The mister has been spending a lot of time at the dentist, and rather odd hours the dentist keeps. His appointment last night was 7.30 pm.
While the mister is at the dentist we walk around saying, ‘Poor mister’, and when he comes home we say, ‘How are you? Poor mister’ though in truth, I am thinking a little more than I should be about how freaking expensive this is getting and you wouldn’t want to see a person in that much pain, but, you know, money doesn’t grow on trees and moving is a very expensive exercise and not to mention that tax bill we had to pay because of some miscalculation or other (on which note, how does that stuff happen, I mean really, how does it) and so forth.
The other day, while the mister was out at the dentist, youngest boy sat in bed, making a little book for the mister with illustrations and a text which, as it’s main theme, suggested the mister is ‘awesome’, ‘rocks’, and the ‘best dad in the world’.
‘And you know what,’ youngest boy said to me after he had shown it to me, ‘when Dad sees this, he is gonna cry like Federer.’
And then he gave me a hug, got back into bed, turned out the light and five minutes later was sleeping.
Life, she truly is fogwholloping. Left or right?
adelaide from adelaide 
the child rocks. it must be hereditary?
is there a siesta? is that why the dentist keeps late hours? or perhaps he(?) has OCD.
Fogwhalloping inDEED.
I should rather like to go to the dentist at about 9pm and then come home and go straight to bed. If that were possible.
I think there is a siesta – lots of the shops close, but it’s always hard to work out other senses of time, I find.
fifi, that’s pretty much what he does
I don’t understand how you manage to keep a straight face.
If you do, of course.
I kept a straight face for that, but for his histrionics, we’ve stopped trying. As with yesterday morning after a sore leg developed and he was sure he needed to stay home from school, but he got dragged off anyway, and he ‘limped’ out of the front door saying, ‘Oh my God, daddy, why are you doing this to me?’
I don’t think you’re supposed to laugh, but I can’t help it. It was hilarious.
I always admire their acting skills and their imagination. Then spend the day worrying that they really are sick and the school is going to call and I’m going to look like a horrible mother. But then I remember when he’s really sick he just gets all quiet and withdrawn and I have to drag it out of him that he’s not well. This has led to some really ‘omg I’m a bad mother’ moments.
I hope the Mister is over his dentist misery soon.
Did he cry? I hope he at least fake cried so that youngest felt a sense of accomplishment for causing it with his touching sentiments.
Well of course he fake-cried if he cried like Federer.
I hope he real-cried like Ivanisevic when he beat the trousers off Rafter as a wildcard and leapt up into the stands to hug his sick dad who had flown in to watch his son play in the autumn of his career because he loves him and got to see him wallop the favourite which I already mentioned.
Franzy, I just won a bet with myself. Though I did think I would be hearing from you an hour or two earlier. Plus, you made me laugh.
I loves Federer and you can’t make me not.
Hope youse are getting a good sleep – or at least a decent cuddle.
xx