lame when I have to explain myself.  Just the other day I was  unpacking lunchboxes into Megan’s cubby when another parent in scrubs asked me, “I have to ask, are you a physician?  Because I’m a surgeon and I was curious where you work” and I had to reply with, “Oh, no...still a student.  Dental school.  Yeah…I wear scrubs because I drip wax all over my clothes.  Yeah…”  And then the conversation died off and then Doctor Superstar Dad got into his doctor car and drove to his doctor job.  Or when the girls’ school lost power and I had to pick them up, all these other parents were all busy-busy on their phones letting their clients, bosses, and secretaries know that they’ll be out for a minute while they find alternate child care.  The receptionist said to me, “Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Chung, it must’ve been hard for you to skip out today.”  To which I replied, “Nope, not really.  They record lectures online now, you know.  But maybe I can get a note from you so I can give it to my teacher to explain why I was absent today??"  There goes my perfect attendance star for the year.

   So I challenged myself one day to just see what it’s like.  What it’s like to feel smart, to feel established, to feel credible.  Not necessarily to lie, but just, you know, not mention the whole school thing, and see how differently, if at all, people treat me.  Maybe I’ll realize it’s really all in my head afterall. 

   I was in Safeway at the fish and deli section and had just asked for two pieces of the “on sale” tilapia.  The lady behind the dome-shaped glass counter asked me which hospital I worked in, to which I instinctively replied, “Oh, I don’t work in a hospital”…then I remembered my plan and said instead, “I’m in dentistry in Baltimore.”  And she looked at me with an eyebrow raised and said, “oh, like a dentist?”

   As soon as I nodded, it happened.  The whole thing was so fast I still don’t know where it came from.  But suddenly, as soon as she was finished wrapping the fish in parchment paper, she dropped the tilapia on the counter, used the same gloved hand to pull her cheek away from her lips, and used her other (yes, also gloved) hand to pull out a partial denture of her upper teeth exposing a very gummy smile.  Awesome.

   She left my fish just hanging out on the countertop while she proceeded to point out some crack I couldn’t see and asked me my opinion about it.  She told me about how it first happened, how she lost a bunch of her teeth growing up and then how she had missed chewing with her back teeth, and how much her life changed with the addition of this denture.  But now it was hurting the roof of her mouth and she thinks this crack has something to do with it, and would I be so kind to look at it? I wasn’t really listening to half the things she was telling me because I just couldn’t believe that she seriously removed her nasty denture in front of all these customers, and moreover, while I know I was nodding my head, my eyes kept on gravitating to the fish that just helplessly lay on the countertop.  I told her I couldn’t really see what she was pointing to because of the lighting, which I regretted saying as soon as it came out of my mouth because of course she invited me to the back.

   Luckily I had the sense to decline the offer and I think I said something about taking it to her dentist, because the guy who made it probably knows best.  She thanked me, and with her still-gloved hand, put the denture back in her mouth, and with that same hand, reached down for my tilapia.  I intercepted fast enough to not let her gloved hand touch my fish by asking her when the next batch of squash was coming out, and she had to go use the phone in the back to call and ask the Produce Section.  By the time she came back, I got another guy working there to hand me my long-awaited tilapia, and I thanked the lady for the 411 on the squash and quickly left that section. 

   I still haven’t gone back - it's been 2 weeks.

   So I realize now that I really don’t care to have that happen to me again, and maybe it’s not so bad afterall to just say I’m a student and suck up whatever stigma that is associated with it.  So I decided from that point on, I'd just tell people the truth: Yes, I'm an old lady with kids and a student loan.  Maybe one day I'll be happy to brag about my D.D.S., but for now I think I'll hunker down and take my pride elsewhere.  Almost losing your fresh fish to dentures contamination can really humble a gal, ya know.

My Accidental Success

   Two years ago from today marks a very significant day in my life. On December 1, 2009, I received my acceptance letter (or email, rather) into dental school. There are always great moments in life when you can really be proud of yourself for accomplishing goals that you set knowing that if you work really hard, you can do it. Then there are those other times when you just kind of throw your name into the hat wishing for the best, but you know the odds are way against you. (When I say “odds” I seriously mean that statistically, you should have failed.) These are the moments when too many outside factors are involved than just your sheer effort alone and so you truly expect failure as the outcome (and you make yourself feel better by saying how much it was out of your hands.) And for the lucky few, sometimes…you just get it…just like that. This is what I like to refer to as “Accidental Success” (or A.S. for short).

