I’d like to access the brain of the internet, if I may. I have the sad task of returning a cat to the shelter whence she came. The other cats will not accept her, nor does she want to have anything to do with even their friendly overtures. The other cats have now begun relentlessly tormenting her and preventing her from using any of the litter boxes. (Every time I scoop a box, the other cats come RUNNING because they think she’s trying to sneak a pee.) When she walks from one room to another, she has her tail tucked and she walks slowly and carefully, looking around constantly and expecting to be attacked—expectations that are periodically confirmed. She is not living a happy life right now.

We’ve consulted with the vet and various online resources, as well as studying all the pamphlets from the shelter, and we’ve tried a number of expensive and non-expensive solutions with results that seemed promising at first but have all come to naught. This is not working. It’s a bad match. Which is sad because we love her and want to keep her.

The sad part is entirely ours: when I feel like this is too hard a task, it is comforting to imagine her in a house where she can go where she wants and not have to worry about being attacked; where she can go to the bathroom without the equivalent of someone slamming open the door while she’s mid-pee. The shelter is a no-kill shelter (the kind that charges you to bring in an animal, and sometimes doesn’t have room for new admissions), and they do a wonderful job of taking care of animals in both short-term and long-term care. (Our adoption contract specifies that we have to return her there if we don’t keep her.) She’s a wonderful cat, and I think she’ll get taken quickly: she’s great with children and with people she doesn’t know, and she’s a sweetheart, and she’s pretty.

Here’s the part of the internet’s large and extensive brain I’d like to access: Do you have any tips for bringing an animal to the shelter? That is, as a former pharmacy technician I could suggest you not say “What takes so long? Don’t you just have to grab a pack off the shelf??” (answer: “No”), and as a former daycare caregiver I can say we definitely believe that babies poop in the car on the way to daycare but that we believe it more if the parent then changes the diaper, and as someone who has done some dating I can explain that “It’s not you, it’s me,” “I hope we can still be friends,” and “I LOVE you, I’m just not IN love with you” should be avoided. What I’m hoping is that some of YOU have inside information about animal drop-offs. What’s good/bad to say? What will communicate our good-person status and remove some of the disappointed-in-you disapproval from the faces? What will make it clear that this is a decision we agonized about and tried many things to fix, rather than that we are people who went “Meh, this didn’t turn out to be 100% easy and awesome so never mind it’s just an animal”?

I changed my screen saver to a slideshow of all the photos in iPhoto. On one hand, this has been a GREAT idea and TONS of fun: it’s common for me to end up surrounded by children and Paul, all of us watching the computer screen and saying “Ohhhhhhh, that’s WILLIAM! He’s HENRY’S age there!” and “Ohhhhh, Elizabeth, look at you in your little DRESS! Awwww, your hair was still so short then!”

On the other hand, it’s been a TERRIBLE idea and has led to TONS of morose brooding and even LEAKING TEARS. What has been the POINT of all this child-rearing work, when they all just grow up into unrecognizable, smelly, messy-lived ADULTS like all the rest of us? Rob already bears almost zero resemblance to his childhood self; the two don’t even seem CONNECTED in my mind. One was my baby/toddler/child Rob, and then that ended—and now a new person is here, coincidentally named Rob.

What has been the point of all the money and time and stress, when what we’re getting out of it is people who grow up and feel superior and critical (“I’LL never do X like MY parents did!”) and wish they didn’t have to visit us? YES, it’s true that when I think of any mistake that my parents made (NOT THAT THEY EVER MADE ANY, or that they read this blog), my mind immediately adds that every human parent by absolute unavoidable definition will make their own batch of mistakes based on their own temperament, and that it is not only unreasonable/ridiculous but also very unpleasant and whiny and immature to require one’s own parents to have been the first unflawed human beings. (It will not surprise you that this mature viewpoint came to me more firmly when I was myself a parent, with my own behavior up for future review and criticism.)

And YES, it’s true that not only do I not feel obligated/stressed about visits to my parents, I in fact deliberately moved to a house three-tenths of a mile away from theirs because I WANTED TO, even though I hate the weather here and loved it where we lived before. So it’s not like I think every child grows into an unappreciative and distant adult. BUT. It’s not like they grow into a darling cheek-squeezable cutie-pie whose attempt at saying Mommy comes out like “Bah-boo,” either. I’ve been leafing through my journals and seeing how there are TONS of cute things to record about the early years, and then it drops off pretty sharply. The only things I write about Rob now are things like “Rob got his braces on today” and “Rob is now the same height as me.” There’s no impulse to photograph his widdle toes. (Also gone: the incredible exhaustion/frustration/”Please let no one touch me for TEN SECONDS” of those widdle-toes years. But that’s been replaced, with no accompanying toesies.) (And it’s not like I want the toesies years back, or to live them again/instead. I don’t know what I want.)

