Jon shared that he'd had an exciting day cause he won an award for doing good work.
Then it was the turn of the "person... with the white shirt that has black things on it... the person with the black hair... and the blue eyes..." Note: I am the person with the white-and-navy dress, with the (dyed) dark-brown hair and the eyes that are sort of more green than blue. But Jules, obviously, was referring to me. So I took my turn. "I was very lucky today to get the hole in my tooth fixed. Very lucky that now it's all better." And I couldn't resist tacking on a lame lesson: "But my dentist said I need to be more careful: I need to brush my teeth better and eat less candy." Lie: What the dentist said was I need to stop clenching and grinding, or I should buy a $1000 mouthguard, or I should plan to keep coming back for the same missing filling (not to mention the worn-down molars). But never mind that. Kai was up.
And excited to go. "I got pushed down on the playground and hurt my foot and I cried and cried," he said.
Jules, the moderator, points out that we're sharing good things.
"No, no," Kair corrects him. "It's OK, because I'm a tough guy."
God love this boy. Kai had an apparently awesome day despite the fact that his friend pushed him down. And made him cry and cry. (Jon says I can't ask him which friend... Why the hell not?)
And, actually, I had a pretty awesome day too. Truly, I was grateful that the tooth situation was so straightforward, that the dentist got me in this afternoon, that my job is flexible enough that I could jet out and back - a little late lunch if you will. Yes, half my face was numb, I had some sort of rubber dam in my mouth and someone was suctioning away my saliva, but I got to close my eyes, lean back and listen to not-bad jazz for 45 minutes or so in the middle of my workday. It wasn't yoga. But it wasn't half bad.
Now, I sit down to work (quick blog diversion). Tomorrow's dinner is bubbling on the stove—it's got coriander instead of cumin and basil in place of oregano, due to a delayed shopping trip. No big deal - I'll hit City Market soon. Coltrane is playing. Another night, I'd be cranky to be having to work after the boys are in bed. Instead, I feel grateful to have this work—work that I like, work that draws upon both my writing and my nutrition worlds, work that I can do sitting on one of great-Uncle Frank's Barcelona chairs, drinking coffee and then Moroccan mint tea, while all of my boys sleep.
These kinds of good days—days when everything feels just fine, great even, despite "emergency" fillings—are, I think, the best days of all.