While driving…
Fritz: Hey! Look! Geese!
Everybody: Oooh! Wow! Look at all the geese!
Katie: Fritz, what do geese do?
Fritz (dryly): Lay eggs…make more geese.
Category Archives: Fritz
Woe is me
On Thursday, Fritz had an expander installed in his mouth and brackets placed on his upper teeth. This is a new experience for all of us: neither Bill nor I ever had braces or an expander or any orthodontic work. I could tell Fritz was anxious – he has been pretty upset about this whole ordeal beginning last summer when he was found to have a cyst in his jaw. I’ve been pretty matter-of-fact about all of his medical treatment, including his braces. The orthodontist is of the opinion that early intervention is the best thing for him, especially on the bottom where the cyst moved teeth completely out of alignment. So that is that. Fritz can bemoan the surgeries he’s had for the cyst and the braces he has to wear on his teeth, but it won’t change the fact that Bill and I have decided this is best for him. He has to do what he has to do, and there are worse things that kids have to suffer.
In the waiting room, Fritz leaned over and put his head on my lap. He said his stomach hurt. Nerves. I rubbed his back and told him it would be fine. When he went in, I briefly thought that I ought to have taken a picture of him or at least taken one last good look at his crooked mouth. After a while, they fetched me and I got to see the appliance. It closely resembles a medieval torture device…and I get to crank it twice a day. I feel like I should be wearing a black mask to protect my identity in case the prisoner manages to escape.
We left the office and headed for home. Suddenly a wave of emotion swept over me, and I felt myself struggling to keep from crying. In part, it was that mother’s nostalgia that comes when your child passes yet another milestone. I cried when he outgrew those 0-3 month clothes, and the 3-6 month clothes and the 6-9 month clothes. I cried when that first tooth popped out. I cried when he made his First Penance and his First Holy Communion. And now, he’s getting braces.
In part, my tears reflected the pity I had for him having to go through this. My poor boy. He’s too young for this – he’s not even nine. Why did he have to have a cyst? Why does he have to have an expander? Why can’t his life be easy?
And if that pity for my son isn’t pathetic enough, I realized finally that my tears were in part ones of self-pity. Why do I have to go through this: the appointments, finding babysitters or dealing with squirming toddlers at the doctor’s office, cranking his torture device, listening to his complaining and whining, correcting his uncooperative attitude? Why can’t my life be easy?
Fortunately, recognizing self-pity is, for me, the fastest way to get over something. There is no emotion I loathe more. From self-pity comes anger at my uncoordinated little ones, since I have to clean up their spills. From self-pity comes impatience when they want to do something themselves or when they want to help me, since I have to slow down and wait. From self-pity comes annoyance at my husband, since he isn’t able to help out around the house or with the kids.
Fritz will get through this ordeal, and so will I. They say the expander is only for 4 or 5 months, and I will pray it does its job quickly. Even the braces they say will only be for 6 to 9 months. This is no big deal. Really. There are worse things than hauling your kid around to doctor’s appointments, right?
Deprivation
Fritz: Mom, when am I going to get my own phone?
Me: Uh, when you’re 19?
Fritz: Awww….
Me: Why do you need your own phone?
Fritz: So I don’t have to borrow a phone when I go over to a friend’s house. I can just use my own to tell you where I am.
Me: What’s so terrible about using someone else’s phone?
And then I get a huff and a shrug as though he were twelve and I’m just an out-of-touch mom for goodness sake: You just don’t get it, Mom.
For the record, we don’t know any eight-year-olds who have their own phones. I honestly think he was just being practical. And lazy: that additional step of asking to use a phone can be a bit troublesome, I guess. He seemed genuinely surprised when I told him that phones cost money. Yes, I think it’ll have to wait until he finds steady employment. Poor kid.
Free labor supply to end in 10 years
Yesterday, in an effort to get all of us out the door in time for the Cub Scouts’ Pinewood Derby Races, I asked Fritz if he would get Pete dressed (dry diaper, shirt, pants, socks and shoes). I have only asked him for this level of assistance perhaps two or three times. Since I was brushing the girls’ hair, Pete was only a bit wet (not stinky), Fritz generally enjoys caring for Pete, and Pete is usually very cooperative with things like this, I thought it was a good time to ask for help. All went smoothly, with no struggles or complaining from either boy. However, Fritz did have one comment:
“You know, Mom, in ten years, I won’t be around to do this any more.”
Without batting an eye, I responded,
“In ten years, I expect Pete will be able to get himself dressed.”
Banana who?
If you think the knock-knock joke with the punchline “Orange you glad I didn’t say banana again?” is bad enough, how about listening to two boys debate back and forth how many times you should say “banana” before you say “orange”?
Fritz: You should say it twice. Listen: Knockknockwhostherebananabananawho Knockknockwhostherebananabananawho Knockknockwhosthereorangeorangewho orangeyougladIdidntsaybananaagain?
Billy: No, no. It’s better if you say banana three times. Like this: Knockknockwhostherebananabananawho Knockknockwhostherebananabananawho Knockknockwhostherebananabananawho Knockknockwhosthereorangeorangewho orangeyougladIdidntsaybananaagain?
And so on. If I hadn’t already lost my mind years ago, surely, surely this would send me over the edge!
hand shake
My boys have been working hard on devising their own personal secret handshake.
I find this to be incredibly charming.
