I am happy to report we successfully managed to get my mother to the dentist yesterday. This was the first time I truly felt like I was parenting my parent. I had to be the firm parent and use love and logic to let her know I was in charge. She had two options and neither involved keeping her tooth. I have to say it was harder than parenting my own children. This is the woman who has guided me through every phase of my life and to see her sweet face looking at me like I was the meanest sheriff in town almost broke my heart. There are times now when I see a look of confusion in her eyes or hear her ask a question that was only answered minutes earlier and those are the times I choke back my own tears and grieve my own sense of loss. Her eyes no longer sparkle with the same light but at times reflect her fear of what have now become unfamiliar surroundings. Every now and then she comes back to us and I treasure those moments. It is important to remember that she does not view the world with the same clarity we remember and even the simplest task can be overwhelming and frightening. I watched her so patiently care for her own mother and now I draw on that memory to guide me as I try to provide her with the same loving care and patience she so rightly deserves. I want to hold her hand as she walks the last days of her life just as she was holding my hand as I took the first steps into mine.

Vanity at 90

OK...here is the part of middle age that I hate. Today I have to coerce my 90 year old mother to the dentist where he will extract two teeth. This has been an ongoing battle for some time now. The dentist has now said it MUST be done. Now, how do you get a 90 year old woman to do something she flat refuses to do? She thinks it will make her face sink in. Now, I don't know what mirror she's been looking in but I think "sinking" is not an issue. I asked her if she was meeting someone after dark that the we are unaware of. My mother has always been an exceptionally pretty woman and is lovely even at 90. But there comes a time when we must set vanity aside and do what is medically necessary. My grandmother described her daughter as willful as a child but I'm here to say this little gal is willful at 90. I called my own daughters last night and apologized in advance for my future behavior. Just in case!

Fur Babies

This is a rabbit, his/her name is Mouse. My daughters and son-in-laws do not want to produce human babies only the four legged, hairy, eat carrots and dog bones kind of fur babies. I am the grandmother of four dogs and now one rabbit named Mouse. Do they have a Gerber Grow Up Plan for fur grand children?

They called me second hand Rose

When I was growing up my father owned and operated a pawn shop. It was a real study in human nature just hanging out and watching my dad at work. I guess I knew I had a bleeding heart early on in life and it really came out when I would listen to people tell their sad stories to my dad while trying to get the biggest loan possible for their nickel plated Nazi helmet or genuine Japanese suicide sword. They would tell my father, while choking back tears, how they had to purchase milk for the baby or buy Grandpa’s heart medication. By the time they finished telling their story I was ready to empty the register and take them home for one of mom’s hot cooked meals. I knew better than to say a word when my dad was taking care of a customer but he knew always knew when I was getting emotionally involved in a real life soap opera. As soon as the business transaction was completed and the customer walked to the front of the store my dad would tell me to step out front and watch to see for myself where the customer went next. I’d go to the door and nonchalantly stroll outside just in time to see them walk straight into the liquor store next door, so much for Grandpa’s heart or that hungry baby. Unless the booze was for medicinal purposes and the baby was off the wagon. The other thing I remember most about Pa Pa’s business was that no matter what I requested as a Christmas gift he would predictably respond, “Be patient, I’m sure someone will pawn one some day”. If we weren’t waiting for something to come out of pawn we would receive a “slightly” used watch or some other antique relic. Dad always said , “There is no such thing as a used diamond”. What worried me was that I’d be strolling down the street, sporting my new jewelry, and get accosted by the previous owner.

Momnesia

One of our local news stations has been talking lately about something called “Momnesia”, a condition that results after giving birth causing a woman to lose her memory. I didn’t even know there was a name for this phenomenon. I thought I simply gave birth to two 6 pound babies and ½ my brain. They say your memory will return about a year after giving birth but I’m here to tell you that it’s been 37 years since I lost half my brain and I’m pretty sure it’s gone for good. The half I have left isn’t the useful half either. It’s not the half that could do fractions or remember phone numbers or why I walked into the kitchen for that matter. They say that when Momnesia is finally over it is replaced with a keener insight better known as intuition. I think that’s just a nice way of saying, “You aren’t crazy, you’re just a mother”. But somehow I managed to work two jobs, raise two kids, keep the lawn mowed and go to school with just ½ a brain. Politicians have been elected with even less. Just imagine what I could have done with my cerebellum intact.

Some of my favorite grand dogs (Chloe, Lucy, Grace, and Griffie and my girl Katie

Oh, the chapel bells are ringing!

