Plenipotentiary

So. We’ve had a rough week. Four of my front teeth went bye-bye. Much pain. Yadda yadda yadda.

Hubby had a diabetic low on Friday afternoon that impressed even the nurses (for those of you in the know:  +16. No shit. Even the paramedics were impressed).

But we managed to have a kick-ass weekened, and that is what we are focusing on today…

We attended the Virginia Renaissance Festival.  We had a ball. And we didn’t even dress out this time!

The cool thing about this local Ren Faire is that we only had to travel one hour to get there. And then, once we were there, the role-players were focused on the boys. They had so much fun, we had no choice but to have fun as well…

This cracked me up – which pissed off Middle Son. He hit his head on the armor. The beginning of our day.

This gentleman told us a great story about how he sailed with Sir Francis Drake, then fought a sea serpent, and beat the serpent and took it’s teeth (Try to ignore the ‘motorized box-cars’ in the distance.). He then gave my boys each a necklace with a serpent’s tooth, told them to listen to their mother, and sent them on their way. The tooth was good juju, and would protect them througout their day. (I especially liked the ‘listen to your mother’ part).

But here’s a question: Hubby says that ‘kangaroo’ means ‘I don’t know’ in aboriginal Australian. I can’t be bothered to wikipedia it, so has anyone got the skinny on that?

We had many more adventures. Too many to type, in fact. I’ll present the highlights:

Yougest Son considers this the most important moment of his life. He’s keeping the ‘doubloons’ that ‘Jack Sparrow’ gave him in a special box in his room. He hopes to retire on their value. I haven’t got the heart to tell him the truth.

Middle Son is into archery. He wants to be Robin Hood – not for any moral or philisophical reason, but because Hood is the best archer anyone ever heard of (I tried to tell him about William Tell, but it was a no go).

 Eldest Son spent more than an hour at the spinning wheel. I was reminded of Sir Isaac Newton, as ES kept taking the mess apart and putting it back together again. He wasn’t so interested in making yarn as how the machine worked.

All three were knighted by the Queen (Elizabeth Rex, it was). Here’s the best shot I was able to get:

In the name of God, Saint Michael, and Saint George, my three sons were knighted by Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth. Then they had to go into service:

Harrumph.

My favprite part of the day?

Hubby and his turkey leg. Haven’t had a smile like that from the man in almost a year. Adorable.

I have been a very bad blogger, indeed. But my mother always told me that if I didn’t have anything relevant to say, I should shut my yap. Or we could call it blogger’s block. I actually have some stuff to say, just haven’t been able to say it. Odd, huh?

Anyhoo, I have a big day today. In about three hours, I’m going to the oral surgeon to have titanium dental implants. I’m terrified. No, really. It seems stupid to be afraid of an simple outpatient procedure, but there it is. They have to knock me out, extract four teeth (the front four. Cool, huh? Lucky me.), then put titanium rods in my skull. Hubby then has to drive his semi-conscious, toothless wife from the oral surgeon to the dentist to have new teeth put in.

The bitch about this is that I am in my thirties. Who would ever dream of losing their teeth in their thirties? And it’s not due to any lack of care on my part – it’s a congenital condition. I have known this was going to happen since I was a teenager. Still not cool.

The thing that’s scaring me silly in the anesthesia. The Doc gave me the option of having a local instead of going to sleep, but Hubby and I both knew that wasn’t going to work. In fact, Hubby leans over to the surgeon and says, “You’re gonna want to knock her out. Trust me on this.”) I’m so needle-phobic, I start crying if I get too close to a needle. I tremble at the idea of flu shots. I’m also highly resistant to most drugs. (For example, the last time I had a cavity, I had to have FIVE shots of novacaine. I was talking like Bill Cosby for a day and a half.) So try to imagine me letting a doctor remove my four front teeth, then drill titanium into my skull, while I was awake. Ain’t gonna happen.

But being ‘put to sleep’? I don’t think I need to get into why I’m a leetle bit anxious about it. Any sane person would be.

And the worst part of all? For about an hour (while I’m going from the surgeon to the dentist), I’ll have no teeth. My husband is going to see me with no teeth. I’ve never been a vain person, and my self-esteem is not based on my appearance. But my husband is going to see me looking like something out of Deliverance, and I am not happy about this. At all.

So, next time you hear from me, I’ll have a new smile. That’s the upshot of this thing – I’ll have a completely new smile! No stains, pearly while, pretty. Small comfort, actually, but I’ll take what I can get!

Wish me luck!

Before I go – here’s some of the stuff I’ve been up to these past weeks. Big Bro turned 40, but since we celebrated at his softball game and it was dark, I have no pics of him. But the same weekend, we visited Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens, and I got these:

The highlight of their weekend – the ride in Grandpa’s convertible.

They look innocent, but they were in the process of spitting into the pond to try to attract the fish. Blech.

I want this bench in my back yard.