memories I want to hold onto

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Random Reminiscences, or Some Things That Have Improved Since the 1980s

Carla and I have had such an exciting week (no). Yesterday, for instance, we went to the dentist and the library AND the thrift store (to drop off donations, not to look for anything fun), and then we waited for someone from the security company to arrive (he came an hour early) and for someone from the roofing company to arrive (he came an hour and twenty minutes late). 

But the dentist visit and the library visit, at least, gave me a chance to indulge in a little nostalgia. 

Carla, by the way, is so much better about the dentist than she used to be. It was once a source of tremendous anxiety. I can empathize with this, because I too get extremely anxious when I go to the dentist. (Sidebar: I recently was having some tooth pain that was severe enough I was afraid I would need another root canal. And my biggest fear about seeking treatment was not the root canal itself, but the fear of enduring the cold test that they use to diagnose the issue. That was the worst pain I have ever endured, and I was shaking and teary just thinking about the possibility of facing it again. I wondered if I could just… get a root canal without the diagnostic test [probably not]. Anyway, the happy but also deeply disturbing outcome was that I somehow had a piece of aluminum foil stuck in between my teeth that was causing the pain. Once I figured that out, the pain miraculously evaporated. I can figure out how to avoid the cold test another time, huzzah.) The hygienist used to have to wheedle and finagle Carla into doing anything. Brushing her teeth with the weird gritty polish was always A Process that involved lots of negotiation and Mean Mommy Voice. She actively and vehemently resisted the fluoride application, thrashing around and refusing to open her mouth. Our hygienist really got a workout, back in those days.

But! Now Carla is very nonchalant about the whole thing. I asked her in the car if she wanted me to walk her through what to expect, and she said yes. Then she decided in advance which kind of tooth polish she would prefer (grape, or mint) (she ended up choosing cookie dough; gag me). Then I told her that if fluoride was an option, we were going to do it. She still hates the fluoride. 

The thing is, fluoride treatment is so infinitely better than it used to be! She has it so easy! The hygienist gets out a teeny little tub of fluoride (seriously, there must be 1/2 teaspoon in there IF THAT) (and each tiny tub costs $40 out of pocket; our dental insurance – which we are extremely lucky to have, I know! – only covers one fluoride treatment a year, even though our dentist recommends it every six months) and paints it on her teeth and she’s good to go! The only restriction is she can’t drink hot liquids for an hour. That’s it!

When I was a kid, the fluoride treatment was a nightmare. The hygienist gave me a teeny cup full of caustic red liquid and I had to put ALL of it into my mouth and swish it around for a full minute. A full minute is like a million years when you are six or ten or however old I was! And the hygienist always cautioned me to not swallow any. I am a rule follower and also a catastrophizer, so I imagined that swallowing even a teeny amount would kill me. I hated it so much! 

Image from Reddit. Apparently some schools offered fluoride to students??? Did this happen in your school? I only ever got fluoride at the dentist.

There was a fluoride innovation at some point in my youth. Instead of the swishing liquid, my hygienist started carrying a fluoride foam. She would put the foam into the channels of a two-sided flimsy foam U, and I had to bite down on the U so that my teeth would be submerged in foam. Then I had to hold it there, not swallowing for a full minute. This was slightly better because the foam was sweet instead of caustic. But the foam would get all over my face, and by the end of the minute it would be dripping down my chin. Plus, once again I was afraid that even swallowing a teeny amount would result in my immediate death. 

Image once again from Reddit. I can practically taste the fake cherry flavor.

Fluoride treatments were the worst! And my parents had no sympathy for me, just as I have no sympathy for Carla. Because I know how it used to be.

(I mean, I have a little sympathy for her. I know it’s bitter and sticky and annoying. But I’m not going to let her skip it, as she pleads for me to do every six months.)

After the dentist, we went to the library. There was a mesh box on a desk in the kids’ section with three monarch caterpillars in various stages of development in it, and another mesh box on a separate table with a real-live chrysalis in it. Next to the second box was a display of books about bugs and butterflies. 

Libraries are AWESOME. I just love that the librarians, or someone high up in the library admin, think about how to engage young minds and make learning fun and interesting. 

Libraries, in my experience, are a whole lot better than they used to be. And to be fair, my library was the only one in my entire hometown, and my hometown was at least half an hour away from any other town. Where I live now, we have dozens of libraries that are nearby and easy to access. I patronize three regularly. (We are going to have a NEW library and NEW library system when we move, and my husband and I took Carla to check out the library early on in our house hunt to make sure that it was acceptable. Also, we looked into whether we could keep our existing library cards – yes – because we adore our library system.) 