You know when you work in a large facility such as a hospital you are constantly invited to baby showers, bridal showers and the occasional going away or retirement party. Coming up with unique and clever gift ideas is a real challenge. I know that everyone these days registers for gifts and it is easy to just pull up their registry and purchase one of their pre-selected gifts but what fun is that? It shows no creativity on my part what so ever and I'm all about being creative. I want MY gift to be remembered! That's why I can't wait to be invited to the next bridal shower. I've got the PERFECT gift that will keep me in the happy couples thoughts for years to come. It is the "Better Marriage Blanket"! What IS the better marriage blanket you ask. Well here it is, what every marriage young or old has been waiting for. Introducing the World's First and Only Flatulence-Odor Eliminating Blanket!!! Anyone who has been married, knows the silent but deadly effects of flatulence on relationships! Nothing can spoil a romantic mood more quickly than the smell of a good fart! It can be funny the first time but after that it is just a plain old nuisance! But now, worry no more…..The better marriage blanket is unique among all the anti-flatulence novelties out there; this one is the answer for anyone who is married or is going to be. It completely and quickly absorbs and eliminates flatulence and its odors! This is no (pardon the pun) gag folks. It's out there. It's made of a space age material that absorbs odors. Now you can go visit the in-laws and not gas out the entire household. No more waking from a sound sleep gasping for a whiff of unpolluted air. No more faking sleep apnea just to wear a Cpap in order to avoid the stench of your mate. If only this product had been around 30 years ago…..I might still be married today!

High on a Hill Was A Lonely Goat Herd

I am 59 years old and I still have flash backs of my worst exercise equipment fiasco which occurred some 30 years ago. I was just a fat (fluffy) mom of 6 year old twins when the “incident” occurred. I had purchased what was going to transform me into not only the coolest mom on the block but without doubt the shapeliest. It was a simple device, no tightly wound springs to accidentally spring out of control and take out a couple of teeth, no hinges to get any of my abundant curves caught in their steel grasp, no it merely consisted of a few nylon ropes with loops on each end. It had a plastic hook to hang over the door and when the door was closed you simply laid down on the floor grasping the two loops over your head one in each hand while putting your feet through the bottom loops. Then as you lowered one arm your leg would go up. You would do this move by alternating one arm and leg at a time. Simple enough, no great skill required or so I thought. So day one of my new fitness quest I waited until the kids had gone out to play, put on my black leotards and shut the door. I was about 5 minutes into my first workout when suddenly the world went black. One of my daughters came bursting through the door driving it into the back of my skull. (seems I forgot to lock the door) There I was, semi-conscious, looking like a fat marionette sprawled out on my living room floor with one arm dangling in the air supported by a blue nylon loop. Today I'm still "fluffy", suffer from memory loss and have had a headache for 30 years.

Skinny Dipping

An elderly man in Louisiana had owned a large farm for several years. He had a large pond in the back. It was properly shaped for swimming, so he fixed it up with nice picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple and peach trees.

One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he hadn't been there for a while, and look it over. He grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some fruit.

As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee. As he came closer, he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping in his pond.

He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end.

One of the women shouted to him, 'We're not coming out until you leave!'

The old man frowned, 'I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked.'

Then holding the bucket up he said, 'I'm here to feed the alligator.'

Some old men can still think fast.

Can You Say Aloha

My daughter's kindergarten class is preparing for their end of the school year beach party. What fun! I don't remember doing things like that when I was in school. We thought it was great fun to pack the books. Beach party sounds like a lot more fun.

Stormy weather is expected this evening. I don't get scared by the storms since I have grown up in tornado alley. I will get in the closet if the sirens blow but that's about as far as I go. I think the last time I went to a tornado shelter was when I lost both shoes in the rushing water as it flowed down the street. I think that was the same time the umbrella got turned inside out as well. Now...I just get in the closet. Hopefully that will not be required this evening. My neighbors Glen and Barbara were the weather monitors for our neighborhood. They had a shelter in their back yard and as soon as Gary England on channel 9 said it was time to take cover they had the shelter door open and were ushering the neighborhood underground. When Glen died we were standing at the grave site when suddenly the city tornado sirens began to sound. The sirens are tested weekly at 12:00 noon and the timing couldn't have been better. It was like a 20 gun salute for the man who had kept the neighborhood safe from storms.

What a perfect mother's day weekend!

