The Unnecessarily Defiant Dentist (& His Shitty Apology)

It’s such a pain finding a new dentist, isn’t it? But I really liked this one. My brother-in-law recommended him and I was pleasantly surprised by the office’s organization, professionalism and friendliness.

On my last visit, in anticipation of Hannah going for her first exam there the following month, I asked if they could look at the calcifications on her front teeth and tell me if anything could be done or not. I specifically told the hygienist that I didn’t want it mentioned in front of Hannah because she had been self conscious about them in the past. I didn’t want that box of worms reopened until I knew there was a simple—an affordable—solution. The hygienist and I both communicated this to the check out woman who said she understood. We even made notes in the system together and she reassured me that they would not bring it up to Hannah.
The day of Hannah’s appointment, I noted that a different dentist was on duty this time. I wasn’t even aware there was more than one dentist at this practice. Oh well, I’m sure he’s just as good, I thought and went back to watching Hulu. About an hour later, just-as-good-dentist came out to brief me on the state of Hannah’s pearly whites.
“So I spoke to her about her teeth calcifications and told her there’s a paste to get rid of them…” he started. I didn’t hear much after that because I was too busy having a conversation with myself in my head about how that could have happened.
“I thought I asked for the calcifications to be discussed with me in private and not in front of her. Weren’t there notes in the system?” I asked.
“Yeah I know, but it wasn’t a big deal, she was fine with it,” he replied.
“But that’s not the point. I asked you guys NOT to talk about it with her and you did anyway,” I kept going.
He just stared at me for like a million seconds without saying a word. I could imagine the thought bubble above his head though. And it had lots of expletives. As did mine. I remained silent, refusing to speak first.
“Well, I’m sorry,” he finally said with a definitely not sorry tone, and then further canceled it out with “But she didn’t seem upset by it.” Hmmm, he’s a stubborn one.
Yeah, I get it doc. I’m an overreactive borderline hysterical mom and you’re just a cool know-it-all dentist. I left the office without saying anything else about it because I wanted to give myself a chance to calm down.
I fumed all the way home and started to question why I was so mad. People make mistakes. Hannah WAS fine with it. I COULD afford the paste. No harm was really done.
Oh. It was his shitty apology.
If, from the beginning, he had just said “Oh I’m sorry! That was totally my fault. I should have ….blah blah whatever” instead of digging his heels in defiantly, I could have been more understanding. Annoyed, but not enraged.
I don’t like it when people pretend to apologize, but don’t really apologize.
Top 3 least sincere apologies:
1. They say sorry, but with a tone (which they pretend is a figment of your imagination).
2.They say they’re “sorry you feel that way” i.e. You’re not supposed to be upset.
3. They say soooorrrryyyy! i.e. sorry you’re an oversensitive loser.
They might as well just say what they mean: Sorry, not sorry.
Have you ever given or been on the receiving end of an sham apology? Tell me about it in the comments below! (Doesn’t it look like that tooth is giving the middle finger in the photo above? Made me laugh to myself)
Photo by Tom Hilton

#Throwback Thursday: Once Upon A Time, We Went To See Oprah

Originally published 10/28/14….I love remembering this trip…

For as long as I can remember, my mom and I had always wanted to attend an Oprah show taping. So this summer when I saw tickets to her “Live Your Best Life Weekend” go on sale, I had to snag some. Sure they were expensive. Sure it was a 6 hour drive to Atlanta. Sure we’d miss work and school. But hey. It’s Oprah. I booked the adventure.

After we arrived and checked into our fancy Oprah weekend hotel, Hannah and I headed over to O-Town. O-Town was a little neighborhood of tents and booths filled with all things Oprah. Everything from her OWN network to O Magazine to activities promoting all of the Oprah teachings was showcased. We saw a very long line to register for a Wells Fargo VIP package to the show. It was super hot and we were sweating up a storm.

Hannah said, “Let’s register”. I replied, “It’s toooooo hot and the line is toooooo long and the chances of us winning are one in a million.” We declined to enter.

That night Oprah spoke of trials and tribulations she’s experienced in her life. It was so exciting to watch Hannah as Oprah spoke about intention, gratitude, surrender and the golden rule because I could see it all clicking with her. She was the only kid I saw in the entire stadium.

The next morning we dined on fancy Oprah weekend french toast room service and headed off for day two. In a stadium that seats 18,000 people, our seats weren’t the worst and they weren’t the best, but they were ours and we were excited. Suddenly a woman’s voice over the loud speaker.

