No, wait. It wasn’t like pulling teeth.

It *was* pulling teeth.

Here’s what happened. Three and a half weeks ago, we noticed the kid’s teeth–lower front–were looking a little wonky. And because we are uber-observant parents, we assumed he was in the middle of another growth spurt, and his jaw was outpacing his teeth.

It could happen. Really.

But it didn’t. Two weeks passed. His teeth got wonkier and wonkier. And then, eleven days ago, I noticed that one of the lower front teeth was no longer wonky. It was sideways.

“Open your mouth,” I said, toothbrush in hand. And both of his teeth wiggled. A lot. And there, behind these wiggly teeth, were two brand-spanking-new teeth already popping up.

So we aren’t terribly observant parents. We’re good enough. I’m sure we’d notice if he was missing a limb or something. Reasonably sure, depending on the limb.

Anyway, that was Sunday night. Those teeth were loose, but still attached. I sent him to bed with the admonishment that if a tooth fell out while he was in bed, he could come down and get us and it would not impact his Handy Manny viewing time in the morning.

A week of this went by. My boy wavered between excitement that the Tooth Fairy would come and bring him a ‘shiny dime’ (because that’s what Sister Bear gets in the Bearnstein Bears, although I later learned on Facebook that the going rate for teeth these days is $5!) and stark, sheer terror that his teeth were going to come out. Mostly the terror part.

We tried Wednesday night to pull the sideways one, and it didn’t budge before my boy began to scream. He wouldn’t let us near his mouth after that, but those new teeth had to have somewhere to go, and soon.

At this point, we broke out all of our experienced parenting skills and went for the big guns: bribes. Specifically, bribes in the form of broccoli.

No, I’m not kidding. See for yourself.

Note that if you hold this up to the light and look through the window, you can see the broccoli stalk inside the car:

Yes. This bribe was a one-time only, first tooth ‘reward’ for being brave enough to lose some teeth. It sat, unopened on the counter, for two days.

(Why does Lightning McQueen have broccoli on his head, you ask? Excellent question. Lightning McQueen is supposed to have a tumbleweed on his head–it’s a scene from the movie.

See? In this pic I stole from PitStop ToyStop, you can clearly see the tumbleweed. But, somehow, broccoli was how they translated ‘tumbleweed’ in Chinese, apparently. This is exactly the reason I teach English as a Second Language. To avoid irresponsible vegetable abuse.)

By Sunday night, I was serious about this. That tooth had to come out. I drank a little wine and had the following conversation with my husband: “You turn on Handy Manny, I’ll get the car. You grab the kid, I’ll get his teeth. And Break!” A well-oiled machine, that’s what we are.

And it still almost half an hour. Kids, if you don’t know already, are slippery little suckers. Just try to hold onto a kid some time. For added fun, do it someplace important, like the all-glass-bottle wine section at your local grocery store or a funeral home. Good times, I promise.

Finally, my husband had my boy wrapped up on the floor. One (possibly more, but by this time, things were getting confused) dog was snuffling around, licking anything he could get his tongue on. My boy had the still-unopened, licensed-broccoli-wearing-animated character in his hand. Handy Manny was nearing the end of the show. I could not keep yanking on my poor boy’s mouth without throwing up. So I did what I had to.

I tickled him.

He jerked back so hard that I wound up with not one, but TWO teeth in my wad of wet cotton.

He screamed. I nearly threw up again. My husband–my rock, the love of my life–laughed his fool head off.

And then we all ate some ice cream and played Cars until bedtime. We carefully placed the multiple teeth in the handmade-by-Mom-with-love tooth sleeping bag, seen here:

(Yeah, that’s right. I made that. Out of an old sleeping bag. True, I was going for something more in the ‘pillow’ department, but once a sleeping bag, always a sleeping bag. Plus, even the broccoli-head Lightning McQueen can fit in it. It’s a multi-purpose sleeping bag. So there.)

And he went to bed. I drank a lot more wine (I ripped out my baby’s teeth!) and deposited two shiny quarters in said sleeping bag.

He’s the big man in class right now. Most of the other kids are far to young to grasp that, in our house, the Tooth Fairy is a little stingy. Heck, most of those kids aren’t going to start losing teeth for another year or so. Plus, they loved broccoli-boy on show-and-tell day.

Which just goes to show that you should never, ever underestimate the power of a leafy green vegetable.

When you look at this, what do you see?