I hope every mother had as good a weekend as I did. The weather was perfect the company was even better. I shopped with one daughter on Saturday and had lunch with both on Mother’s Day. I was given a children’s book that brought me to tears and then spent the afternoon with my own mother. It couldn’t have been a better day!

Friday evening Ron and I walked from my house downtown. What a lovely evening it was. The walk (round trip) was about 5 ½ miles but it was such a perfect evening I didn’t notice. We stopped at the Vista where Ron ate dinner (I had already eaten) and we watched the sunset from the rooftop restaurant. Then we just walked down main street window shopping and listening to the bands playing along the way. There were several patio graduation parties taking place and the music was loud and fun. It’s amazing how different things look when you are on foot as opposed to driving by at 30 mph. We stopped to read all the markers identifying historical sites and admired the bronze statue of James Garner (native son) depicting his days as Maverick. It was just a great evening I hope we can do again soon.

My Last Mother's Day Post

This is a great essay about mothers. So Happy Mothers Day to those who are mothers and to those hoping to become a mom!

Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author:

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by
themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, have all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations –what they taught me, was that they couldn’t really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow.

I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton’s wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too.

Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, “Remember-When- Mom-Did” Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, “What did you get wrong?”. (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald’s drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.

I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I’m not sure what worked and what didn’t, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I’d done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity.
That’s what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

Those Red Hat Ladies

Last night, my Red Hat friends and I went to a Ladies Night Club. One of the girls wanted to impress the rest of us, so she pulled out a $10 bill. When the male dancer came over to us, my friend licked the $10 bill and stuck it to his butt cheek!

Not to be outdone, another friend pulls out a $20 bill.She called the guy back, licks the $20 bill, and sticks it to his other butt cheek.

In another attempt to impress the rest of us, my third friend pulls out a $50 bill and calls the guy over, and licks the $50 bill. I'm worried about the way things are going, but fortunately, she just stuck it to one of his butt cheeks again.

Seeing the way things are going, the guy races over to me! Now every-one's attention is focused on me, and the guy is egging me on
to try to top the $50. My brain was churning as I reached for my wallet.

What could I do?

The woman in me took over!

I got out my ATM card, swiped it down the crack of his butt, grabbed the eighty bucks,and left!!!

The gifts that keep on giving!

It is almost time for all you mothers of young children to be besieged with tokens of your child’s affection. Some of you will be proudly handed those precious little cards covered in original artwork or perhaps you will receive a paper cup with a lonely seed sprouting from a ½ inch of potting soil. Whatever the gift you will cherish each and every one. My daughter once lovingly bestowed upon me a wrought iron butterfly necklace decked in jewels of sparkling rhinestones with gaps of missing stones here and there. It weighed almost more than she did and I secretly wondered if South Fork was missing a gate ornament. I hung the necklace around my neck and immediately felt 3 discs slip in my lower back. The Monday following Mother’s Day my little daughter watched me as I dressed for work. When I put my new mother’s day necklace around my neck her face lit up immediately followed by a look of grave concern. She asked me if I would be greatly disappointed if she told me it was costume jewelry. I of course replied it didn’t matter because it couldn’t be more beautiful if it were covered in diamonds and pearls. I drove all the way to work wearing my new necklace but carefully hung it on the rear view mirror before going into my office. Eight hours later I returned to my car to discover the weight of my new family heirloom had pulled the rear view mirror off the windshield. Some gifts are worth their weight in repairs gold!

May I Ask Who's Calling?

Wow, is it the generation gap or is it just me? I’ve tried to adjust to this new age of technology but there are some things I just don’t get. I think cell phones are wonderful but they have created a society of rude people who think everyone on the planet is interested in hearing their conversations. But that’s OK; I realize that it just comes with the territory. However, please turn off your cell phones when you go to the movies…PLEASE. I paid good money to watch a movie and I don’t want to hear your phone ring. Although ring isn’t the right word is it? They beep, they buzz and play the theme from Star Wars or some other obnoxious sound. What I am really bothered by is caller ID. I must be the only person left on the planet who doesn’t have it. My first problem with it is that it’s rude. Everyone is so busy screening their calls that a person knows immediately when they are being ignored. What happened to the thrill of not knowing who would be on the other end of the line when you said in your cheeriest voice “Hello”? Now, when people answer the phone they sound irritated or sometimes bored in a tone of “what do you want now?” That is if you can get them to pick up at all. When Ron fumbles to answer his phone he is usually not wearing his bifocals and spends 5 minutes trying to hold the receiver far enough away to read the number on the caller ID. By the time he actually hits the button and says hello the caller is gone. What ever happened to just picking it up and saying, HELLO? I once answered the phone and someone from AT&T started trying to sell me an upgrade in my service to include caller ID. I told the nice young man that I didn’t want it because not knowing who is on the other end of the line when I pick it up is one of the last thrills I have in life. I genuinely like the surprise of hearing from a friend and besides if I had it he and I would probably not be having this conversation.