There are special displays set up by the librarians – book club picks, books on rotating themes (gardening, DIY, cooking international recipes), books about whatever holiday is coming up, books by famous authors who have recently celebrated a birthday, received an award, or passed away. There are rows and rows of computers. There are glass-walled rooms furnished with tables and computer hookups that you can reserve online for your homework session or writing group. There are innumerable classes you can take and activities you can attend – all for free. The librarians are friendly and knowledgeable and you (Carla) can ask them for recommendations fitting very specific criteria and they will walk you through the stacks and pull out multiple options and reserve several more for you online. You can pre-order books and come inside to pick them up or get them through the drive-up window. There are always crafts you can take home and reading contests you can participate in. 

When I was kid, you had to whisper in the library. If you didn’t, you would suffer the wrath of the librarian. The librarian was also deeply disapproving of the number of books I checked out each week – although perhaps, in hindsight, my lack of proper book transportation device may have been the subject of her disapproval. I tended to leave with a teetering stack of books in my bare hands. 

My local library took up both floors of a two-story building. It had stacks of books. It had a space for reading periodicals. It had an elevator. You could look things up in the card catalog, and you could research old periodicals on the microfiche machine. There may have been a computer or three. It had a lot to offer. But I don’t remember special displays or targeted groupings of books, or librarians who smiled and told you about monarchs. I do remember that if you read a certain number of books, you could win a free pizza from Pizza Hut… but I think that was a program run through my elementary school, and not the library. (Ah, yes. It was called Book It! and it is still active today!)

Image from @LibbyApp on whatever it is we’re calling Twitter these days.

(Another sidebar: I wonder if my love for things like pizza and tacos originated with school reward systems? In addition to Book It!, there were frequently pizza parties we could win for various things that have escaped my memory. The pizza party part was the important part, not whatever it was we had to do to earn it. In high school, people on the honor roll got to go to lunch early, and on Fridays we had Pizza Hut pizza. I loved being one of the very first kids in line to get the pizza while it was hot and the cheese was melty. YUM. But even better than pizza: We could get a free taco for every A on our report card. Is there any better incentive? NOT FOR ME THERE ISN’T. My mom saved all my report cards in my baby book and it tickles me to see the little stamps from the taco place on each A to indicate I’d collected my free tacos.)

I’m not saying that Today’s World is perfect; I know it has deep and terrifying flaws. But in lots of ways, big and tiny, important and inconsequential, my kid has it really, really good. I try not to “back in my day” her very often, but some things are much better these days. Although I do feel bad that she doesn’t get free pizza and tacos in exchange for her grades.

Do you remember fluoride treatments from when you were a kid? Did you have any food-based rewards systems when you were growing up? What is something that makes you think kids these days have it a lot easier than you did?

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How I Met My Husband 

Nicole posted this question on my Ask Me Anything form: How did you meet your husband?

My husband and I met at college in fall of 2001. Oh my goodness, that is eons ago! 

The short answer is that he knew my former roommate, so we met through her. But, if you have been reading this blog for more than five minutes, you know I am no good at short answers. So here’s the full story:

One of my college friends (who had been my roommate for two years) and I decided to go to a concert. We were juniors and I had never heard of the band before – and have never listened to a lick of their music since – but I was enthusiastic. I even bought a T-shirt with the band name on it, a little pink thing that barely covered my navel. Ah, those long ago days of baring my navel without a thought!

We went to the concert. My sole recollection of the concert was that it was Very Loud. (I am not much for loud music, or concerts in general.) We may have had some beers, I can’t recall. In any event, we were STARVING after the concert. So, together with a few other concertgoers, we went to a local convenience store that sold sandwiches and then all trooped back to somebody’s dorm room to eat them. I do not remember how many of us there were, all I remember is that one of them was a very cute boy with shaggy brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He’d ordered hot peppers on his sandwich, but for some reason didn’t want them, so I ate them. 

That was it. That was the spark that ignited what has become a decades-long fire. 

After the sandwiches, this very sweet boy walked me home. He was very sweet, and very gentlemanly, and simply walked me to my dorm room and left. Didn’t even try to kiss me. 