I’ve been upset, as you know, about the end of the child-bearing years, and I’d been soothing myself by thinking about how there are still lots of things to look forward to, among them grandchildren. But now I think “Sure. And then the grandchildren also grow up into adults.”

Everything is feeling very BIOLOGICAL IMPERATIVE to me right now, like all the good parts have just been a set-up.

This morning’s preschool time benefited greatly from OpportunityThink. It’s NOT that the whole time was used up by errands. No.

Instead, it’s that I had the opportunity to call the pediatrician about William’s ouchy ear without having to say, “Henry, I’m on the phone. Shh, honey. Honey, SHHHH. Sweetheart, I am ON. THE. PHONE.”

Then I had the opportunity to take William to the pediatrician without having to say, “Henry, sit in the chair, please. Henry, remember what we talked about, about how you need to be quiet so Mommy can hear the doctor. Oh, honey, get off the floor. Off the floor, please. Honey, OFF THE FLOOR, oh that is gross, you are having a bath in hand sanitizer when we get home.”

Then I had the opportunity to sit in the pharmacy waiting area with a book and without having to say, “Henry, sit in the chair, please. Henry, IN the chair. Feet OFF the chair, please. No, we are not buying that. Honey, remember we don’t talk about other people when they can hear us. Seriously, stop that. No, we are not buying that. I said NO, Henry. Sit IN the chair. ON your butt, please. Okay, it was funny the first three times, but now stop saying ‘butt.’ Quiet voice, please. Just a few more minutes. Because we have to wait our turn. Honey, just be patient please, we are almost done.”

Then I had the opportunity to take William into the school office without saying, “Henry, hold my hand. You have to hold my hand. Stop careening, please. Shhhh, sweetheart, children are trying to learn. Okay, stop saying ‘butt’ now. CAREFUL, honey. That’s HER pencil. Leave that there, please. Don’t touch that, please. Oh, god, don’t LICK that please, are you kidding me?”

Then I had the opportunity to go to the grocery store without saying, “Fine, you can walk, but you have to watch where you’re going. Watch where you’re going, honey. Henry, you almost smashed right into that lady’s cart. No, I’M going to hold the list. No, we’re not buying that. No, we’re not buying that. No, we’re not buying that. Because we don’t need it, now be quiet for a minute so Mommy can concentrate on this decision. Honey, shhh a little. You really can’t keep saying ‘butt,’ sweetheart. Do you need to go into the cart? Okay, then stay on OUR side of the aisle. OUR side, honey. No, no candy. No, no doughnut. Honey, we are almost done, please be patient.”

Then I had the opportunity to put away the groceries without saying, “You can have something to eat after I put away the groceries. AFTER I put away the groceries. Honey, I JUST answered that question, you need to LISTEN. I don’t think you ARE going to die if you have to wait a few minutes, no. Why don’t you play a computer game? Sweetheart, I’m trying to go down the stairs, you need to get out from under my feet or we’re both going to get hurt. Put that down, please. Let me past, please. The faster I can get this done, the sooner you can have a snack. No, that’s for with lunch tomorrow. Honey, you are driving Mommy crazy.”

Then I had the opportunity to write this post without saying, “Just give Mommy a few minute to write, please. Please let Mommy concentrate. Listen, you were totally happy playing with your knights until the instant my butt hit the chair, and then you wanted to talk to me. Yes, butt, I know, very funny. Yes, very funny. Okay, stop saying ‘butt’ now. Okay, you can sit on my lap, but please be quiet. Honey, I can’t concentrate, and if I can’t concentrate I can’t finish this. Sweetheart, could you please go play something else? Stop doing that. Stop doing that. That’s why I told you to stop doing that. Can you pick that mess up now, please? Henry. Henry, come on, I just want FIVE minutes. Five minutes is not unreasonable. Why don’t you draw Daddy a picture? It’s spelled b-u-t-t. Oh, how nice, yes, now let Mommy concentrate. Honey. Sweetheart. Yes, I see it. Okay, now let me just finish this and then we can read your book.”