Maudie May

Maude May Perdue was her name, Maudie May to those who knew her. She was always waiting on the front porch of her white house for our arrival. When the last person was out of the car, she would lead us into the warm kitchen, and there she would sit in a child-size chair by the fire. This was her place, and from here she would proceed to captivate her audience.
Maude’s hair was snowy white and held in place by a thin spider web net matching the color of her hair. She wore rimless glasses from which she could periodically peak over the top to check the attentiveness of her audience. Her skin was fair, and her blues eyes sparkled with life’s forgotten youth. The plain, simple housedress she wore reflected the casualness of her manner; her bosom drooped slightly, resting on the band of her apron. She had a deformed fingernail on her right hand, the result of some childhood mishap. She often used this deformity to illustrate a moral lesson to a misbehaving child. As a result, no one knew how this injury had actually occurred for the details were altered to fit the moral lesson needed at the time. There was always a bruise or two on her thin legs from some encounter with an inanimate object, and her shoes were molded to the bunions on her feet.
As we gathered around the table In her kitchen, we would stuff ourselves with the cream pies, fruit cobblers and other culinary favorites made exclusively for each visitor while Maudie entertained us with stories of her girlhood days. As she talked she would become so enthralled with her story that she would rock the little chair back and forth until each of us held our breath for fear she would topple backward to the wooden floor below. Her enthusiasm for storytelling never wavered and she enjoyed nothing more than to see the gapping jaws of her audience as they gasped in reaction to her tales. None of us ever knowing for certain what was fiction or what was fact.
One of her favorite stories was how she met her husband Dean. She would tell of the Sunday picnic after church when she and one of her girlfriends were invited to join two young men in their boat for fishing. Maudie indicated this was not a proper outing since working on the Sabbath was not considered the thing to do but she relinquished and climbed into the boat though she didn’t know how to swim.
As the two young women and their suitors began to row near the shore looking for a suitable place to drop their lines Maudie’s bonnet caught on a tree limb causing her to lose her balance and fall backward into the lake. Maudie immediately began to thrash about in the water promising God that if he spared her from drowning she would never again fish on Sunday. Quickly Dean dove into the water and rescued the repenting Maudie May. She in turn married her rescuer. She told this story with such detail that one almost expected to see her bonnet and dress dripping by the fire.
All too soon the sun would settle beneath the kitchen window indicating it was time to depart. Maudie would instinctively rise from her little chair to walk us to the porch; and it was there, I would kiss Maudie May, my grandmother, good-bye.

Thank God for Sons-In-Law

My kitchen and dining room are painted thanks to my wonderful son-in-law. Both rooms look great and now I'm trying to put things back on the walls and get the curtains hung. My son-in-law is going to paint the living room and hallway next. It's amazing how good the paint job looks when done by someone who knows what the heck they are doing. He used to paint as a side job when he was on the fire department and his skill level shows. I had some serious cracking in the drywall and didn't know how I'd ever get a patched job to blend into the rest of the wall but you can't tell where the cracks were at all. It just looks perfect. I sure am ready to be finished with the home makeover for awhile. It seems like a never ending job but it won't be much longer now.

I'm still recovering from my weekend of scrap booking. I've been tired all day. I barely mustered the energy to get on my exercise bike this morning. I have pledged to ride it every day this week for at minimum of 30 minutes but I'll shoot for longer when possible. I have faithfully ridden it at least 5 days a week for over a year now. I just got off schedule for about a week and didn't realize how hard it would be to get going again. I've had to recommit myself. I'm trying to start losing weight again. I've maintained for the past few months but still have more weight to lose. So far I've lost 40 pounds but that's where I just got stuck. It is so hard to lose it....and so easy to gain it all back. I've really worked to not gain but sometimes I just want to pig out and eat all the things I've denied myself over the past year. BUT I WON'T give in.

