Them Some Pearly Whites


I'm afraid that today I am the bearer of bad news for all of you stellar parents out there.  I know everyone reading this is a proactive, thoughtful parent who only wants to make her children happy.  Or at least wants to make one of her children happy at a time.  You can never want to make all of your children happy at the same time because that's counterintuitive.  For example, if you want Junior to be happy, then you have to want Juniorette to get clobbered over the head with Dancing Elmo.  And if you want Juniorette to be happy, then you have to be willing to sacrifice Junior's pet frog to the porcelin god so Juniorette can have legitimate cause to practice her rousing rendition of Amazing Grace, which she's been telling you all week she's going to do, but you didn't realize it was going to be to commemorate Junior's pet frog's passing.

Why do you people even have pet frogs, anyway?  Have you ever heard of a goldfish?  Okay, where was I going with this?

Of course, the bad news.  The price of frogs just went up!

No, no, no.  I'm kidding, Kermit.  My bad news is that pediatric dentistry is a sham.  Or is it a scam?  Either way it is a four letter word that begins with “s” and ends in “am.”  I think I've made my point. 

Last week I took Crusher to a pediatric dentist for his first teeth cleaning.  They were fabulous with him.  They had a child-friendly lobby with piles of toys, ran right on time, got him very excited about all things teeth, and then it happened.  The ten straight minutes of advice.  Something about sugar bunnies and sippy cups and juice and fluoride and brushing twice a day.  And I can tell you right now however you have been brushing your kids' teeth is wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  I gave this dentist every opportunity to praise the strategy that's been working day in and day out at the Minivan Household, but she was so quick to dismiss.

I don't think I could've been any more passionate about how much Crusher and Bam Bam enjoy sucking a huge dollop of non-fluoride toothpaste off of their toothbrush every night then immediately throwing the toothbrush in the sink.  Why is her way right and my way wrong?  Where did this quack go to dental school, anyway?  The National Dental School of Messing up Perfectly Good Nighttime Routines?

And to make it even better, in the middle of her diatribe Crusher asked for his sippy.  The dentist quipped, “That's water in there, right?”  So I lied.  “Right!”  And do you need to be escorted through the rest of this scene, or have you already gathered how Crusher threw his poor mama right under the bus?

“No, Mommy.  It's apple juice.”
 
So Crusher and the frog got flushed down the toilet.  The end.

Wait!  Come back!  I didn’t really flush the frog down the toilet.

Believe it or not I actually embraced Dr. Quack’s tooth brushing technique that night at home.  I sat Crusher down on my lap, wrapped his legs around me then rolled him back onto Ethan’s lap who was sitting facing me.  We scrubbed his teeth with a dab of Uncle Tom’s All Natural Fluoride Toothpaste, being very careful to properly scrub where the teeth meet the gums.  Crusher was a champ!  I couldn’t believe he stayed so still during this invasive procedure.  I was so pleased with his behavior I rewarded him with a Tootsie Roll. 

And ya know what?  The following day he couldn’t wait to brush his teeth again.  Dr. Quack’s a genius!


 

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