And now I have the opportunity to go pick up the little booger from preschool.

This is one of those posts that will be extremely boring to everyone except the people who, like me, are searching EVERYWHERE online for the answer, and are finding nothing but a bunch of sites where someone has asked the question and has received a bunch of answers that are useless. USELESS.

So. This is in answer to the question: If you are playing a game on your Mac, and the game takes up the entire screen, and you want to go back to your desktop but you don’t want to have to quit the game to get there, how do you do it? And the answer is: command-H.

The mnemonic is that H is for Hide; you’re hiding the window with the game in it.

This was such frustrating information to find. I was getting so tired of having to quit/re-launch Sims every single time an email came in or I wanted to check something online, but I couldn’t find the answer to what seemed like an easy question. I found one million answers to how to do it in WINDOWS and/or on a PC, but not on a Mac. And there were even questions where the person SPECIFIED it was a Mac, and asked NOT to receive answers for PCs, and people were STILL saying “I dunno, man, but on my PC it’s ____”—and then falling into bickering irrelevant arguments about which PC keyboard was the “standard” one! And this was ON A SITE ABOUT MAC PROBLEMS!! So when I finally did find the answer, I wanted to put it where I (and possibly others) could find it, when it’s been awhile since I’ve played Sims and I’ve completely forgotten and can’t believe I didn’t write it down.

I’ve been so wan. More like “wa,” because I’m too wan to say wan. In fact, more like sitting in a chair not saying wa either.

Part of it, I think, was trying to read The Flame Alphabet, which had a premise I could really identify with: the sound of children’s voices becomes toxic for adults. But the book itself was so grey and heavy and nauseating and confusing, I didn’t even get halfway through it. (Lionel Shriver’s review is pretty much exactly the way I felt about it.)

Furthermore, in the book there are many conversations with the contemptuous, argumentative early-teens daughter of the household, and let’s just say I can FULLY identify with that but don’t feel like seeking out more exposure to it. I’m leaning heavily these days on Empty Nest Feather’s post Desk Cleaning, which is only partly about desk-cleaning and has given me a new private nickname for Rob (“Mr. Eye-Rolling Contempt”). I’m also leaning on her post The Last of the Teens, which gives me some hope that I won’t be this miserable for the next fifteen years.

This morning William was apparently doing the verbal equivalent of “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you,” and Rob suddenly EXPLODED with rage. The reaction was understandable but not allowed, and I told him so, and told him he needed to take a break from his computer turn. Then, because I sympathized with his position, I lectured William at length within earshot of Rob, discussing pointedly how much I sympathized with Rob.

Rob sulked ostentatiously for twenty minutes or so. As I helped get another child ready for school, he asked why William was allowed to “just get away with it.” I explained what should already have been clear, which is that William ALSO got punished: William’s punishment was the lecture, while Rob’s was a break from the computer—and also that although William’s behavior was indeed obnoxious, it wasn’t against the rules in the same way “screaming out in rage” was. I reiterated my empathy, and also reiterated that he could not react that way even if it felt justified. He claimed justification = appropriate. I remained calm (and to my tremendous credit, did NOT later use this as an opportunity to ask if in that case it was appropriate for me to smack him in the mouth), and said that part of my job was to civilize him: that he could not yell out like that in school or in his future workplace, and so he needed to learn not to do it.

He claimed that at school it would never happen, because teachers “have the time” to make sure it doesn’t; they don’t have to “choose their battles,” they can deal with ALL of them. What a nice little dig, putting in references to recent calm responses I’ve made to his snotty interrogations, and using verbal air-quotes. That’s when I became no longer calm. I had been deliberately and repeatedly sympathetic/empathetic; I had doled out a very light and understanding punishment; I had calmly explained the ideas behind the rules. And now Mr. IRRITATING McASININE was saying that it was MY FAULT that he had yelled. And this AFTER he has REPEATEDLY told me that the teachers are NOT consistent and DO choose their battles and DON’T always enforce the rules for everyone, with me offering REPEATED sympathy, discussion, and soothing explanations that defended the teachers without failing to legitimize his precious adolescent FEELINGS!

It is very, very unpleasant, after deliberately avoiding choosing a spouse who would force me to live my life with this kind of crap, to end up living with it anyway.