The first situation that I described is something that, with the slightest inclination of ambition, most people would understand. Simple feedback loop where working hard leads to better results.

Effort Reward Loop

 It's my guess that the second situation I described doesn’t happen often for most people. Its positive result simply cannot be credited to the effort-ee when so many obstacles are just thrown in the equation. However, the result still remarkably comes out in one's favor. For example:

   These are the times when you calculate all that is against you, you clearly should fail...but for some reason, you still end up on top. You are lucky if this happens to you. You are REALLY lucky when this happens more than once. The Big Guy upstairs was certainly looking out for me, because in my own life, I can narrow it down to a total of 3 Accidental Successes.

   The first time this happened was at my Fifth Grade Dance. During the middle of the event, the DJ set up a Nerf basketball hoop and asked for the girls and guys to each pick a member of their gender to try to shoot the ball into the net from a ridiculously far distance. I don’t know why but the girls pushed me to the front and somehow I was selected to represent the gals, while the future highschool football star and senior homecoming king stood in for the guys. It might have only been 30 ft or so, but to a 4’10”girl it was like making a basket from across a major highway. The boy shot and missed, and then it was my turn. I crossed my toes inside my Reebok sneakers as I threw the foam ball into the air. I don’t know how, or why, but that ball swished through the net and suddenly I was overwhelmed with 30 girls screaming and jumping up and down around me. (Feel free to imagine this with all the flashing lights and music to enhance the dramatic effect.) The DJ even screamed at me, “How did you DO that?!? That’s IMPOSSIBLE!” May sound stupid to you, but it was a glorious moment for me. It might have been an A.S. but I didn’t care. I was the new girl, and I just got cool.

Me right before 5th grade; clearly need the cool points.

   My second A.S. occurred in October of 2008 during the Expert Field Medical Badge (EFMB for short) event while I was still in the Army. This coveted badge is considered “one of the most difficult and prestigious Army skill badges to earn” (according to Wiki) with a pass rate of 15.3% in that year. I had always wanted to give it a shot before hanging up the uniform for good, and also just needed a vacay from my desk job. I was extremely rusty in all my Soldier skills and really, I didn’t expect much from myself. The only person I knew to get the badge the first go-around was Andy, but that’s just because he’s a bad ass who I’d go to war with any day (oh wait, I did.) Anyway, over the course of the 11 days, the major task I just knew I’d fail was Land Navigation, a “skill” I always had to remediate every time I was tested in the Army since my days at West Point. So there I was, setting out in the dark with a topographical map, compass, protractor, pencil, and a flashlight – with four hours to find 3 out of 4 points scattered randomly over a 5000m course. Within 40 minutes, I was completely lost in the woods and even struggled to get back to my start point. I tried 3 or 4 times to get that first point, and then gave up and tried for another 1.5 hours to get the second one. Finally, with about an hour remaining and zero points, I grabbed a leftover MRE brownie out of my pack, found a rock near an intersection of the dirt roads, and sat down. As I gazed up into the starry night through an opening in the trees, I thought about how humiliating it would be to head back with no points. I thought about how I would tell Andy I failed, and how I would have to go back to my unit and explain to my Soldiers that it was “just a really tough course.” I looked at my watch and saw that I had 50 minutes left, and it was way too early to turn in and decided I needed to at least fail with one point. So, I plotted my 4^th set of coordinates on my map, which was about 1500m away and the one I was planning on skipping, shot an azimuth with my compass, and just started walking. When I finished counting my steps and looked up, turned on my flashlight, I saw the glimmer of the orange triangle just a few feet ahead. I still remember the feeling of shock and disbelief, and something just switched inside me. I got this glimmer of hope that came out of nowhere, and took about 20 seconds to analyze the situation. I had about thirty minutes left to cover about a mile and a half, find 2 more points and my endpoint and turn in my card. With my previous success rate and amount of remaining time, anyone could see I would need nothing short of a miracle to get through this. All I remember from that very moment is that I tied my sack really tight so my other snacks wouldn’t fall out, said a short prayer, and ran.

