I Cried at the Dentist Today... And it Wasn't Even My Appointment.

Yesterday was a day.  I couldn't even write about it yesterday because the wounds were still too fresh. 

This was my day in a nutshell via a text with a friend:

Friend: How's your day going?

Me: I cried at the dentist today... And it wasn't even my appointment.

So Ryder has a cavity.  We had a referral for a pediatric dentist months ago to get this cavity fixed, but the appointment got rescheduled a few times due to COVID.  His new appointment was scheduled for the end of August. However, he hadn't slept all week due to tooth pain, which also translates to Mom hasn't slept all week.  One night, I even resorted to driving around town at 2am to calm him.  Didn't work.  But I learned that I like our sleepy little town at 2am.  The lake is very peaceful. 

Any who, I called the pediatric dentist to see if they could get Ryder in any earlier than his August appointment and to my delight they could get him in later yesterday morning.  

Ryder said he was very excited to go to the dentist until we got about 5 minutes away and he started telling me that his stuffed animal- Dragon- was nervous to go to the dentist.  And it was all downhill from there. The first task was to have the dentist look at his teeth, which he happily complied with but then it was onto the X-ray room.  Ryder refused to be cooperative.  He screamed at the top of his lungs for what felt like an eternity. This isn't typical behavior for Ryder.  He is usually pretty compliant when it comes to following directions. Sure, he may give tasks extra "flare" as he is doing it, but this wasn't cute "flare."  This was, the house is burning to the ground and we all need to evacuate immediately. Everyone at the dentist's office was patient and kind.  Actually more patient and kind then I would have been.  They tried and they tried.  I tried and I tried until we just couldn't try anymore (you know, without scaring the other kids in the dentist's chairs).  The next option was, for a lack of better words, a baby straight jacket or sedation. Since we already knew Ryder would need to have some dental work done, they suggested putting him under to do all dental work in one day, including the simple X-rays.  So that's what we are choosing to do because having a fully sedated Ryder seems like my favorite kind of Ryder. (Kidding, but not really.) 

After we left, I was so overwhelmed with the quick planning and rearranging of the day (I like to pretend that I'm very "go with the flow" but I'm not.  I like structure and order and hate everything else.), overwhelmed and embarrassed about my child turning into a demon, and not feeling good myself. 

So after the appointment I found myself, 33 years old, parked in the McDonald's parking lot, sobbing into my already perfectly salted fries, licking spilt sweet and sour sauce off of my shirt because I had no pride left to give a crap about actually using a napkin.  And besides, all of the napkins were already soaked with my over-privileged, overwhelmed tears.  I'm pretty sure I hit my rock bottom at that moment. 

After there were no more nuggets left to consume we headed home.  I had a whole hour drive home from the dentist to collect my thoughts and get my act together (I knew I needed to get my act together, because frankly, I think my tears scared the teen-aged boy who was working the drive-thru at McDonalds.  What a sight I must have been.  A slightly middle aged, blonde haired women all of 100 pounds wearing a T-shirt that sported a sloth doing yoga on it, with makeup running down her cheeks, bloodshot eyes, sobbing through a pandemic protective mask as she's handing a teen-aged boy her tye-died decorated credit card to pay for her lukewarm lunch.) Like I said... rock bottom. 

When Cory walked in the door from work he asked Ryder how the dentist was (already knowing damn well it was a complete shit show). Ryder's response: "Mom cried like a little baby," as he rolled his hands into little fists that he raised to the outer corners of his eyes and turned in little half circles to make a crying motion, which he followed with a chant of, "Waah! Waah! Waah! Waah!"

So in other news, Ryder has lost electronic privileges until he is 42. And now only one child is listed in my will.

Cannibals and Corn Dogs

We went on a quick family vacation and it turns out going on vacation with Ryder is…fun.

We decided one evening to drive through a state park on their relaxing nature drive.

Ryder (out of nowhere while looking out the window): I love cannibals.

Chase (appalled): What?

Ryder (un-apologetically): I like everything about them.  Even their furry humps.

Me (hoping I’m not raising a complete monster): Where did you learn about cannibals?

Ryder: From the Cat in the Hat.

Cory (chiming in as he always does right before shit hits the fan):  You love camels.

Chase and I simultaneously: Oh!

After driving through the windy turns on the relaxing nature drive, Ryder gets car sick and vomits all over himself, his car seat, the floor, a blanket, my hopes and dreams  (okay, not really my hopes and dreams but his puke was everywhere.) 

Fast forward to a few days later on our way home from vacation when we enter a gas station.  I carry him into the gas station because he got an owie on his foot a few days earlier and couldn’t walk for an entire weekend.  You know, the kind of owie that is already mostly healed, but you accidentally look at it again and remembering the tiny, minuscule pain you once had makes you cry and somehow makes you develop an obnoxious limp.

