I am considering renaming this entire blog “The Dental Diaries.” I can’t begin to total the hours, not to mention the money, that we have spent on teeth during 2010. I have now gotten to the point that if I were to receive a call stating that one of my drama queens had had an accident at school, my first reaction would be “Oh God, not her teeth.”
The latest installment in “Have I Got Dentures For You,” is that Husband, one of the drama queens, and imported brother took a Hobie Cat for a sail on Wednesday afternoon. It was a stunning sunny day, with enough wind to whip up white horses on the harbour. As they screamed across expanses of water at high speed, Husband opened his mouth in a shout of general exhilaration and joy at being alive on such a glorious day, and promptly spat out his false tooth. The boating participants debated on the floating characteristics of plastic teeth, but decided a denture overboard drill was destined for failure. He returned to shore looking very much like a pirate, and yet again, we were trawling through dental acquaintances, and the yellow pages (white pages in Australia). Like on Christmas Eve, we had yet again hit a time when all good dentists shut up shop. Just for future reference, I would like to note that the majority of Sydney dental practitioners go on what seems to be a group holiday returning to work on January 17—which is a long time if you can’t open your mouth for fear of traumatizing complete strangers (not to mention your nearest and dearest). So if you spot a group of people in white swimsuits, whooping it up together somewhere sunny—you’re probably looking at a whatever the collective name is for a group of dentists (a gnashing or a filling perhaps?).
The good news is that we managed to find the lone dental technician in Sydney left to hold the fort, and Husband has been restored to his former glory.
Not only is today end of the year, but it also heralds a major shift in parent/child relationships in our household. This morning, one of our drama queens passed the theory part of the driving test, with the result that she can now, at the age of sixteen, hit the road with her “L’s” on. She now has to complete 120 hours of supervised driving in order to sit her test at seventeen, which I regard as a long time for your life to flash before your eyes at regular intervals. I am already aware that I am completely temperamentally unsuited to supervise anyone learning to drive, as I fear my natural default position is one hand clamped over eyes and the other hand stifling incipient screams. I had a quick glance at the instruction manual and tips for supervising drivers, and was interested to note that they suggest a second mirror so you can see the presumably frothing faces and gestures from drivers behind. Second mirrors are all very well, but there is no mention of what I regard as far more important: the emergency brake.One and half million people, including us, will be standing round Sydney Harbour watching the fireworks tonight. Have a fabulous New Year and the best start to 2011 and just pray that our drama queen is right about the “how hard can driving be?”. We definitely do not want 2011 to start off with a literal bang, as far as we are concerned.