   That night, with literally 2 minutes remaining, I completed the first task of 60+ more and ultimately was awarded the EFMB a few days later. Am I proud? Sure. But really, I’m just grateful. Try and tell me that was not an A.S.

Last task for the badge: 12 mile road march with this on your back.

 And then there was that day two years ago on Dec. 1^st, a day I will always remember as being the ultimate life changer to date. I had already applied once (and got rejected) the year before so I didn’t have much expectation to get in, but I still had a flicker of hope in me for the sheer fact that I had been trying so darn hard. From the first time I enrolled in Bio 101 online in 2005, I had since then taken 5 more prerequisite courses, spent countless hours studying for the DAT and traveled to the States four times to take 2 of those exams and to attend interviews. Not to mention the thousands of dollars. By the end, I just wanted my efforts to be validated more than anything else but I knew statistically, I was a dud.

   I still wonder sometimes how I got into this school….supposedly one of the most prestigious dental schools in the nation, the first dental school established in the world, the most technologically advanced school in existence, blah blah blah. My DAT scores were embarrassingly lower than the national average, my GPA definitely well below my peers, I was a geography undergrad major, and I seriously took online classes to meet all the requirements. The only thing I had going for me was my military experience completely unrelated to dentistry, which I most definitely threw in there at some point during my interview when I sensed a downward turn.

“So Ms. Chung, explain to me these ‘distance’ and ‘independent’ courses that you seemingly enrolled in at this one university I have never heard of in West Virginia.”
"Well I had to take online courses because I was deployed to Iraq, you know, fighting for the liberty and freedom of all Americans…and,<ehem> yours.”

So I may have guilt-tripped my way into dental school, but this A.S. is one I will never argue with. I don’t know why they took me, but hey, I got in, I traded my Army Camouflage for pretty purple scrubs, and heck, I’m gonna be a dentist one day.

I remember holding onto Andy’ shoulders and jumping up and down in a circle as an almost-reflexive reaction to getting my acceptance letter, grinning from ear to ear for about a week, and feeling like I was on top of the world.

Dental School Acceptance

 Nobody ever told me that you get knocked off that mountain as soon as you start dental school, but that’s another story for another time. But for now, for every December 1^st that rolls around, I have the great reminder that accident or not, me being where I am is still some form of a success. And I can be happy about that.

Wondering What Happened in Wonderland

   I think most parents would agree that having a certain level of expectation out of your children is a healthy thing.  I mean, there must be some truth to the fact that kids will work harder, be more motivated, and probably achieve more out of life if their parents actually held them to a higher standard, right?  In my own parenting style, I always sought to set high expectations for my children thinking that otherwise, they may never amount to anything higher by themselves. I truly believed this. 

   That is…until today.

   Today, I learned that while there may be some truth to my previous theory, kids can completely and independently set the new standard by themselves.  Today I learned that children, no matter how young, are capable of mustering up more courage than you ever knew they possessed and can completely surpass any traces of a parent’s doubt.  Today I learned that having no expectations whatsoever can be the best thing in the world when your kid just blows you away by achieving what you never imagined would actually happen.

   For us today, the “unimaginable” revolved around a day trip to Dutch Wonderland, an amusement park for young tots and children located in Lancaster, PA.  You see, after the last time we visited the place in the summer of 2010, I spent about two weeks post-trip getting over the fact that the price we paid for entrance would have better been spent towards new curtains for our family room.  Megan was not even walking yet so her entertainment was limited to a train ride, and Kaylee, at 3 years old, didn’t enjoy much else either.  She was that kid who was heard screaming on most all the rides - and embarrassingly - even the ones that barely lifted off the ground.  From that point on, I chose to not have any expectations of my oldest daughter ever wanting to go on a roller coaster in her lifetime and mentally began to plan my 10-year anniversary trip to Disney with a pitstop at Grandma's now in the picture to take the kids for a week.  (Can you imagine paying for that ticket for someone who doesn’t go on any rides??)

   I also walked into this trip with very little belief in my daughter’s claim that she would specifically be on the lookout to ride the roller coaster.  After all, my kid is often all talk, and I learned early on that often, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.  This is the same kid who claimed she would beat out everyone at her first 200-meter dash (she was probably in the last 10% of the crowd), that she would win the swim leg of her first triathlon (dead last), and that she is the best singer she knows (think tone-deaf).  But, no need to burst her confidence, so when she made her big claim that she would partake in the bigger rides, I nodded my head and said, “Ok!”