Any who, Ryder looks longingly through the sneeze guard at the last, lonely corn dog shimmering from grease in the overhead fluorescent lights.  He whispers in my ear, while not breaking his eye contact with the corn dog but now placing his hand delicately over his throat as he speaks, “Ever since I got car sick, my throat has been telling me to eat a corn dog.”

So the kid got a corn dog, with ketchup. On the side of course, because your corn dog touching ketchup prematurely is “disgusting and gross” and leads to not eating said corn dog.  Do I really think his throat had been whispering to him for days tell him to eat a gas station corn dog?  No. But I admire his effort.  

"I Hate That Guy."

Ryder has always been a little much.  His personality is larger than his body- and it always has been that way (and I hope that it always stays that way- except at bedtime).  As it turns out, not all of his peers are as impressed with him as he is with himself.

A couple of years ago I was at a softball game watching Cory play.  For some reason (I can’t really remember the reason why) Ryder was coming up to the ball field a little later than us with my parents.  While sitting on the hot metal bleachers, there were a couple kids playing in the dirt with their little toy trucks right next to me.  Their ages looked to be around 5 and 3 years old. 

From a distance, I caught a glimpse of my little sweet, curly haired Ryder marching his way to the ball field from the parking lot, strutting a dollar for concession stand treats in one hand and his larger-than-life personality in the other.  

This also caught the attention of the children playing in the dirt.  The oldest boy momentarily stopped pushing his toy truck through the dirt and turned to the younger boy and said, “Hey, there’s Ryder.”  The youngest boy looked up in the direction of my little toddling, toddler and announced, “Ryder? I hate that guy.”  He then turned his attention back to pushing rocks with his toy truck, unimpressed. 

The personality is large with this one. 

On This Episode of Raising Ryder... April Fool's Day

  

At dinner, Chase whisper’s rather loudly into Ryder’s ear, “Ryder you are cute.” He pauses and then continues, “April Fool’s.”

Without even taking his eyes off of his plateful of store brand macaroni and cheese, he punches Chase right in the face.

Chase then cried into his macaroni and cheese.  And I just kept eating my grown-up pot-roast from across the table.  Mainly because it seemed like the situation had already worked itself out and there was no need for me to cry into an already perfectly salted pot-roast.

Also,

Ryder learned about April Fool’s Day in school and decided to play a prank on me. 

Ryder yells from on top of his thrown in his bathroom: “Mom, I’m done.  Come wipe me.”

Me: *Walks into the bathroom.*

Ryder: “I’m not done.”

Me: *Walks out of the bathroom.*

Ryder: “I’m done.”

Me: *Walks into the bathroom.*

Ryder: “I’m not done.”

Me: *Walks back out of the bathroom.*

Ryder: “April fool’s. I’m actually done.”

I walk back into the bathroom and bend down next to Ryder with a wad of toilet paper in my hand to help him wipe and he asks me, “Mom, do you have a great life?”

Me: “Well buddy, great isn’t the describing word I would use right now.”

Ryder: “I’m funny.”

Me: *Signs to herself and thinks: I thought parenting would be better than this.*

On This Episode of Raising Ryder.... Preschool Lunch

I often sit back and laugh at the fact that I thought Chase was my most vocally embarrassing child. I was such a fool...

A couple of weeks ago (you know before all of the craziness that is life now), I had the opportunity to go to lunch at Ryder’s Preschool.  It was entertaining to say the least.

During lunch, all of the kids were sitting nicely at the miniature tables in their cute little chairs with their hands folded as they all said a mealtime prayer in unison. At one little table there was a spot saved for me right next to my second born son, the apple of my eye, Ryder Jaymeson. (I’m pretty sure that if I keep referring to Ryder with sweet terms of endearment, it will somehow convince people that he is sweet.  You know, like how if you repeat things 3 times, you are more likely to remember it.)  Ryder was so excited to have me there and kept sharing his hot lunch with me.   

Partway through lunch Ryder started introducing me to the other little tots at the table. (Please note: I have changed the names of the children.) Ryder starts at one end of the table and points to a cute little girl and says, “That’s Emma, the one who cries every day because she (insert Ryder doing air quotes) ‘Misses her Mommy.’” The little girl shrugs her shoulders if as reinforcing Ryder’s description of her.

I brush the comment off because the little girl didn’t seem to mind being described this way; a lover of her mother.   

Ryder then goes onto the next little girl, “And that is Susan.  She is the “budgy one” because she always budges in line.” He then looks this child directly in the eyes and whispers to her, “And it’s rude.”   

At this point there were still 2 more friends for Ryder to introduce me to and I was starting to get nervous as to what new describing words he could come up with for the remainder of his friends (I use the term “friends” loosely as I feel Ryder may not have many friends in the near future.) so I quietly said, “Ryder stop.” To which he replied, “That’s what she said.”