Don’t feel bad if you answered ‘mud pit.’ You’re what we call a literalist, because literally, that’s all it really is. A mud pit. Oh, sure, it’s a mud pit with some hostas, ferns, a rather large magnolia tree, and something called Japanese spurge in it, but there’s no getting around the fact that it’s a mud pit.

Tangent alert (Tangent tangent alert: bad sign if we’re tangenting this early in the blog, don’t you think?): I was in an English grad school class once about ten years ago, listening to other scholars debate the existential ramifications of the fact that this character had no tongue, and I said, but it doesn’t say he doesn’t have a tongue anywhere in the book. Maybe he just doesn’t talk. The class discussion came to a screeching halt as all eyes zeroed in on me, and the professor said, “You are such a literalist.” It was not a compliment.

Anyway, back on topic: What is this?

A mud pit, yes. But what else?

This, my friends, is hope. Hope in dirt form.

In a mere six and a half months, this will be a rebirth in action.

Kind of like this:

I live for this renaissance in floral form. I have no problem spending multiple weekends grubbing around in the cold, wet dirt every fall. I have no problem working peat moss into said cold, wet dirt to insure the best blooms possible.

(Although I do have a problem trying not to berate certain ‘Home’ improvement warehouse ‘garden centers’ for not carrying said peat moss. I might forgive them for not carrying peat moss–a gardener’s best friend–but when these supposed garden center experts instead suggest that I buy mulch because it will do the same thing? That’s when I get a little irate. Mulch does not nourish plants. Mulch covers ground. Like the aforementioned mud pit.)

(Ooh, bad sign, another tangent!)

My husband finds this ironic, because when it comes to home improvement, I’m an instant-gratification kind of gal. I love to paint a wall, because voila! The moment you’re done, the wall is beautiful! I don’t have the patience to do wiring or other unsexy things. Or the skill set, but that’s another tangent. (How many will we get to today?)

But I’ll plan my plants a whole two seasons ahead of schedule. There is no instant gratification in this:

(area most recently covered by insane tomatoes and pumpkin vines)(but daffodils and tulips do not come up at the same time tomatoes go out, so we’re all good)

But there will be. The bloom of bulbs in the fading gray of early spring does such good things for my soul that I suck it up and break out the bulb digger. I have help. The kid is Chief Dirt Stomper, and this year graduated to Head of Shoveling Dirt Onto The Ones Mommy Put In The Ground (But Not The Ones Still In The Bucket, For The One Hundredth Time!). Teach them early, that’s what I say. As in, teach them to do your work for you. He thinks he’s playing in the dirt; I’m crossing the days off the calendar until I can sit on the patio, drinking a hot toddy and just pointing to where I want the next batch, thank you very much.

Can I tell you something that I’m somewhat ashamed of, yet will make you want to smack me upside the head? I totally slacked off this fall. I did maybe half my normal amount of bulbs. Really. I only put 300 in the ground. Total loser.

(Did that count as another tangent? I lost count.)

Mud pits in October. Hope for a brighter tomorrow.

The Rorschach Test.

You have no idea.

And honestly, the dust isn’t as bad this time as it was when we ripped the old plaster and lathe out of the basement. That was dust that’s still clinging to baseboards.

But this is dust that’s grinding into carpets with a tenacity normally reserved for chiggers. Not that I speak from experience there, either.

Anyway, I let my kid run the camera to take pictures of the drywalling in process.

Annie Leibovitz he ain’t.

But look at that nice wall, with new and improved outlets! I’m going to run some nice bookcases along that wall. Going to be lovely.

The kid wasn’t done yet:

Two things here: First, I would like it to be noted that I had been scraping wallpaper glue off the walls before the kid broke out the Kodak. Second, that ladder thing the drywall guy left in our house overnight? I almost kept it. The temptation to hide it away until after the worker left was huge. That’s the most wonderful ladder-like contraption ever. I want one for Christmas.

This is a pretty typical angle for a four year old. All doorknob.

I even tried to get my head in this shot, and still barely made it. But they’re going to start on that floor on Friday. Boy howdy, it’s going to be beautiful.

If we ever get the dust out of there.

So, you know, I like to have fun.

Fun. You know. Fun–the kind of of enjoyment that comes from house guests and their pets in residence at the same time contractors are dumping house detritus onto newly made guest beds and screwing new drywall in, all while I’m frantically figuring out what the sam-hill I’m going to do in a classroom after five years.

Like I said. Fun.