“And the winner of the Wells Fargo VIP package is Jennifer ***** and guest!”

Huh? A light shined on us and people around us were shouting “Congratulations!” as one of Oprah’s producers whisked us away. We walked the long walk down to the floor and were stopped in front of two seats that said “RESERVED”. They were reserved for us! Necklaces with “VIP” on them were put around our necks. We kept looking at eachother in disbelief. It was like we had won the lottery.

When Oprah came out on stage, we could just about touch her. I could not believe that we had won this contest (we’d somehow entered unbeknownst to me) and were sitting in front of someone I had watched on my TV screen for over 20 years.

When we broke for lunch, the loud speaker lady came on again instructing those with VIP Saturday tags to stay put. Oprah’s producer appeared again and asked us how we were enjoying the seats. I took that opportunity to ask him what we were waiting on. He pointed us in the direction of a small group of people who were heading upstairs and told us to follow. By the time we caught up with them, the group of people were standing at the elevators waiting for the next one to arrive.

Everyone was quiet as I asked the lady next to us, “Where we were going?”

She replied, “To meet Oprah!”

“Get out!” I exclaimed not fully believing her.

The elevator transported us upstairs and behind a velvet curtain was a beautiful world of yummy buffet food, free drinks and beautiful centerpieces on white linen table cloths. After we ate and took many pictures of ourselves, it was time to get pictures with Oprah.

As our turn came up, one of the producers asked me if we were the mom and daughter who won the VIP package. I said yes as she relayed the info to Oprah. Hannah walked up to her first and said, “Thank you for inspiring me” to which Oprah replied, “Awwwww thank you for inspiring me” and gave her a big hug. They let us each have a photo alone and then one with the three of us. I couldn’t even think of a single thing to say.

As we walked around the stadium, it was like we were famous. Everywhere we went people were congratulating us. On the way to the car, a lady yelled across the parking lot, “Are you the mom and daughter who won the VIP tickets?” Yep, that’s us. And life is amazing.

#Throwback Thursday:You Don’t Know My Life! (And Other Things About Being Judgmental)

Originally published 10/13/2013

A few days ago, Hannah and I were watching Glee. It was the episode where they killed off Finn and paid tribute to Cory Monteith, the actor who played him. Hannah is a big fan of the show and was aware that he had died from a drug overdose over the summer. She told me how a few people had commented that he was a drug addict and it’s his own fault. She felt bad that they were saying that and told me that it wasn’t his fault he was addicted to drugs. This was a great opportunity for a conversation.

I told her that people make their own choices and it certainly was his choice to take drugs. However, sometimes as human beings, we should take a look at the root cause of behavior. Usually people take drugs to escape some kind of pain. I have compassion for people who feel the need to turn to drugs to numb whatever feelings they can’t seem to face.

I also notice people, in general, seem to have a really low tolerance for people with drug problems. They get super judgy, super fast. Yet drugs are not the only way people numb their pain. Many times, the people who feel they are better than drug addicts are the same people who escape life’s darkness and discomforts in “acceptable” ways. Maybe they gamble, shop, eat, work too much, drink too much, watch too much television or stay on the internet all the time. Some of these things have obvious consequences, some less obvious. But the motivation is always the same. Escape.

I’m not suggesting they should not be held accountable for their actions or that we should take responsibility for them. Maybe we could judge a little less and empathize a little more. “Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

We Are Family, I Got All My Sisters With Me (Plus My Ex, His Wife & Their Kids)

Hannah’s stepmom and I have always had a pretty good relationship. I’d have her little girl over to bake cookies, she’d cut my hair. I’d do crafty projects for her, she’d cook for me. Hannah’s dad could have chosen anyone, but he ended up choosing a good person who treats Hannah really well.

That being said, stepmom has a habit of letting things fester until she can’t hold it in any longer and then releases her frustrations in a super passive aggressive way. I then have to realize this and try to talk to her frankly about the problem. This works pretty well. Except this last time.

Hannah was struggling toward the end of this school year with several things and I asked if we could adjust her schedule with her dad and stepmom. Dad was fine with it, but stepmom got very upset. The change was small and temporary, so I just kinda figured she’d get over it. But she didn’t. And she texted me about it. A lot. Real long scathing texts. The kind that make you want to go to the person’s house and ask “Are you alright?”