It was then that I knew lunchtime was over.  I grabbed my lunch bag and skedaddled out of there, praising the good Lord that I got to go back to work.  

I wonder how Ryder’s friends would describe him to their parents at mealtime? Maybe something like, “Ryder, the one who steals small toys from school and sneaks them home in his socks.” Or “Ryder, the one no one wants to play with because he verbally assaults those around him." Or "Ryder, the one who spends most of his life in costume and feels he is superior to any other, living, breathing, mammal." 

Who knows. 

Any who, he loves Preschool and anyone who works with children like Ryder have a special spot saved for them in Heaven.     

Ryder, at Preschool, enjoying the day away.  

Ryder is 4, Hello Baby B*tches

I can't believe our Little Ry Ry Pumpkin pie is 4 years old! (I would say already, but some days with him are sooo loooong.)

Ryder, the thing I like best about you is that you don't give a crap and you have enough confidence for everyone in our household. 

You love super hard and you hate super hard. There is no in-between with you and sometimes that is refreshing (I said sometimes.)

For instance, the other week we went to a children’s museum that was littered with babies and small toddlers. You found an exhibit that was set up like a news station, walked over to the microphone and said into it with all of the confidence and conviction in the world, “Hello, baby bitches.”  It wasn't a proud parenting moment but Dude, you are consistent. You have not found a baby you liked, or even tolerated.

Sometimes you are a little strange. 

The other day when you were sick I asked you if I could get you anything. You responded with, “Something to snuggle. Like a weapon.” You are a strange little man, but I like that about you.

What I wish for you: I wish that you stay spunky and challenging and keep your seriously dry, dark, sense of humor.   

Future Profession: Chase thinks you will work at Taco Johns because you say, "I will kill you for a burrito" a lot. 

Current Nicknames: Ry-Ry Pumpkin Pie, Rudy, McRudy, the Rude-ster, Ry-Ry 

Current Favorite Item: A silver dollar that you call a "valuable." You often hide it in hats that you wear and inside your underwear. Also, Netflix. 

Current dislikes: babies, small toddlers and sandwiches 

Ryder and I spent the day together.  We made a birthday cake, we went to Pizza Hut for lunch, went to the candy store, he did shots with his brother and we went sledding. 

At lunch my Mom asked how his special day with his Mom was and he replied, "I wish I was alone."  So yeah, that stung.  

Chase worked really hard and made Ryder a birthday card. Chase had been hiding it in various places around the house the last couple of days to make sure Ryder didn't sneak a peak of it early. Chase excitedly gave the card to Ryder this morning only for Ryder to respond, "Oh, I hate it."  (Like I said, he hates super hard.)

Happy Birthday my sweet boy, my last born, the child who made me decide that we are "two and we're through." 

Keep being you.

No Picture Necessary, Buck the ....

I failed.  Again.  It is the second year in a row that I didn’t take pictures of my children on Halloween in their costumes.  And I have realized why I have neglected to snap pictures of them in their Halloween costumes.

Simply because it is not out of the ordinary for my children to dress up as something outlandish and leave the house.  It is just part of their personalities and it has always been accepted.  Chase has been known to wear a construction vest to school and strut blue hair.  (For real, I woke up from a nap one weekend to find Chase with blue hair- and this was a few days before school pictures this year).    

And let’s be honest.  Ryder lives his everyday life as a ninja turtle- I don’t need to capture the moment on one specific evening.

I don’t think Chase will ever ask why I don’t have a picture of him as an 8 year old on Halloween, but I do think he will remember the Halloween themed dinner we had.  He will remember the Jack-O-Lantern pizza, the paw shaped cheese puffs and the orange pop he got to feast on that night. I think he will remember how he went to grandma and grandpa’s after trick-or-treating for hot chocolate and to pass candy out to other kids.  And if he doesn’t remember those specific things, I think he will remember the feeling of togetherness because, even though we don’t have a picture to prove it, we spent Halloween with people we love.

And for right now, that’s enough.   No picture necessary.

On a side note:  As we were at a trunk or treating event, the kids hopped in line with other kids to ask for tricks and treats and the adults stood to the side chatting. After awhile I noticed that the line was being held up by Ryder so I went to investigate.  Apparently, Ryder hid his fart gun in the bottom of his candy bucket and was showing a group of elderly gentlemen how to make farting noises.  That kid sure knows how to keep it classy… or gassy.   (Sorry, I couldn’t resist the rhyme.  Speaking of rhymes.  Ryder has discovered a rhyming word for the dog.  Can anyone guess what rhymes with Buck?  Can anyone else guess which Mom isn’t proud when she has to tell her 3 year old to stop yelling for “Buck the F*ck” when we go for walks?)