Max's First Trip to the Dentist

Max visited the dentist for the first time today. We are fortunate to have a wonderful pediatric dental office here in our home town. They had toys to play with, kid-friendly equipment, and dentists and hygienists trained to work with kids. The whole experience went very smoothly. Max was a real trooper -- holding still for x-rays, and allowing a cleaning and fluoride treatment with nary a peep. His teeth looked clean and healthy, though the crowding and the overbite suggested that we have orthodontics in our future. Oh goody! Another expense to look forward to...

Special kids' waiting area

The dentist checking Max's teeth (and shielding his eyes from the bright light)

Is this a dental office or a tanning salon??!!

All clean!

Blood, Bandages, and Runaways

It's always something around here.

In the past couple weeks, we have endured the following:

1.) Henry running away at Kohls. After several increasingly frantic minutes of searching accompanied by two store employees, I found him in a rounder of clothing. He popped out grinning as if to say, "The terrible twos are here! Get used to it, Mom."

2.) Scott spraining his ankle. Apparently Max laid a trap of slippery slate rocks at the bottom of the deck stairs and Scott, who was carrying plates of hamburgers and who has weak ankles to begin with, fell for it (literally). The ankle puffed up to twice its normal size and took on a variety of lovely colors. The only possible "positive" of this whole situation was that Henry learned a new word. He will now look at me solemnly and say "Ankle" while pointing toward the back yard.

3.) Max taking a nasty spill at Krusi Park. Yes, this is the same place where Max split open his head a few months ago necessitating a trip to the ER. A sane person might wonder, "Why does she keep taking her kids back to this death-trap of a park?" What can I say? It's a fun park when we're not gushing blood. In any case, this time Max fell on his face and received the biggest fat lip I've ever seen. In addition, he tore his frenulum (the little piece of skin connecting his upper lip to his gums). The whole thing bled, A LOT, but I was reassured when I took Max across the street to see my neighbor who is a pediatric nurse. She said that there was nothing they could do for him at the hospital and we should stick with motrin and popsicles at home (a very popular course of treatment). Now, a couple days out, he's looking a little less like a prize fighter, and I'm hoping that he doesn't end up with a scar.

Sigh...

Fall Fights and Festivals

Kids + Pumpkins = Adorable Photographs.

Scott and I got into a fight about this very equation over the weekend when we visited Perry's Farm Pumpkin Patch and Ardenwood's Harvest Festival. Scott's "cheesy and inauthentic" is my "cuteness nirvana." You can be the judge as you peruse the following photographs chronicling pumpkin selection, train ride, and picking of corn.

A good time was had by all (at least once Scott and I got past our acrimony. It wouldn't be a marriage if we didn't fight about stupid issues, now would it?!).

An Urban Bluegrass Adventure

Last week I read in the paper about a free bluegrass music festival to be held in San Francisco. I thought to myself, " Heck, I like bluegrass music. I lived in Virginia for ten years, didn't I?" Additionally, I thought, "I like free things. We don't have any money after paying for our deck and fence, right?"

And thus our fate was sealed.

Saturday afternoon after the boys woke up from their nap, we piled them in the car and headed for Golden Gate Park. I was envisioning a scene where families would spread out their picnic blankets and nibble quietly on sandwiches while toddlers frolicked with the family dog and gentlemen strummed banjos on a haphazard stage. What I wasn't envisioning was a massive crush of humanity -- something close to 700,000 people-- overtaking ever corner of the park and pressing up again seven different stages where a dizzying variety of acts played simultaneously.

Our first clue should have been the fact that it took close to half an hour to find a parking spot a million miles from the park in the depths of the Outer Richmond. We shlepped our children and our gear over to the park, staring slack-jawed at the flower children, frat boys, retirees, street people, and other assorted city dwellers surrounding us. The plan had been to meet up with friends near the quaintly named "Banjo Stage" where Gillian Welch was performing, but it quickly became clear that there was no earthly way to find anyone in that crowd and furthermore, the Welch performance was so packed that it was standing-room only and the performer herself was a mere dot in the distance.

Ever adaptable, we took our rugged Peg Perego stroller for a rough trek up the side of a hill and through a grove of eucalyptus trees. Eventually, we found a spot amongst the trees behind some stage or another where we watched a couple acts we had never heard of (from the back) and enjoyed our picnic and people watching. One favorite moment was when a drunk lesbian couple fought their way up the side of a tree so that they could drink whiskey and watch the action from on high. Scott and I also had a good snicker over Max's comment, "It's stinky around here!" Yes, son, that's the smell of pot smoke. Welcome to San Francisco.

All told, we ended up having a really good time, and the kids enjoyed playing in the dirt and dragging logs all over the hill. They didn't mind a bit that we couldn't really see much on the stage.

If we return to this festival next year, I think we will have learned a few things and will be better prepared. It really was an amazing event in an amazing city. Have I mentioned how much I love living in the Bay Area?

Henry posing in front of our "view" of the stage.

Scott and Max eating dinner.

Our "neighbors" trying to get themselves up the tree.