So I called her hoping we could turn things around and get back to normal. But things didn’t really improve and, in fact, became even more infuriating. We hung up in a so-so place and later that evening she texted me letting me know she wasn’t going to answer my texts going forward, only phone calls. Obviously, I didn’t reply. Since that would be texting.

I was really hurt because I had always made a big effort to be appreciative and to make things comfortable and mutually supportive between our blended family members. Some of that hurt turned into anger as I thought of ways I could avoid dealing with her.

Weeks go by with no communication between the two of us. Spite had forced me to begin coordinating plans through her dad, the not-as-effective communicator. By the Fourth of July, I decided I would offer an olive branch when I picked up Hannah. So I made a cupcake run and headed on over.

On my way, I reasoned that stepmom’s bad reaction weeks earlier was probably just her feeling insecure about Hannah’s time with them. Maybe she took my schedule change to mean that Hannah didn’t want to be at their house. So once I arrived, we all exchanged pleasantries and chit chatted as if nothing had happened.

I deemed the mission successful until stepmom text me the next day. It was a nice text about picking Hannah up and taking her this place and that place. Normal. But I couldn’t bring myself to respond. I remembered her message of forbidden texting and a mixture of hurt and stubbornness washed over me as I turned into Scarlett O’Hara:

As God is my witness, I will never text you again!

But the cupcakes were nice, right? Baby steps.


#ThrowbackThursday: My Daughter Doesn’t Take Piano Lessons (And Other Things I’m Failing At)

Originally published 6/21/2013

“Mommy can I take piano lessons?”

I consider this request. I would like her to take piano lessons, but we have no piano. It seems unreasonable that I should go buy one. She suggests a keyboard. Even still. We’ve done dance, gymnastics, acting lessons, soccer and girl scouts. We participate in swimming and drama. Can’t I just let myself off the hook, piano-wise?

The other day, I was folding laundry when a commercial for paper towels came on. The mother just smiles as her daughter “helps” her by sloshing a ridiculously full bowl of soup across the kitchen to the dining room table. Mommy, head in the clouds, smiles as she notes that her daughter likes to help. Mommy is unfazed as she reaches for a paper towel.

I instantly hate the overly patient Bounty mommy, certain that there are real Bounty mommies everywhere and I am definitely not one. I would have shut down the whole soup carrying thing before she even took a step. I bet Bounty mommy even cooked the soup with her daughter. Meh.

I feel like the Queen of Hurry Up, You Have To and How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You. It’s a kingdom where my minions are Disappointment, Guilt, Remorse and Regret. I know I am not alone in this kingdom. It just feels like it.

I yell sometimes. My headaches rob me of a lot of patience. Sometimes, I don’t feel like listening to her stories. I cook a real dinner 2-3 times a week. I am on my phone too much. I should make her put her iPad away more. No, your bathing suit isn’t clean for camp. We should be taking walks. I need to sign us up for some yoga classes. Yes yes, that would be fun and not at all challenging to fit into our packed schedule. Why aren’t we eating nice summer dinners on the patio more. We watch too much TV. I don’t like getting up in the evening to tuck her in. That is lame.

The other day, out of the blue…….

Hannah: I’m proud of the life you made. Even though things didn’t go as you planned, you picked yourself up and built a nice life. You don’t live off of anyone. You did it yourself.

Me: If there was someone to live off of, I would.

Hannah: I’m trying to have a moment here.

And those are the moments when I know I’m doing more good than harm. I smile to myself.

#Throwback Thursday: Where Perfectionism Exists, Shame is Always Lurking

Originally published 5/19/14

My good friend and I were taking our lunchtime stroll when I mentioned how my recent 3 week cough had gotten me to the point where if I coughed too long and hard—I peed a little. What’s that about, I pondered, since I had a C-section birth. Is it just typical aging? I’m only 40!

“They say we are supposed to be doing those kegel things,” my friend noted.

“Yeah, in the car at red lights or whatever,” I said, “I never remember to do those things.” Why can’t I remember to do things, I thought silently.

My friend sighed and unknowingly answered, “There are just too many things to do!”

I agree. There are too many things to do. And it’s pretty overwhelming when you insist on trying to do all of them. I’m in awe that we even try.

