Look at Them Pearly Whites
I’ve been experiencing difficulty with getting the children into the habit of brushing their teeth.
Step One. Get them to enjoy it. With the Barbie and Snoopy old school toothbrushes, whenever I announced time to brush our teeth, I was met with a horrified “Noooooooo” in that falling-voice vein of “you’re TORturing meeeeeeeeeee.” So I bought fancy electric toothbrushes. I had actually asked Sister-in-law to buy them for their Christmas gifts and though she said she was going to, she bought them toys at the last minute because she “didn’t want to be the lame aunt who got them toothbrushes.”
I have since acquired Little No Limit an ice cream cone toothbrush (anyone else see the irony in an ICE CREAM CONE TOOTHBRUSH????%$%$@@#!!!!) and for The Boy, Spider-Man, because while Spidey may be able to do whatever a spider can, he can also suffer a cavity and gum bleeding just like the next guy.
This was my first foray into the electric toothbrush world for children, and I didn’t really stop and consider that there were different options. I just bought the two that looked most fun. And ridiculous (for god’s sake, an ice cream cone!!!!!) I assumed they were like my Sonicare brush, in which you press a button and it stays on for two minutes, and then it turns off. Alas, I have learned yet again to STOP ASSUMING THINGS. The ice cream cone switches on and stays in that position until you turn it off. Which means I have to stay in the bathroom while they brush because Little No Limit hasn’t the strength to actually push the button to the off position (great bejeebus, that thing is hard). The Spidey toothbrush doesn’t stay on at all. You have to keep your thumb on the button the whole time you brush—clearly the faultier design of the two.
So I think of these as their trainer electric toothbrushes. I’ll splurge once they get the hang of it and get them Sonicares next time.
Step Two. Get them to use toothpaste appropriately. They kept swallowing the toothpaste instead of spitting it out. This gave me the willies because it reminded me of a boy from my third grade glass who was a little too pale and a little too pasty-white in complexion. On dental hygiene day (or whatever you want to call the annual day they talk to us at school about “You don’t have to floss ALL your teeth – just those you wish to keep!” Funny! I get it! You DO have to floss! HA HAAAAAAA, oh I just can’t stop laughing, HA!), this boy in my third grade class told us he preferred swallowing the toothpaste instead of spitting it out and rinsing, and I remember needing to give myself more than a few circle-circle-dot-dots when I was around him. I don’t want my kids to be that guy.
So I took the toothpaste away entirely and told them to just use the toothbrushes for a while. According to my dentist friend and my dental hygienist, the brushing is the most important part of the routine, not the toothpaste. So I figure if they’re at least getting the toothbrush on and around their teeth for two minutes, then I’m accomplishing something.
But the kids actually like their toothpaste and after three days of brushing with nothing, they took matters into their own hands. Yesterday, I walked into the bathroom, and they were both happily brushing their teeth, without my prompting. This pleased me. Until I realized what they were brushing their teeth with. Top Care! Triple Antibiotic Ointment (AKA Generic Neosporin). Gads. The tube does bear a striking resemblance to the kids size toothbpaste tubes, but could it possibly have tasted good?
I called Poison Control—my old friend, it’s me, the Listerine, FlexAll, and Cascade woman—and they told me not to worry about it. Rinse their mouths out, the kids will be fine. He also added that kids can have an allergic reaction but that it was rare. Very rare. Twenty minutes later, The Boy broke out in hives. @$%! A few stressed phone calls to various medical personnel, a Benadryl, and a cold bath later, the hives were gone, the allergy ruled out, and the offending ointment removed from the kids bathroom medicine cabinet.
Sigh.
All in the name of good-looking teeth.
Why must you turn this office into a den of lies?