The Newest Padawan
My son Fritz is about the same size as my niece Morgan. I am making a First Holy Communion dress for Morgan who lives some 700 miles away. Fritz, who normally likes to pretend to be Obi Wan Kenobi or Anakin Skywalker, has been unhappily but cooperatively allowing me to try the half-sewn dress on him to adjust for fit. Bill wanted to get the camera, but I said no. Maybe at the final fitting…I still need cooperation for now. But Bill came up with a new moniker for the lad: Mannequin Catwalker.
Do you have a MOOS-stash?
Under normal circumstances, I and most people I know pronounce the word “mustache” as “mus-STASH.” For a few weeks now, Fritz has been working on memorizing The Children’s Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow which includes this lovely line:
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all?
When I first read it, it seemed more flowing to soften the “uh” sound to an “oo” so it came out more like “moos-STASH.”
“MOOS-stash?” asked Fritz.
“Yeah, mus-STASH. He’s defining himself by one feature on his face. It’s a literary technique…blah blah blah,” said Teacher-Mom.
“MOOS-stash? MOOS-stash!”
Yes, all he really cared was that he was now at liberty to pronounce a word differently. And now all my children, for weeks it’s been going on, look for excuses to use that word.
Whenever they drink milk, a more-than-once-a-day occurrence, they ask each other, “Do I have a MOOS-stash?” “No,” comes the reply, “do I have a MOOS-stash?”
“Daddy should grow a MOOS-stash!”
“Hey, the UPS driver has a MOOS-stash!”
I’m afraid to take them out in public lest they single out every man with facial hair and talk about him in loud voices with odd-sounding words!
Blessings
I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to post this news.
I am truly overwhelmed with blessings from God. In fact, I am so overwhelmed with blessings from God, that I frequently take them for granted. Oh, well, look at that, another miracle…ho hum…
On good days, I recognize the gift and offer suitable praise: not just a Hallelujah, but also by telling everyone I know about how awesome God is and the wonderful things He has done for me. Sometimes it takes me days or weeks to recognize the work of the Divine Master in my life. Most of the time, I realize that God is good, say a thank you, and then promptly move on with my life.
Such was the case this week.
As you may know, Fritz was diagnosed in July with a cyst in his jaw. In August, he had a biopsy and a week later we learned that it was a dentigerous cyst. He had a stent placed in his mouth to drain the cyst and to promote growth of his jawbone which was dangerously thin (no sports for fear of fracture). For seven weeks, we went once a week for a checkup at Walter Reed (an hour there and an hour back in travel alone). Then we had a three week respite, and then a month-long break. At his last two appointments, they took x-rays of his jaw.
On Monday, the oral surgeon looked at the x-ray and remarked, “It’s gone!” In August, he had told us that it might take 6 to 9 months for the cyst to shrink. It has been less than three. He was a bit surprised. I’m not. God is that good. I’m happy, but not at all surprised. Well, I am surprised that He blesses me so abundantly given all the crap I give Him in return. But I’m not surprised that He has made it happen. Miracles are just another common everyday event around here: they’re about as remarkable as the sun rising.
The oral surgeon turned to the new resident who had seen Fritz that day. He explained Fritz’s diagnosis and treatment (Fritz is a learning case; I think every resident has seen him). I was elated when the oral surgeon said, “It turned out to be a dentigerous cyst, thank God.” Yes, I silently agreed, thank God.
As we were driving to the appointment, Fritz had been asking some questions about his case. In the past three months, he has done a fair amount of complaining about the stent and his treatment. This time, he wasn’t complaining, he was just asking about it. I told him that he was really lucky. I told him that the docs thought it might be cancer and that he could have been fighting for his life. I told him that the docs thought it might be an OKC, a hard-to-eradicate cyst, and he might have had to spend his whole life dealing with problems in his jaw. He finally got it. He finally realized that he is the recipient of a miracle.
Praise God.
The soonest they could get him in again is December 18th. They will sedate him, remove the stent and clean out anything remaining of the cyst. I’m sure he’ll have to go back in a week for a follow up, but after that, he’ll just go to his orthodontist to figure out how to get his adult teeth in his jaw properly. And that’s that.
Besides thanking God for my son’s health and speedy recovery, I’d like to thank all my family, friends and fellow bloggers who offered up prayers on his behalf. Most especially, I’d like to acknowledge the celestial assistance of two saints: St. Apollonia, the patron of tooth problems who will continue to be petitioned by me for her prayers until Fritz’s adult teeth grow in properly, and St. John Newmann to whom our family prayed a novena before Fritz’s biopsy when we feared he had cancer. I found the novena in a book I love: (Mention Your Request Here): The Church’s Most Powerful Novenas by Michael Dubruiel. This book has been updated and is due for re-release later this month. I highly recommend it.
And now, back to life as usual. I wonder what fantastic, miraculous gift God will give me today…
…yawn…
the most wonderful time of the year
This is the first Christmas that my oldest child, Fritz, now 6 1/2, is full of anticipation. The kind of anticipation that can only come when you already have a sense of what to expect. In previous years, he has known that SOMETHING was going to happen. We would talk about the season, the reason, the presents, the cookies, the parties, but he’d not really understand. This year, he knows EVERYTHING. It’s great. Mom, I can’t wait to look for the pickle on the tree…whoever finds it gets a prize! Mom, St. Nicholas brings coins, but they’re really chocolate inside! Mom, we ALWAYS go to Nana and Grandpa’s house on Christmas day! Mom, do you hear that song? It’s a Christmas song! And the best part is the excitment that he is able to generate in his siblings, which in unlike any excitement I could ever hope to inspire. Mom, says Billy, when are we going to put up the Christmas tree?
Reit This Way 