Recycle or prepare to see your face on the wall of awful citizens.
Don’t use too much electricity and get those green lightbulbs, too.
Don’t eat too much sugar. Or carbs. Or meat. Or dairy. Or fat.
Eggs will ruin your life. Oh nevermind, eggs are awesome.
Drink tea but not coffee..oh wait coffee adds years to your life..who knew.
Walk 5 minutes every hour or come to terms with an early death.
Use sunscreen and make sure it has SUV protection..oh I mean UVA.
Get teacher gifts but no more apple items for pete’s sake.
Moisturize. Exfoliate. Condition. Floss.
Use glass, not plastic everyone knows plastic contains BPA.
Eat organic. You know, if you want to live and all.
Keep your photos archived, backed up and printed if you want to be a good mom.
Get your oil changed every 3000 miles ok how about every 5000.
Do your breast exams or it will be your fault when you get cancer.
Change your air filter do you want your kid to get asthma?
Clip the cat’s nails or you’re going to suffer the consequences.
Lift weights because you know you lose muscle mass every year after 40.
Read or stay completely ignorant.
Don’t watch too much TV because then you’re just wasting your life.
Keep up your gratitude journal because people who journal have happier lives.
Back up your files and if you don’t, your hard drive will definitely go bad.
Update your iOS if you want to be in the know.
Rotate your tires or you’ll have no one to blame but yourself for that blowout.
Cut the grass or the neighbors will think you’re bad lazy people.
Take these vitamins but not these or these, but yes these, no not those, these.
Register for PTA but only if you’re a good parent.
Remember birthdays or just be a thoughtless sucky person.
Meditate or just have that heart attack instead.
Drink 8 glasses of water and no diet soda doesn’t count.
Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc.

“You don’t have to do all of those things.” —People who live what must be a wonderful and peaceful existence.

Yeah. But.

Perfectionism is a self destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment and blame.” —Brené Brown

Nailed it! That’s exactly how I operate.

I have often been criticized for being bossy, uptight and wanting things “just so”. Part of that I attribute to a bit of a roller coaster home life. I had no control then so, in order for me to feel ok as an adult, I need to have as much control as possible now.

But the other part, I had not considered. The not wanting to be judged. Not wanting anyone to tell me I messed up. Not wanting to look like I don’t have a handle on things. Because if I have a handle on things, then that means I am worthy and I am good enough for people to want me around. I am worth spending of their time and energy.

I know I am not alone in these feelings.

How many of us think:
If I don’t lose this last 20lbs, I am clearly not datable. If I don’t get these photo albums made, I won’t have any proof that I love my child. If I don’t remember a to ask my friend about their surgery, I am a self involved loser. If I forget to get back to a colleague, clearly I am incapable of handling my job. If I have a car wreck, it must mean I am a half wit. If I don’t play that game with my child, I am a terrible parent.

Brené talks about the usual “I am enough” type things, but what she says about permission slips caught my attention. She said a lot times, in order to stop beating herself up about things, she has to write permission slips for herself. I give myself permission to _______________.

I give myself permission to:
Be lazy.
Take a break.
Let things go.
Be too tired to finish.
Not read a book.
Watch trash TV.
Slip up and yell.
Forget things.
Not be in the mood to deal with certain things all the time.
Let go of guilt.
Be ok with knowing I did my best.
Just get by sometimes.
Be silly.
Not sweat the small stuff.

We are supposed to live in the moment. But plan for our future. And also learn from our past. Let’s give ourselves permission to do all or none of these things any time we damn well please.

When Your Summer Plans Fall Apart, Do What Dory Would Do

After a lot (A LOT) of back and forth about which summer theater camp session Hannah would attend, she decided on session A which runs the first half of the summer. The theater circles Hannah runs in at her middle school usually attend session B, but Hannah was determined to branch out and meet some new people as she found her current people not quite satisfactory.

Hannah told me, “They keep saying ‘But Hannah, you won’t know anyone at session A’ and I’m like ‘Well sometimes we can meet new people! We don’t have to stay in the same manipulative and abusive co-dependent groups!'” She didn’t really say that, but told me that was what she was thinking. She had grown tired of the immaturity, games and friends-one-day-but-not-the-next thing that had become a regular occurrence in her group. She was ready to brave a whole new world. Like Jasmine on a magic carpet ride.


Fast forward to her crying every day after camp because groups and cliques were already formed and no one was interested in letting her invade them. I tried every approach to get her to stick it out, try harder, have faith, stand her ground. I was encouraging, empathetic, forceful and even nonchalant as I “let her decide” (i.e. decide to go back). Nothing was working! I found this upsetting for three reasons:

  1. I don’t want her to be comfortable with quitting. I try to teach her to honor her commitments. I didn’t feel like 3 days was ample trying time.
  2. The camp was paid for and I was told by a rather smug camp counselor that refunds are not a thing.
  3. I work full time and did not like the idea of Hannah aimless and home alone every day.

