Oh, They’re Listening Alright

We had to go to the dentist today. Saturday.  I’m not a fan of Saturday dentist appointments.  Saturdays really should be spent doing something, anything, other than having someone pick at your teeth.  No offense to my friends who are in the dental industry or married to dentists.

And, also, every time I enter a dentist’s office, I feel the need to break into the song from Little Shop of Horrors, “I Want To Be a Dentist”.

In other news, my children strongly dislike their dentist appointments.  This is odd to me, as they both have been endowed with practically perfect teeth.  Captain Ahab and The Nana passed down some amazing “toother genes” as we like to call them. (We are nothing if not scholarly in our verbiage.)  It’s not like they’ve had to endure hours of work done, or anesthesia, or pain of any sort. Unless you count the pain from their twice yearly flossing.  Because, y’all, we don’t floss.  Sorry, it’s true.  I don’t want to lead you astray, thinking our dental routine is any great shakes.

Anyhoo, what my sweetkids do like about the dentist office that we go to, is the waiting room.  It has video game consoles and a castle climbing structure.  And it’s a good thing, because when I arrived, they notified me that they were running about 20 – 25 minutes behind.  Sweetman had just texted me, moments earlier, to ask us to swing by Starbuck’s on the way home and pick him up a coffee.  I texted back, and then… well, you can see his horrid sense of humor in the picture, below.


I may have completely ignored his choice of emoticon because if I don’t, the razzing just goes on and on and on.

Each time come to the dentist, my sweetchildren also seem to have an incredible ability to make fast friends with whatever other kidlets are there.  Today was no exception. What was exceptional, was the name of the little girl that Sweetgirl befriended.  It was, “Neveah”, pronounced Nuh-vay-uh.  I told the adult how beautiful it sounded and asked where it came from. “It’s Heaven. Spelled backwards.”

Before I could process that or spell check it in my head, my own child’s name was called for our appointment.  We merrily headed back and Sweetgirl proceeded to tell the Hygienist how excited she was to pick out a prize, take a ride in the chair, and get a new toothbrush.  My little talk-a-saurus hopped up on the chair, still chatting away, telling our Hygienist how she liked to talk and talked all the time and didn’t like to stop talking.  The Hygienist mouthed to me, over her head, “I’m sorry!”.  Oh, my child…

However, as soon as that chair started it’s “ride” backwards, terror gripped her.  I could see the scream starting in her throat and leapt up from my wooden child’s chair 3 feet away to soothe her.  The poor Hygienist didn’t have a clue what was coming down the pike; and I don’t want to overstate here, but Sweetgirl can be a bit, um… dramatic.  Shocking, I know.

We narrowly avoided a crisis by showing her the sparkly sunglasses that would help protect her eyes while the big light shined on her mouth. The Hygienist then started in with how she needed to shine the light because Sweetgirl’s mouth was like a little cave, and the light helped her see well enough to do her job.  Sweetgirl proceeded to try to talk through the entire teeth counting and scouring parts of the visit, unless she was screeching over each new tool brought to her mouth, or sound made by “Mr. Thirsty”.  It was a delightful 5 minutes that felt more like 500.

We stopped for a moment to get the toothpastes out. Sweetgirl was offered a choice of 3 different flavors, one of which was cotton candy.  Sweetgirl exclaimed, “Cotton candy!  I never had that taste before.”  The Hygienist lauded her for this and thought it prudent to explain how cotton candy is made out of sugar and is very bad for your teeth.  I didn’t think then was the time to correct Sweetgirl about the fact that she loves cotton candy and asks for it anytime we see it at a fair, grocer, or store.  Right?

By this point, I do believe that the Hygienist was starting to get the picture, and realized that she better get on with it, and quick; otherwise, she’d need to break out the chocolate before our visit was over.  And not for us. I’m no dental expert here, but I’d guess they don’t take too kindly to the dental staff shoving chocolate into their mouths, in the midst of a dental appointment.

You’ll be happy to note that the rest of the visit went along uneventfully.

Sweetgirl and I stopped by the grocery store in the same plaza for some essentials.  We were, after all, out of my Salted Caramel Gelato, and I needed butterscotch chips. Also, we were down to our last roll of toilet paper.

Almost 2 hours later, we pulled out of the drive-thru at Starbuck’s.  Sweetgirl piped up from the backseat, “Mama, why is cotton candy bad for you?”.


I thought that conversation had gone right over her head, but no! She’d been listening, alright.  And mulling it over in her head. Because, now, I had to re-explain what cotton candy is made out of and how sugary things can rot your teeth if you eat too much and how if you don’t brush your teeth often enough…

She interrupted me to say, “But, Mama, you give me sugary stuff all the time!”  (Which, hello!  I do not!)

But, all I could think was, “Thank You Lord that she didn’t say that in the dentist’s office.”

Yes indeedy.

Dragon Breath

One of the “life skills” we’re working on around here with both kidlets, but most especially with Sweetboy,  is to consistently brush their fangs in the morning.  Without the aid of so much toothpaste and so little actual brushing, my Sweetchildren have some major dragon breath.  I suppose all kiddos do; but it sure makes it extra challenging, with jimmies on top, to kiss and snuggle little people with said dragon breath, doesn’t it?  Especially at 5:50 in the morning.

You know it’s gotten bad when the smallest, youngest, most inexperienced in the ways of the world’s hygiene habits informs her brother of the following: “Ewww, brudder, you got stinky breath. Don’t kiss me!”  This causes much distress for the brother, as he adores his little sister and would smother her with dragon-breath kisses if someone didn’t intervene.  What causes this former teacher distress is that I can’t seem to get Sweetgirl to shake the word “got” in inappropriate places; as in, ‘You got…”,  “I got to go….”.  Alas…

It goes without saying, then, that I really do hope they catch this sooner rather than later.  The potency of their unbrushed fangs can about knock a mama out!  Oh, yes indeedy, it can.  Heaven help me if I’m ever found passed out in my home and I have to give Dragon Breath as an explanation for why I needed smelling salts.

So, what do you do to teach your little dragons to brush their fangs?  Any games you use?  Any special “equipment” (props)? Do tell, please!