Recent events have reminded me to tell you about my very pleasing and successful concept of Spite Charity. The idea is this: when someone (or a group of someones) pisses you off on the subject of a cause you care about, donate money to the side of the cause you prefer. Did your grandma spend the entire holiday grousing about how in her day no one did any of this ridiculous recycling, and she for one was going to continue stuffing her milk cartons into the non-see-through trash bags? Did you have to listen to your nutcase uncle talk about how a certain ethnic group is none too bright but they ARE good-looking, he’ll give them that much? Did a Facebook friend post a completely untrue and unfair political remark about a candidate you support? There’s a non-profit organization for that—and it can be a real thrill, writing that check.

Furthermore, it can lead to increased peace of mind: instead of feeling like you’re flailing futilely/weakly against a relentless tide of unpleasant and unshakable opinions, you can feel like you are funding the armies of goodness and righteousness. It’s like sneaking a box of guns across enemy lines, behind the back of the person talking to you, while appearing attentive and respectful to what they’re saying.

Now, it is possible that you have so many friends and Facebook friends and relatives and acquaintances and co-workers and Twitter friends who are, shall we say, outspoken about things, that right now you are thinking you really like this idea except that it will bankrupt you. In that case, I recommend the tally-mark system. Put up a piece of paper up in a convenient place (or tuck it in a drawer or keep it in your purse if seeing it all the time will rile you, or if other people will make things awkward for you by asking about it), and divide it into sections, one section for each topic that makes repeated appearances. Choose a corresponding charity to represent each topic. Each time you clench your teeth over a remark, add a little tally mark to the appropriate category.

Each mark can be worth whatever fits your budget; for example, perhaps each mark can be worth a dollar, and when you hit twenty marks you send a check for $20 to that category’s charity. Or each mark can be worth 25 cents, or five dollars, or whatever comes out right for how many remarks you hear and how much money you’d like to give. You could also copy the swear-jar system, and mark up a group of jars. Each time a remark bugs you, put a quarter in the corresponding jar.

Not only will either of these systems keep track of your spite charity donations for you, you will have refreshed appreciation for how much crap you maturely listen to without clawing at anyone’s face.

Yesterday I wrote about yet another “Enjoy every moment!”, and I am still incredulous whenever I hear people saying that, when it seems so widely known that people go home and weep in despair after hearing it.

I will say, however, that at least it’s a comment that’s kindly meant. The person saying it might not be aware of how such a thing sounds from the point of view of someone in the trenches (HOW COULD THEY NOT? Did no one ever say it to THEM?), but they are TRYING to communicate good will and happy wishes. I think, if we reached, we could even spin it as a sort of blessing, rather than as an instruction: like, I WISH for you that you’d be able to enjoy every moment. Even though that’s an unreasonable wish and can make a mother feel like she is failing in even more ways that she’d realized, it’s still meant WELL. It’s not meant to hurt feelings, or to cause the mother to feel like a failure, or to sound idiotic—even if it does all three of those things.

There is a lot to be said for meaning well, and in fact I think things should be said about it more often. Each situation needs to be evaluated individually, of course, but in general if the person talking to you has shining eyes and a happy face, or sad eyes and a caring face, or if it’s a person who cares about you and doesn’t generally try to hurt you, then they are most likely choosing what they think is a PLEASING thing to say, and that is a social inclination I’d rather encourage than repress. It would also be nice to encourage the inclination to assume positive things about what is meant, rather than leaping to the worst possible thing the person’s words could be twisted to mean, so that a person who is trying hard to say the right thing now feels that there is nothing at all safe from horrible assumptions of bad intent, and that everyone is just waiting to LEAP on a misstep and punish it relentlessly.

Which is not to say people shouldn’t try to improve their niceness-intended to niceness-received ratio. “But I was trying to be NICE!” is no justification for “You’d be so pretty, if you lost some weight” or “You’re too thin!” Keeping our ears open (and using the “How would I feel if it were me?” centers of our brains) is how we learn not to say such things; for many things (especially those outside our own experience) it makes sense we’d need to have it explained, but we shouldn’t need it explained twice: once we know that the received message is not what we’re trying to send, of course we wouldn’t want to keep sending it.

I heard an older lady (for age reference, she said her grandchildren were now “big kids”) seriously, no-kidding, no-paraphrasing tell a woman with little kids to “Enjoy every moment!” She used those actual words, verbatim.

My question is: Aren’t the people who keep saying this READING BLOGS? Two and a half years ago it was ALREADY a beaten-to-death topic.

My second question is: Does this mean OUR generation WON’T do this, when OUR grandchildren are big kids, because we’ll have read so many hundreds of times that people feel like leaping off cliffs when they hear it?

My third question is: In which case, what will OUR well-meant, make-other-women-feel-like-jumping-off-cliffs-but-we-just-won’t-stop-saying-it expression be?

1. Presumed Innocent, by Scott Turow, if you like courtroom drama books. My mother recommended it to me, saying it was one of the few books she and my dad had both liked. She added, “Now, there will be some scenes that you will not like to think of your mother as reading…” OH INDEED, INDEED THERE WERE. But I still liked the book. I’m watching the movie now, and I’m glad I read the book first or I would have had trouble figuring out what was going on and who was who. [Edited to add: The movie cuts out about 9/10ths of the book, and Harrison Ford makes one single facial expression through the entire thing. I think I’d only recommend the book.]

2. Sita Sings the Blues. This is one of the oddest movies I have ever seen (funny/accurate summary from the Wikipedia article: “It intersperses events from the Ramayana, illustrated conversation between Indian shadow puppets, musical interludes voiced with tracks by Annette Hanshaw and scenes from the artist’s own life”), and it’s free. That is, you can have it for free. You can also buy it, if you want to support the artist, and Paul and I liked the movie so much we HAVE bought it for people. It’s like nothing else I’ve seen, a weird mix of 1920s/30s music and four kinds of animation and…I don’t even know what to tell you except to try it and see if it’s to your tastes as well. Maybe watch some of the samples on YouTube. (My favorite is the song “Rama’s Great.” Very catchy.)

3. Everything Matters! by Ron Currie Jr. I read this long enough ago that it’s now bargain-priced, and all I remember is that it kind of blew my mind and I wanted to remember to recommend it to you. It’s about this guy who gets alien/omniscient advice, starting in THE WOMB, and I was kind of envious.

4. I don’t necessary RECOMMEND Friday Night Lights (Netflix link) per se, but I want everyone else to watch it because I’M watching it and I want to refer to it and be understood. It has been highly recommended to me from a variety of sources and it’s very soapy (it reminds me a lot of One Tree Hill)—but it’s QUALITY soapy and I’m near the end of season 1 and I’m still watching (I credit Connie Britton and the guy who plays Landry), so at this point I want to have company watching it so we can talk about it.

5. This song seems a little WRONG in some hard-to-put-a-finger-on way, but Paul and I both get it stuck in our heads ALL THE TIME, and the kids love it:

6. The Diniwilks post Compromise was for me a highly interesting and entertaining look at how negotiations/decisions go in someone else’s marriage. I strongly identified; it’s similar in our household.

7. The book Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. (I hadn’t realized this was the same author as two of my childhood favorite books, Witch Week and Charmed Life.) We’ve watched the movie (Netflix link) a few times and we all like it, but the children watch it with the acceptance they give to all things they don’t yet understand about life, while their father and I watch it thinking “What the?” The book makes much more sense, and is very different in many ways. I’m giving it to Rob and William to read, too.

8. Paul reads to the kids each night in three age-divided batches, and The Penderwicks was the book he just finished reading to the oldest group. He said he didn’t expect them to like an old-fashionedy book about four girls, but they were RAPT. So then I read it too, and I liked it a lot. It reminded me of the kind of books I liked as a child, like Little Women and The Five Little Peppers.

9. Paul assures me that everyone has already heard of the game Age of War, but _I_ hadn’t heard of it, so there. Henry and I have continued to play Sonny pretty much every day, and Age of War is NOT a turn-taking game so we were a little freaked out at first (the transcript would show me saying “AAAAAAAA they’re coming at us!! AAAAAA what am I supposed to do?? AAAAAAAAAAA they keep shooting!! AAAAAAAAAA pause it pause it pause it!! AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!). I recommend playing it with a 13-year-old sitting next to you and patiently bossing you, because I don’t think I would ever have figured out how to play it otherwise.

I re-watched part of The Incredibles yesterday, which was a mistake since I needed to look over a dental plan option today. In The Incredibles, the dad of the family works for an insurance company, and legitimate claims are being denied left and right, and the boss keeps saying he doesn’t care if it’s a legitimate claim, DENY IT!! Make it IMPOSSIBLE for the clients to figure out how to get what they paid for!! Or else you’re FIRED!! (The Incredibles dad eventually loses it and throws the boss through several walls, which is satisfying.)

Anyway, the forms. I can’t tell if it’s worth it. FIRST, the dental plan collects $1,700 per year from us. (There’s no employer contribution, though it’s “through” the employer.) THEN, if I understand the simple, easy-to-read charts correctly, they cover what they feel like covering, at the percentage they feel like covering it, up to a maximum of $1,000/year per family member. And next year, we’ll get a letter from HR saying that the rates have doubled. Is that a good deal, or not?

We might have economies of scale going for us, here, since the amount per year is “per family.” So, for a family of four, maybe they don’t use more than $1,700 in coverage (plus the co-pays and deductibles) most years; but for a family of seven, we can use that in annual check-ups alone. BUT: although the cost is per family, the limit is still per person.

AND: it doesn’t cover our dentist. Or any dentist I’ve ever heard of. So we’d have to switch from the dentist we like to an unknown dentist, and then we add to our lives the SHEER RAGE of finding out after every check-up that we weren’t covered for what we thought we were covered for. Not to mention that I don’t see how I can get two check-ups/cleanings/x-rays and maybe a filling per year and still have much left of my personal $1,000 maximum to pay for, say, a crown.

Also, if we have insurance, the dentist will switch their view of us from Poor Unfortunate Uninsured mode to Milk-Cow mode. Currently, our dentist looks at our file and says “…Oh. No insurance. Well, if you like, we can wait on those x-rays until next time.” Or if I don’t want a certain procedure considered essential for EVERYONE living in a country that has already greatly shifted the definition of “basic care,” I can say regretfully, “No dental insurance,” and they back right off: I mean, you either have that kind of money or you don’t. But as soon as I have insurance, it doesn’t matter if it costs $1,700/year before I get any benefit at all, and it doesn’t matter that a procedure isn’t covered or is only covered once every four years at 50%, suddenly we “have dental insurance!” Which sounds like “Everything’s free!” to us, and like “Switch to Luxury Level dental care because everything’s paid for!” to the dentist.

And it’s hard to collect information from other people about whether coverage is worth it or not, because hardly anyone (including me) sits down and figures out the math. So if I asked you right now if it was worth it, you might say “OH, yes, TOTALLY!”–and yet you could be WRONG WRONG WRONG. Say for example you’ve for years been spending $1,700/year on coverage for $1,000/year of benefits (in other words, losing $700 a year on the deal), but then one year you needed a $4,000 procedure and 80% of it was covered so you only had to pay $800, WHEW. You no longer even notice the monthly payment taken out of your check, but you DID notice the huge relief of not having to pay the $4,000—so you might feel as if the insurance was totally worth it. And yet you wouldn’t even have broken even: your costs would still have exceeded your benefits. (And now you’re not eligible for that $4,000 procedure for another 6 years.)

(And also, even THIS happy story wouldn’t apply to the plan I’m looking at this morning, since benefits cut off at $1,000/year/person, so that $4,000 procedure would be covered at $1,000 minus the dental care covered that year—or, about $700, say, at absolute most, with the other $3,300 due to my dentally-insured self.) (This really isn’t sounding like it’s worth it, as I type it out.)

It’s also complicated because with health and life insurance, you may have heard the expression “a gamble you WANT to lose”: that is, we don’t mind if we put in more money than we get out, because the only way for the insurance to be a good deal is if we have a serious problem—and we’d rather lose money on the deal than get cancer and/or die in order to come out ahead. This is NOT the case with dental insurance: especially with a $1,000/year maximum per person (i.e., when we can’t think of it as “But in a big dental crisis, we’d get a huge benefit out of it”), we DO need to come out ahead for it to be worth it.

I am going to see if I can do this math.

$1,700/year for $7,000/year maximum coverage
but the $7,000 is misleading because it’s $1,000/person
and most of us won’t get anywhere near $1,000 in a regular year
and remember we sometimes have to pay a percentage of a procedure
but we get our xrays/cleanings 100% covered
(as long as we don’t get them done too often)
and if we needed fillings, we’d get more benefit
but sealants are already done for $20 through the school system
and we’d have to switch dentists, which I don’t want to do
but soon Paul and I will be needing more serious work
but it’s still only $1,000/year coverage for each of us

No wonder nobody does the math. It’s not math, it’s a LEAP OF FAITH. A leap of faith into the arms of companies we know make a huge profit. And that profit is COMING FROM SOMEWHERE, which is an equation I CAN do.