WHAT IS THE ISH? OR…MY DENTAL HYGENIST THINKS I’M FUNNY
Who am I and why should my musings give you any pause?
I’m a good mom and decent wife, a lover of craft projects, young adult apocalyptic fiction and any chairs found on the side of the road. (Though in my adulthood I have once deigned to spend $5 on a chair at the Goodwill). Most of my friend groups call me Martha Stewart, except the healthcare ones where I have managed to earn the nickname “Crazy Nurse Heather” every single time without anyone knowing that was my nickname at my last job. I deeply enjoy giving unsolicited advice, which is an unfortunate byproduct of over condfidence and nursing training. I am a firm believer in the Oxford Comma and have the mouth of a sailor.
My dearest friend in the world hasn’t listened to my rambling voice messages in years (though I hope she at least makes it through the first line of Happy Birthday each year, which is the only part I can do on pitch). My dad says I’m a late bloomer, though one of the highest compliments he’s ever given me at age 35 was that I had finally bloomed so I WILL TAKE IT. My little brother (ya’ll he's a grown man, but he’s my little brother) is definitely funnier than I am, and possibly smarter, but I’ve produced two tiny humans so I’m obviously our parents’ favorite.
My mom will tell you that I think purely black and white, but in reality I live in a lot of shades of gray that I like to call the Ish. What is the ish? Well, it’s the word version of the eyebrows raised face and shoulder shrug everyone does when saying “meeeeeh” out loud. It’s never quite fitting in but also never quite being out. I’m smart-ish. Pretty-ish. Funny-ish…you get the idea. I’m a bit fluffy-ish, but I have decided to strongly consider pondering working out on a regular basis, which I am convinced is a start. I eat healthy-ish, Parent strict-ish but very silly, and my coffee that is still in the microwave for the second time this morning is strong-ish but could definitely use another shot of espresso.
This accounting will be true-ish. I never let the truth get in the way of a good story, though oftentimes life is funny enough that things are belly hurting funny when they’re stone cold true. And the reason we’re here is that my dental hygienist thinks I’m funny. Now, when your mom and brother and close friends think you’re funny, that’s definitely nice. When your coworkers and volunteers (I worked at a nonprofit) think you’re funny it’s helpful to offset how special you get when stressed out. I started feeling good about my storytelling and humor when I could make strangers giggle at the hospital, or grocery store, or the dollar store where I am embarrisingly well known. And for years when people would stop giggling they’d say something like “you should start a blog!” which sounds both amusing and like a lot of work to add to your very full plate, but is obviously a compliment.
But when your DENTAL HYGENIST thinks you’re funny…I’d like to think that’s another level entirely. This lovely woman deals with the fact that I regularly grind my teeth through retainers, finally got me to floss regularly at the age of 36 and puts up with the fact that I can only open my jaw for short periods at a time. (My jaw once slipped out and got stuck in the lunch room in middle school so you can imagine I was considered a bit freak-ish for that and many other reasons for…well, let’s be honest, most of my childhood. But good grief, if being a nerd was cool back then like it is now I would’ve KILLED high school.)
I digress…so my hygienist listens to my stories of dental mishaps and parenting and why I’m generally running late and if she’s laughing like that while I’m speaking the weird language of teeth cleaning before the spit sucker then I have to think it’s legit. She has no reason to lie to me – we both know I have to come back because I like my teeth in my head. She tolerates my running commentary to other dentists and patients (I mean, let’s all acknowledge we can hear each other over the half walls and I WAS RIGHY, college textbooks are far cheaper on amazon than at the campus bookstore). Anyway, why would she fake it? Granted she may be a tad bored but I like to think she’s a high bar. So when SHE said “You’re so funny! I’d love to read your blog” I actually considered it. But I’m stubborn (oh there’s no ish on that one) and don’t like to be rushed, so here we are 8 months later (I’m still flossing! Like, at least 4-5 times a week!) and I’ve decided to…start a blog.
She may be wrong, she may be right- hard to say. But I’ve decided to give it a go and see where we end up. My guess is I’ll be funny-ish, successful-ish, and do this whole “being me in public” thing correctly-ish. Which is perfectly OK by me. So welcome…welcome to the ish, the part where most of us are just trying to get by with our mental health intact and reasonably clean athletic wear. Come along, enjoy the ride, and try a craft or two.