After that, we’d see each other at meals and wouldn’t talk. We’d catch each other’s eyes, and blush, and resume talking to whomever we’d been talking to. 

We went to a big fancy black-tie party in early November of that year, and that was the first time we’d kissed. I still remember what I was wearing: A black dress with a hot pink layer underneath, and a frilly bottom edge that revealed the pink when I walked. I still remember kissing him on the dance floor, all those weeks of flirtatious glances finally coming to fruition. 

After that, he’d come over to my dorm room almost daily, so we could watch Seinfeld together. Then he’d traipse back to his own dorm to do his homework. We were still shy around each other in public. We each went our separate ways over winter break – I went back to my hometown and he flew overseas to where his family was living at the time – but we emailed every day. When we got back to campus in January, we each sat whatever exams we had (I had learned by that point how to avoid ALL exams and only write papers; the major benefit of being an English major) and I had a full week left before classes were to resume. So I drove with him back to his hometown – which is where we live now – so he could do something with his car, and so I could meet his mother, his aunt, and his sister. I had to sleep on a trundle bed in his sister’s room and it was all a little awkward, but it was wonderful, too. 

One night, I sat on the edge of my trundle bed in the dark, talking to my mom on the phone. I wanted to tell her I thought I was going to marry this boy, but it sounded too outlandish so I swallowed it down. We’d known each other for two, maybe three months at that point, but I was already in love. I’ve loved him every day since.

How did you meet your partner, if you have one?

It seems as though I am doing NaBloPoMo this month, which is 30 blog posts in 30 days. (Will I make it??? Only time will tell.) Details at San’s blog here.

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First Day of Fourth Grade

Carla woke up the first day of school before my alarm went off and came bouncing into my room, all dressed. “Wake up! Wake up! It’s almost 6:30!” she called cheerily. I was a bit blearier than that, but her enthusiasm lifted me out of bed. She ate breakfast while overseeing the creation of the “First Day of Fourth Grade” sign; I did the colors wrong at first, so had to redo it. Please imagine me very fondly rolling my eyes. 

We discussed her outfit: a pink sweater over black cutoffs. I told her I really liked the outfit, but wanted to let her know that some kids would be dressy for the first day. Would she prefer to wear something dressier? No, she did not. She wanted to express her “style,” she explained. Plus, she didn’t want to give everyone the impression that she was going to wear skirts and dresses every day. She’d worn a lot of dresses last year, and remembered that one day she wore something else to school and that her classmates expressed shock that she was not in a dress. She wanted to avoid a repeat of this type of incident. 

Did you dress up for the first day of school? My mom took me school shopping every summer: a special trip to the Big City to go to the Big Mall and stock up on new clothes and shoes. I remember LOVING those shopping trips, and feeling very excited about and proud of my new array of school clothes.

Honestly, I loved everything about starting a new school year. Brand-new school supplies, with fresh notebooks full of unblemished paper. New binders – or Trapper Keepers – that were slightly stiff when you opened them. Pencils with sharp, clean points and plump pink erasers. New shoes, free of scuff marks. New classrooms, bright and cheery, and desks that have nothing in them. So many things to look forward to! I am so glad that Carla is feeling that happy anticipatory joy this year. 

I cannot believe she is in fourth grade already. Fourth! Grade! Do you remember when she was brand new? Well, probably not because I was a terrible blogger at that time. But I remember it quite clearly, and it was only five minutes ago! And now she is NINE and in FOURTH GRADE.

My memory is not one of my strong points, and much of my childhood is a foggy mass dotted with blurry snapshots. But I remember big chunks of fourth grade. My teacher was wonderful – she had all these great ways of engaging us in learning – including this semester-long quest that I am sure was accompanied by lesson plans but just seemed, at the time, like a big, long exciting game. She read aloud to us from fun books. She arranged a class field trip into the badlands where we got to dig for dinosaur bones. 

I remember the boy I had a crush on in fourth grade. I remember one classmate took a family trip to Japan, which was kind of unheard of back then, at least in my small hometown, and brought back a ton of exotic snacks that we all got to try. I remember sleepovers with school friends. It was a great year. I hope Carla’s year is just as memorable.

Carla was all ready for school a full 45 minutes before we needed to leave, so we settled in to read the book I am reading to her (Where the Red Fern Grows, which I have never read before). 

We took her photo in the rain and I dropped her off. She skipped into school without a backward glance. Really, could there be a better way to begin a new school year?