Listening to the radio yesterday while puttering around my office, I discovered something surprising. “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin was playing — a song I’ve heard a dozen times over the decades — and I noticed a line that sounded like, “in the depths of Mordor.”

“Mordor,” I thought, “like in Lord of the Rings? In a Led Zeppelin song?”

So I looked up the lyrics online. What I found surprised me. I even checked three different lyrics sites to be sure.

How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air.
T’was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair.
But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her…

Well, color me impressed. I don’t know what surprises me more, that Led Zeppelin so obviously referenced LotR in one of their songs, or that I never noticed it or knew it despite how many times I’ve heard the song.

Bullgrit

We have a new little one in our family. Another boy. He was born January 27, but we weren’t able to bring him home until last Sunday.

Calfgrit9 and Calfgrit5 both love him, and enjoy playing with him. They’re pretty much infatuated with him. They want to constantly hold him and carry him around. They’re pretty good with keeping an eye on him, feeding him, and entertaining him. Both Calfgrits want him to sleep with them, in their rooms, but for now, he’s too young and little. While he and we are still getting used to the situation, he’s sleeping in Cowgrit’s and my room.

He can get rambunctious while playing, but he’s pretty calm while being handled. He’s not fussy, he’s not whiny, he’s not messy. Through our first week with him, he’s proving to be a great addition to our corral.

Our new boy:

When we were all discussing ideas for naming him, (over a few days), Calfgrit5 got hooked on Star (his idea). Calfgrit9 came up with Clone Trooper. Cowgrit thought to shorten it to just Trooper, and I suggested we give him a first and middle name, so we could use both boys’ ideas. Everyone was happy, and all went together to PetSmart to make the name tag.

I think this is going to be a wonderful addition to our family and home. (As soon as we get him fully, reliably, outside potty trained.)

Bullgrit

When I was around 12 years old, I had a dentist fill a tooth cavity without giving me any numbing drugs. He told me the procedure would be easy and quick, and to just raise my hand if it hurt.

When I raised my hand while he was drilling in my mouth, he told me, “It’ll be over quick, I’m almost finished. Just another minute.” I felt like my hand was touching the ceiling of the office, and it felt like he was drilling in my tooth for an hour. The pain was intense. Incredible. And I was a prisoner to the operation — a 12 year old kid, under the authority of a dentist holding sharp instruments in my mouth.

I don’t remember if I ever told my parents about it, and I don’t know if they would remember it even if I did. That was about 30 years ago. I’d always gone to that dentist, and I don’t remember a time other than that where I had a bad experience with him.

I can still remember that pain and that feeling of helplessness. That time was the last time I had a cavity filled until about four years ago, (by a different dentist). When I went in that time, the anticipation of that potential pain made me very anxious. I was just short of trembling when I heard the drill start up.

Fortunately, that time, I felt absolutely nothing of the drilling in my tooth. No pain at all. It was a huge relief.

Then with my latest regular check up a few months ago, the x-rays found another cavity. Dammit. The filling date was last week. I managed to not think much about it till about an hour before the time.

When I went to the dentist office, (a different one from the last filling), the old memory of that unnumbed drilling came back. My anxiety level was at the top of my chart. I could remember that intense pain as well as if I had experienced it yesterday.

But I went through with the procedure. Laying in the chair, waiting for the local meds to take affect, I fidgeted like a hyper-active 6 year old. As the side of my face numbed, strangely, my anxiety increased. When the doctor started in my mouth, I started sweating.

The expectation and anticipation of pain was forefront in my mind for the entire half hour I laid there with my mouth open. I never felt any physical discomfort, but I couldn’t get my mind to concentrate on anything but the drill going into my tooth. Like before, this dentist told me to raise my hand if I felt any pain. I never raised my hand, but both my hands were actively wringing each other in my lap.

When it was over, and the doctor was talking to me about what he did, I mentioned that old experience with drilling pain. The doctor commented, “I saw how your face was, and I was afraid you were hurting. But you never raised your hand.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I was just constantly expecting pain.”

The doctor explained, “That other dentist was just lazy for not giving you something for pain. That was an awful thing to do. If we ever have to fill another tooth, we can give you some nitrous oxide, if you want. It’ll make you more relaxed.”

Well, first off, I hope I don’t have to get another tooth filled. If I do, I’ll consider the N₂O. I kind of don’t like the idea of having to get drugged up just to avoid anxiety, and I’ve managed to get through it twice without help. But is there any real reason or benefit to put up with the short-term anxiety when there is an easy and safe way to skip it?

Have you ever seen the movie Marathon Man? I saw it for the first time maybe ten years after my bad dentist experience. I don’t know how many people in the world today have experienced the pain of a dental drill in a “live” tooth, but that scene where Babe is tortured by the Nazi dentist — yeah, it’s effective.

Bullgrit

Last night, Calfgrit9 wanted some time to play alone in his room. So Calfgrit5 and I played together. We had a lengthy sword fight with our foam swords (bought from the Lego store in Downtown Disney). Then he rode on my back as a knight on his horse. This went on for 30 to 45 minutes until I needed to answer the phone.

While I was on the phone, CG5 went to his room to play with his Legos and Lincoln Logs. After a while, I gave the five-minute warning for bath time. The five minutes passed quickly, and he wasn’t ready to stop playing when I started his bath water.

He got right pissed when I turned on the stern-daddy voice, “It’s time for bath. You’ve had plenty of time to play, and you can play some more after bath if you don’t take too long with this.”

“Baths are stupid,” he said.

“Now, we don’t use that word,” I said.

“I don’t want a bath. I haven’t had time to build anything,” he argued.

“If you don’t come and get in the bath right now,” I warned, “you won’t have time to play after. And if you’re going to be bad, we won’t read a book before bed. You’ll just go straight to bed.”

“Nooooo!” he shouted in agony. (No book before bed is a sad punishment in this house.)

“Come on!” I raised my voice.

He stomped into the bathroom, and started taking off his clothes.

“You’re a bad daddy,” he said. “You’re the worst daddy, ever!”

I got him into the bath tub, and since he refused to wash himself, I had to soap him up and rinse him off, myself. He pouted and whined the whole time. He reiterated and confirmed my bad daddiness. I was “the worst daddy ever in a million years.”

When he was clean, I had to threaten the no book before bed punishment again to get him to get out of the water. As I dried him off, he asked, “Will you build a Lincoln Log house for me?”

“Do bad daddies build Lincoln Log houses?” I asked.

He looked at me with the towel draped over his head, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Mm hmm,” I grunted. “Can you put on your pajamas without an argument?”

“Sure,” he said. He was suddenly a totally different child.

I built a Lincoln Log house with him before he got in bed. I don’t know if I’m a bad daddy, a good daddy, or just a sucker.

Bullgrit