   After the train-ride and the merry-go-round, we came across this Superman ride where you lay prone and hang onto these handles while the ride lifts you high up in the air and spins you around, all the while changing elevations and tilting from side to side.  I asked Kaylee if she would ride with me and I wasn’t at all surprised when she said she didn’t want to, but I asked Andy if I could go anyway without her, using the pretense that it would be good for her to watch her Mommy go on a scary ride. 

   I was standing in line with a bunch of 8 and 9 year olds when I looked over at Kaylee and waved.  Then, I saw her start running at me yelling, “Mommy! Mommy!!  I’m gonna do it!!!”  I looked over at Andy, who just shrugged and kind of gave me a look that said, “She said she wanted to, so good luck with that.”  I asked Kaylee if she was sure and all she said was, “yup”.

   As I got her laying on the ride and saw how short her arms were to hang onto the bars, worry immediately swept over me.  All the Mom-worries, that is.   Oh my gosh, what if she cries the whole time, will they stop the ride?  What if this scars her forever that she just wants to go home and never tries to go on one of these again?  What if she throws up? 

   I held her jacket as we were raised up higher, and the smile just wiped right off her face.  Uh oh, I thought, and prepared myself for the shriek and cry…but to my surprise, nothing.  I looked over at her and she was just staring ahead, and I tried to get her to look at me in hopes that it would alleviate her fear.  She continued staring ahead and I just kept on waiting for her to burst out screaming.  I actually thought it was a thrilling ride even for adults, and as soon as we started tilting I started talking to her in hopes to just distract her and keep her from crying.  “Hey, this is fun, right?” Nothing.  “This is great! Whoooaa!”  Nothing.  “You should look at me if you’re scared.”  Nothing.

   A few seconds went by, and then I said, “I feel like Superman!”  And her reply surprised me more than I’d ever been with her in all her life…“I wish I brought my cape, Momma!!”

   I know it is only a ride at an amusement park, but that was a glorious moment.  Something must have clicked in her mind as she saw me waiting in line…something that overcame her first instinct of fear and of not wanting to be uncomfortable.  Something that just said, “C’mon, you.  Look at all these other people.  You can do that, too!”  She must’ve just realized she was bigger and braver than she’d ever thought she was before.

   The rest of the night was perfect.  Even Megan, at just 2 years old, went on some serious rides with us and she, too, far exceeded any expectation we had of her.  Each time she looked like she may burst out in tears, but she ended them all with, “I like that.  That fun.”  I partially didn’t expect much of her because of the fact that she did share DNA with her scaredy-cat sister, but also because most toddlers wouldn’t do very well on fast, spinning, and up and down rides by themselves.  What a trooper.

   Despite the chilly November night, the girls just went from one ride to the next, Kaylee full of excitement and trying virtually everything that was open to ride.  Even the ones like the Viking Ship that she initially hesitated for, she somehow dug deep and later changed her mind to at least give it a try.  When all was said and done, there was only one ride she and Megan didn’t like – the Spinning Turtles – and I agree – I about lost my dinner on that one.

   Most family trips of ours always has a rough patch in it.  Either a disaster in the beginning that ends up okay in the end, or a few tantrums along the way.  When all is going well, someone usually pees their pants or vomits or spills something really sticky all over herself (and me).  But tonight was different.  The girls loved the rides, there was zero attitudes thrown, and most of all, we all had a fantastic time.  The transition from car to bed even went smoothly with getting them to the potty and changed into PJ’s with no arguments.

   So you may be asking, is it possible that I, the queen of accidents, actually got through a big event like this without messing anything up?  Of course not, there’s always something.  Just as I was *almost excited about having a mishap-free event, I just realized...

I forgot to make them brush their teeth. 

Wow.  For any mom, that's just not a good thing.  For a dentist mom, definitely not a good thing.  Good thing I'm still just a student.  Not proud of myself for that one...but at least I'm just super proud of them.