We had countless discussions about it over the course of 3 days which was exhausting. I kept expecting her to give in and try a little longer. That’s what would usually happen in these scenarios. But she wouldn’t. I could tell she was upset about quitting, but that it was even more upsetting to her to think about going back.

Finally, I had to just grow toward the sun and let it go. I had to just believe her.

I had to trust in her…and our relationship …and know that she just really really really didn’t want to go, whether I fully understood why or not. There was no point in my trying to get her up every morning, force her to get dressed, drive to camp—crying all the way—where I’d have to pry her crumpled sobbing body from the car and feel crummy all day at work thinking about it. Bleh.

The next night we went to see Finding Dory (aka my new favorite movie). After the movie, I told Hannah we were done discussing camp and we were not going to let camp ruin our lives. Hannah agreed and said, “We’re going to do what Dory would do.”


Yes! Regroup, reassess and figure it out! There’s always a way. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

So far, we have lined up one camp-replacing adventure for her already. Hannah is going with my sister and her 3 boys on a week long trip up north. God bless my sister. And Godspeed.


When Do You Speak Up And When Do You Clam Up?

A friend and I were enjoying delicious half price margaritas & chips ‘n salsa the other evening. Then she brought up life.

“So I started arguing with this guy Jeff on Facebook the other day about <insert controversial topic here> and after a few back and forths, I decide to take the post down. I’m out of work and job hunting. I can’t afford for the wrong person to see my views on Facebook and have it cost me a job. And I felt like a wuss because we should speak up when we see something wrong. When we don’t speak up, we are part of the problem,” she said.

“That’s true,” I agreed, “but I just always know that nothing I say is going to change their minds. Those types of debates are not very fruitful. So I don’t know what the answer is.”

On the way home, I was trying to reconcile this issue in my mind. Ok, so I think speaking up is good. Speaking up about injustice = growing toward the sun. But when do you speak up and when do you keep quiet?

If I walked up on a friend or relative vandalizing a landmark or kicking a dog, I’d speak up. But if they are being a blowhard about <insert controversial topic here> at family night, I tend to just let it go. It’s an ongoing struggle. Do we only speak up when we think it will make a difference? If we never speak up, it guarantees no difference…so does this make us cowards?

How do you make these decisions?

Photo: Wikimedia Commons, 

Gun Violence Through The Eyes Of A 13-Year-Old

My daughter Hannah wrote this poem all on her own. We hadn’t even discussed the Orlando shooting yet. I wanted to share it because think it’s pretty amazing understanding for a teenager who is growing toward the sun.

Another day
another headline
it doesn’t even faze me
the violent attacks occur in my state
I feel danger barely graze me

the innocent lives that have been stolen
cowardly sociopaths on the run
fear and widespread panic
damage places that used to be fun

clubs and concert venues
where people go to feel free
malls and movie theaters
feel like battlegrounds to me

i have nightmares of what it feels like
to be pierced by the fiery blaze
a pain that i cannot imagine
i wake up, in an anxious, dark haze

I do not feel safe in america
home of the brave
land of the free
when tragedy is all i see

brothers and sisters murdered
for their race
or who they love
or the smile on their face

these senseless acts of violence
that keep me up at night
you’re comfortable because you’re selfish
don’t tell me it’s because of a right

written hundreds of years ago
in 2016, it barely stands
we need to take action
before it’s you holding up your hands

How We Are Dealing With Gun Violence: The Definition Of Insanity

“Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result”

What we are doing is not working. Common sense dictates that something different needs to be done.

We keep getting wrapped up in the whole “you can’t take our guns!” vs “but guns are bad!” thing, ignoring the fact that plenty of nations have their guns (so relax), but not the mass violence. Why? Their country is not magical. Their population is human just like ours. Why can’t we look at what other nations are doing and just do that? We don’t need to keep right fighting.

Australia had a normal reaction to a mass shooting that occurred in 1996. And that reaction was to be really alarmed and to do what it took to make sure it never happened again. And it hasn’t. It’s just that simple and I’m not understanding why we make it hard.

Just do something! Do something else! Do something until this ends!

Hannah texted me:

Hannah-gun-text copy

Speechless and sad. I think this shift in violence goes beyond gun control. It’s deeply rooted and I’m not sure how we get to it.

Photo credit: