Just another family dinner

Scott has fruit snacks on his plate as his serving of fruit.

Dad's on a diet.  He eats lettuce.

After being asked a million times over the past couple of years if I'm going to eat the fish tonight, I finally say yes today.  (So sue me.)  I've never seen my dad so proud.

We try to figure out what the new equivalent of green jello is in our day.

And it always ends with someone talking about the word "bazaar," and my mom tells the story of how she lost the Montana state spelling bee because of that word.

Cheers.

Endearing?

My mom and dad bought a new mattress.  It has a supposed 30-year warranty.  In my insensitivity and morbid humor, I said to my mom, "You'll die before this mattress does!"

Cue: Siblings' horror at such an observation.

Mom: But I'm only 52!
Tanya: Yeah, Grandma died at 80.

My mom starts to seriously consider this because sometimes she doesn't get my anti-jokes, but the siblings quickly assuage the situation and change the subject.

Then my mom chimes in.  "Yeah, but I think Christ will come again before I die...and I just feel so bad that you kids won't get any of our inheritance."

Aww, thanks Mom!  Wait...

Why, hello!

Dear Blogging World,

I'm back!  I know it is mostly just my sister and mom waiting around for this, so here you go.

I finished my time as a missionary.  Sorry for the drop off in posts.  I'm sure there will be plenty of flashbacks to share in the future.

So I've been in the real world for a week.  Sometimes I cry about it, but there are generally some good things it has to offer.

Blah blah blah.

I gained a new respect for the sadists we refer to as dentists.  I loathe the dentist.  I went to a place called Bright Now! Dental.  They always sounds so peppy and cheerful, but really they are about to make your day go from a 10 to a 5.  I needed to get a root canal (or as one of the 'merican employees said, "a 'rut' canal.  People in Alberta always used ask me if I said "ruf" instead of roof or rut instead of root.  Who even says that?  "Americans, that's who." The Canucks would say.  Well, I guess they were right.)  Apparently you need a root canal when there is an infection in the root of your tooth...or something like that.  Now, I always thought dentists were the smart kids who wanted a good job, but they chose the cushier route of the dentist office instead of the unpredictable and strenuous hospital hours of a medical doctor.   I don't blame them. Plus they don't have to deal with a lot of bodily fluids besides saliva and a bit of blood.   But as the dentist drilled into my infected root, all of the sudden the most horrific smell was released into the wild.

Bacteria really did a number on that little part of my mouth.  It literally smelled like something died in there (which something did--my tooth).  All the while, the dentist is all up in my grill (literally), nose-nose with the stench from the Black Lagoon.  I would sense it starting to waft, and then the dentist would apply something that smelled like bleach.  Then some more drilling.  Then the smell.  Then the bleach.  (Is that even safe?? I think I swallowed a couple times!)

Quite ashamed, I apologized afterward.  He said, "Oh, we get that all the time!"  Well, thumb up for the dentist who has to feel like he's in a morgue sometimes.  (The morgue actually smells better.)

At the end the dental assistant came in to match my tooth color with the porcelain crown they will make.  My teeth matched the whitest crowns they have.  All natural, thank you.  And then my ego re-inflated as I bounced out the door.