Take for instance my 97 year old grandmother. Gramma-fornia, (a shortened version of Grandma who lives in California) spunky chick that she is, likes to brag about her most recent trip to the Dentist where she shocked them by flashing her very own, still attached, choppers.
I know, I hope it’s hereditary too!
And on the flip side is my 6 year old son who has had a dangling loose tooth for weeks. It’s just hanging there by a thread of skin and I have to admit to being rather clumsy around him for the last few days in my covert attempts to give it just enough incentive to finally detach itself from my sons face.
Oops, sorry son, didn’t mean to bump you with my elbow Right On Your Tooth.
Oops, mommy didn’t mean to hit you with the pool stick Right On Your Tooth.
DRAT
Though all of my attempts failed, that stubborn tooth plopped right out in my son’s hand this morning while I was still, ahem, in bed.
In runs Malachi, “Mom, Dad, I lost my tooth.” In all manner of loud, excited, and screaming voice. He’s not the quiet one in the bunch for ANY occasion.
Hubster’s not much of a morning person so I was so proud when he recognized the significance of this day and popped right up and welcomed him in for a congratulatory hug in our warm bed followed by the directions to his wallet where the $1 award from the Mole-i-nator (our manly version of the tooth fairy, stolen from one of the Santa Clause movies) awaited.
Even our oldest son got in on the generosity of the moment and snuck a dollar of his coveted savings-for-the-day-my-parents-lose-their-mind-and-let-me-get-a-TV-for-my-room into his pocket for his younger brother to have.
So, without any further doo-doo, (as my toddler says)…….
Welcome, O Toothless One to the ranks of the many that have gone before you. May your first set all fall out and may your second set all stay in.
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