Beyond The Call Of Duty

What a weekend. I spent 18 hours sitting on a kindergarten size chair on my senior size butt. Can you say ouch! I was helping my daughter cut and paste scrapbooks for each of her 22 students. I can’t believe the work she puts into this project. She started doing them several years ago when she had a student who was in the foster care system. This little boy had been moved from place to place and came to her with no school records from his previous school. She was told he had been moved around so much his records hadn’t caught up with him yet. Thinking about all the schools he had already attended in his first year of school she also realized that he really had nothing to show for his time. No one had been putting his drawings on a refrigerator or filling a box with his keepsakes so she started saving samples of all the children’s work and made beautiful scrapbooks for each child to have at the end of the year. That scrapbook, containing samples of everything they have done in kindergarten, might be the only record some children will ever have of their first year in school. Every child deserves to feel special and that they matter to someone.

Mothers Day

With Mother’s Day approaching it got me to thinking about my mother, my childhood and about what it means to me to be a mother. First of all my mother will be 91 years old this year. She was born in 1917 during the last pandemic. She was born at home and I guess it is a feat that she made it here at all or even survived her first year but fortunately for me she did. My first recollection of my mother was one of pure adoration. I always thought she was the most beautiful mother of all the mothers. She was as glamorous in my eyes as a movie star and I would sit on her bed and delight in watching her as she combed her hair at her dressing table. She had a natural beauty that required little if any additional adornment. She wore no makeup other than lipstick and a hint of rouge to add color to her cheeks. Her long black hair was pulled softly up on tip of her head, held in place by two tiny combs. It was the 1950’s and her attire was a simple housedress but somehow she always looked anything but simple. As beautiful as my mother was she was just as sweet. She was and is the most unselfish human being I have ever known, never thinking of herself but always thinking of and doing for others. She was a natural born mother; nurturing and loving with a gentleness that made you feel safe and secure. She would sing to me long after I had passed the age for lullabies and when my long legs dangled over the side of her lap. I loved the sound of her voice as she sang Silent Night on a hot summer night. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time when mothers met their children at the door after school ready to listen to the latest news from the day while serving snacks of peanut butter sandwiches (without the crust). Being the only girl in the family my mother also filled the role of playmate. She never balked at playing paper dolls or jacks with me while at other times we just talked about my latest crush. She taught me by example just what kind of mother I hoped to be. I remember when I learned that I was having a baby of my own my first thought was if my child loved me even half as much as I loved my mother I would be happy. My mother was by my side every step of the way as I fumbled into motherhood, always encouraging me and teaching again by example. She was just as wonderful in her role as a grandmother as she had been as a mother. I quickly learned that becoming a mother had shown me a love that I never knew I was capable of feeling. I had been lucky enough to receive that love from my own mother but I now knew what that love felt like to give. My two little daughters provided me the opportunity to love someone more than myself. They have grown into wonderful young women and my best friends. I thank my mother for being my example and my daughters for making me a mother.

Mistaken Identity

Being the mother of twins has had its perks. Potty training was done only once, the pediatrician gave us a two for one deal but there were down sides as well. The biggest down side was that my nest emptied in one swift moment when they went away to college. Another challenge was just telling them apart although I haven't always admitted that to be a problem. When my twins were about 18 months old one of them pulled the button off her dress and shoved it up her nose. They were strapped into their car seats at the time and I didn’t notice until I heard sniffing in the back seat. We stopped the car and upon investigation I noticed a button missing on one daughter’s dress and immediately looked up her nose. There is was, just barely visible but definitely in there. Being a young mother I wasn’t sure what kind of damage this could do to my baby. Could it get sucked up right into her brain? I remained calm as I drove straight to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. I got the girls out of the car and ushered them into the waiting room like little ducks. We were met with what had by then become the customary greeting. “Oh, look, twins, how DO you tell them apart?” Still concerned about the possibility of my child having a button permanently floating around in her head I quickly responded, “Why, I’m their mother, of course I can tell them apart”. Sensing my distress (not the babies) they ushered us immediately into an exam room. I put the baby on the exam table and had her sister sit on a nearby foot stool. The doctor immediately began examining my daughter looking up her nose with a flashlight and tweezers. She was a perfect angel. She never resisted or flinched a muscle. After spending a considerable time looking for the object of my concern the doctor finally said, “There is no button in this baby’s nose”. I immediately responded “OH YES THERE IS, I SAW IT.” About that time I heard my other child sniffling from her little perch at the foot of the table. I looked down to see her rocking back and forth pointing to her own nose saying, “I dot a button in my nose”. I immediately switched babies and in the midst of all the laughter the doctor swiftly removed the foreign object. They were laughing so hard they didn’t even charge me for the service. Never again did I claim to know them apart.