See, the thing about being a frantic typer is that you can hit the keys so fast and unpredictably that you could, say, wipe out a half hour's worth of writing in one unknown keyboard shortcut.

I was not impressed with what transpired two hours ago. So, I went to watch 300 and now I feel better. Sure, I nuked my rather funny post, but at least I'm not a psychotic Spartan.

I was trying to update about Spawnling's toof situation. If this is your first time here or you happen to not care enough about my incredible life to read me regularly, you'll want to catch up here and here. I don't like to repeat myself unless it's to mention what an awesome person I am; the truth should be told over and over until it's believed.

Incidentally, that's also the way brainwashing works.

Spawnling and I took a little trip to see Dentist A on Friday, but not before booking an appointment with Dentist B. I had heard good things about both thanks to the wonders of Facebook status comments and the many people who's children also have horrible teeth. I called Dentist B's office first but couldn't get in until March 23rd. So, I called Dentist A while keeping the appointment with B.

Finding a dentist, I've learned, is a little like dating: Your date on Friday might be a kind and wonderful bloke who makes you laugh, or he could be a rabid serial strangler from the mountains. There's just no way of knowing, so it's best to keep your meeting on the 23rd, just in case. See what I'm saying?

Like a good mother, I came to the appointment equipped with toddler essentials: his "Baby" (a teddy bear dressed in WWII flight gear), his blanket and his purse that he had adopted from my armoire a few minutes before leaving the house. It's taupe and matched his pants and he refused to get into his carseat without it.

It's all about the pant to purse matching, ladies. Let Spawnling be your guide.

I made sure we arrived early. I gave him plenty of time to explore his surroundings, which mostly involved scribbling on top of other children's scribbles on the kiddie table, repeatedly glaring at and saying 'no' to an infant on the opposite end of the waiting room for no apparent reason other than he could, and crapping his pants. When I changed him in the bathroom I also had to change Baby the WWII pilot veteran. I'm glad I brought a spare diaper or we might have had a meltdown earlier than expected.

We met Dentist A in a very cool room with not one, but two televisions: one on the wall and one on the ceiling. And, they played Thomas the Tank Engine at the push of a button. The doctor gave my boy some cool sunglasses to wear and let him hold one of those little mouth mirror instruments. Spawn and I both agreed that he did not in any way resemble a mountain man serial strangler, nor did we notice any rope with which to strangle us with, which was quite reassuring. All these things combined made Dentist A very cool in Spawnling's book.

Until, of course, he realized that Dentist A was, indeed, a dentist. That happened just around the time we wanted to do dentistry things, like have a look in the ol' mouth. Then he screamed the scream of someone about to be strangled by dental floss and feeling the betrayal of not knowing a serial stranger when he sees one.

The entire thing was quite tragic, and lead to two conclusions:

1. That he has two definitive cavities in two different teeth with possibly more decay elsewhere that couldn't be *ahem* "evaluated", and,

2. That Dentist A recommends we not go with his laughing gas/oral sedation wussy stuffy and move right along into full sleep-like-the-dead sedation reserved for the truly traumatized, which can be done by making an appointment with another dentist.

Oh, you guessed it: Dentist B. And who has an appointment already booked?

You may high five me now. I am that good. So good at my job I'm damn near psychic!

I'm not terribly thrilled with the idea of full sedation, but having Dentist A explain the very real potential (30-40%) that Spawn could wake up in the middle of his proceedure and flail around if not put completely under, I don't think there's a lot of choice. Also, I would like to think that if a dentist is recommending I take my business elsewhere he has a very good reason. He's losing out on some serious cashola.

Dentist B is, I believe, the nice doctor who pulled Gutsy's tooth four years ago. He works at the local children's hospital and I really liked him. He didn't judge like another dentist we had to deal with for the consultation. Instead, he simply explained, empathized, froze, pulled, and comforted me while I comforted Gutsy. A good guy and I look forward to meeting with him again.

Can I let out a long, drawn out sigh for a moment? Can I just say again that this toof thing really sucks? I've had five root canals, two crowns, a host of cavities, a six tooth bridge and various other dental surgeries in my lifetime, but the thought of the Spawn having to be put under to save what's left of his front teeth really makes me a sad Maven. I feel so bad for the little guy and a part of me still wonders if I could have done something differently. Brushed more, fed him fewer Skittles. That sort of thing.

This is one of those times a recovering alcoholic and drug addict will try to use 12 step program knowledge to make sense of a situation. It's a very effective way of not freaking the hell out and diving into a bottle. So, in this case, I'll use the 'everything happens for a reason' mentality. Eighteen months ago, Intrepid fell out of a tree and broke his femur. He had two surgeries which were far more invasive than simple dentistry and required heavy sedation. He came out of it just fine.

Perspective, right? It's all about perspective. See? I can be positive! I can be wise! I can mature about this, and all that crap.

Want to know the other thing I'm good at? Asking my mommy to come with me so she can buy me coffee and hold my hand while I wait for my baby to wake up with fixed teeth. Because while I can keep it in perspective now, I will be a hot mess when the big day comes. Geekster can hold the fort here and The Madre can prop me up in the waiting room chair. Team effort all the way.

For now I'll enjoy March break. By "enjoy" I mean dig my nails into my palms and pretend I'm looking forward to summer break when they can take the time to work on more effective and louder fighting strategies. By "break" I refer to being on my feet all day breaking up arguments and cleaning up messes.

Confession: All this noise takes my mind off of what's coming. It's oddly comforting. I suppose that means I've completely lost my mind, now.