Introduction

   A few months ago, my 4-year old daughter, Kaylee reportedly had a very interesting interaction with the dentist who came to visit her school.  During the annual oral health screening, she had apparently asked the dentist to take a look at her “gingiva” because she “bited it really really hard and it still hurted.”  When the dentist pulled her bottom lips forward, Kaylee decisively said, “No, silly, not my incisors!  It’s back there by my molars.”

   When Kaylee’s Pre-K teacher first told me that story, my initial reaction was that of the uncomfortable, awkward laugh, trying to brush off the fact that no, my kid is not a dork and no, I don’t spend my evenings educating my children on dental anatomy.  I think I said something like, “yeah…I guess it comes with having a Mommy who’s in dental school” but even I didn’t really buy that.  I mean, I had tried so hard to separate my day job from my home life, and intended to never let my kids feel the repercussions of my day to day life as a dental student.  I wanted a clear separation from my school and my family life so as to not burden them with all the strenuous demands that came with both.

   Obviously, I wasn’t all that successful as I soon recalled telling Kaylee to replace the word “gums” with “gingiva” so she wouldn’t confuse her little sister to make her think she actually had chewing gum in her mouth (something my 2 year old was very sensitive to since she isn’t allowed to chew gum just yet).  And I may have asked Kaylee at one point to help me sort through my school “teeth” to help me identify which ones I was missing….and I may or may not have treated her with a Gobstopper for every #3 and #14 she could find one morning when I was rushed to get to school in time for a fixed prosthodontics competency exam.  As for where she learned about incisors..the heck if I knew.  Probably from the “Teeth” episode on Yo Gabba Gabba where she learned her front teeth would one day fall out.

   Point being, I realized that day that no matter how hard I try, my life as a dental student, mom, wife, and whatever else I am will never be separated.  I guess I realized that Grace as a Mom is influenced by Grace as a student which is influenced by Grace as a wife which is influenced by Grace as, you know, just Grace.  I found this realization actually kind of sad, because I truly believed that I was going to be the best dental student regardless of my responsibilities at home, and that I was going to be the best Mom no matter what else I had going on…and it didn’t take very long for me to see that I was wrong.  In fact, I was really, REALLY wrong.  For a while I wondered if combining all these facets of my life made one (or all for that matter) take a huge hit because the balancing act was miserably failing.  Things that were not funny to begin with when I was just a Mom amounted to so much worse when combined with other things that were not funny when I was just being a dental student.  It was bad enough when my kid broke out in a rash and needed to be picked up from school, but it was way worse when that happened twice right before an exam.  It was hard enough when all my fake teeth came loose in my bag and I had to figure out how to sort them on my own, but it was really REALLY not funny when my kid took them all and buried them into a potted plant to “watch the seeds grow”.  There was a stretch of a few months this past year that seemed like it was one thing on top of another, and I almost lost the humor of it all.  But I was always saved by just remembering how characteristically worse off I’d been in the past, and it somehow made things much more bearable.

    One thing about me is that I am very well exemplified by all the “oopsies” of my life.  In fact, accidents define me.  Last year, I was that student who dropped her typodont right before handing in the final product during a waxing practical, the one who accidentally stabbed herself with a scalpel that was just used to cut open a dead body during gross anatomy lab, the one who’s computer shut off right before hitting the “submit” button for an exam because she left the power cord at home.  I’m often that Mom whose 2 year old always comes home wearing ghetto loaner clothes because she always forgets to restock her child's cubby with spare undies and pants, that Mom who signs up to bring stuff for a school function and then forgets, that Mom who thought “Purple Day” was “Crazy Hair Day” and subsequently sends her daughters into school with gel-plastered shark-fin hairdo’s that are just really not cool no matter how you try to look at it.  I’ve had 2 reconstructive surgeries, more broken bones, sprained joints, and black eyes than I care to count, and I drop things or fall down at least twice daily.  I’ve tried to be better with my lack of coordination and apparent attention to detail but I think I have to just come to grips with the fact that I will be saying “Whoopsies” everyday until the day I die.

   So, here I am in the last year of my 20’s, and finally able to embrace all the aspects of my life that define me instead of trying to change my ways or deny any part of who I am.  I’m just a dental student, and just a Mom, and I know I’ll continue to have mishaps along the way.  Maybe now I’ll settle on just accepting that, but hopefully in years to come when I look back at these ridiculous times, it might one day be just a thing of the past.  And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll actually find it funny.