Toss in a kid who screams in his sleep and a dog who keeps figuring out how to break into my room at 3 in the morning just so he can snort and shake his cute, floppy little ears until I’m ready to drop-kick him through the wiener dog goal posts of life, and I’m not sure how much more fun I could possibly stand.

(NOTE: This is not a diatribe against house guests. Love them. Especially when they entertain my child for hours–yea, DAYS–on end. Even more so when they are my family–I feel less obligated to make my house spic-and-span.)

So, having recently been just about funned out, here are some pictures.

Before:

Same place in the room, During:

Look! A Window! Look again! Wide plank red oak flooring (that needs to be refinished, but otherwise, ooooh)!

Look! House detritus! (It’s already been cleaned up.)(Thank God.)

Office in Progress. Why do I feel like Woman, Interrupted?

Ah, remodeling . . .

Boy, that just doesn’t have a snappy ring to it, does it? It is, however, true. They might just kill me.

Let’s review. We spent most of the spring laying down this paver patio ourselves:

Note the out-of-control tomatoes and pumpkins trying to take over the world in the lower right hand corner. I’m seriously considering using pumpkin vines for all my home landscaping needs.

I drove the bobcat with all my normal grace and style.

It’s not done yet, of course. Any experienced home remodeler knows that the project is never, ever finished. Where would the fun be in that? We still have to do all the landscaping, and the steps are . . . barely steppable. But I would like everyone to appreciate the lower elevation of the dirt pile that has been my kid’s source of joy this year:

Compared to this:

See the difference? One could almost consider that level, if one had drunk a few too many adult beverages. All we need now is the sod. Still.

Anyway, since we’re not done with the patio project, we decided to go ahead with ANOTHER home remodeling project: My office. My office was, formerly, a bedroom that some previous owners (yes, I know who, and no, I don’t think it was their best idea) carved up to make a huge, massive, gigantic walk-in closet for the master bedroom. I love closets, it’s true, but that made this little room the ugly stepchild of the house. See? This is what it looked like before we moved in.

I know you can’t tell, but that’s not wallpaper. That’s contact paper. Talk about your remodeling projects on the cheap!

And, at one time, it apparently had Cubs wallpaper, too. That’s what people who partied at our house with various previous owners in the 70s and 80s always ask. “Do you still have the Cubs room?” No, my hubby always answers with regret. No Cubs room. (Lay off, Cards fans!)

Ever since we moved into this house, we have planned on ripping out the newish wall, running it all the way back to the original far wall, and reconfiguring the walk-in closet. They just never used all the space–space that could be better served by bookcases. But ripping out walls and putting in new ones is a major project, best left to professionals. (True, I could rip it out myself. But I couldn’t put it back in. “Know your limits” is my wise home remodeling mantra.) And major projects cost major money. Money better spent on other things. Like food. Or shoes. Or more shoes. I could write in ugliness. I just didn’t love it.

But then, one wonderful day in late May, my wonderful hubby looked over to me and said those magic words: “When do you want to redo your office?” (The correct answer is “Hand me the phone. I’ll call the contractor. Right now.”)

What brought on this sudden change of heart, you ask? Did it have something to do with my agent signing me with solid business-style plans for selling my books? Perhaps.

Contractors willing, the wall-ripping process will begin next week. We’ve moved all my pre-existing furniture out to the landing:

It’s like my own little office cocoon. Very . . . snug.

And we tore most of the wallpaper off, too. Well, the kid did. The ability to destroy is one of the more fun gifts I gave him. And then? Well, heck. If you’re going to tear walls out anyway, why not let a young child–and his friends–draw on the walls?

The art of a four year old is open to interpretation, but there are Handy Manny screwdrivers, Mr. Tickle monsters, and various attempts at names in there. Needless to say, the kid is already looking forward to the next home remodeling project.

So, off we go. I’ve got the border ordered (say that one five times fast) and the paint picked out. Some furniture (in my cocoon) is already here; the bookcases and filing cabinet will have to be ordered. (Because you just can’t find nice oak bookcases and filing cabinets on the cheap. You can find fake wood bookcases and cheap wood filing cabinets, but they look fake and cheap. And I’m not spending the next thirty years scowling at my office furniture for ruining my vibe.)

It helps tremendously that I just got hired to teach English as a Second Language at the community college. Another part-time gig, but even a part-time paycheck is a paycheck.

Much like a butterfly, my office will emerge from its cocoon lovely and resplendent.

I hope.

Stay tuned!