A Tale of Teeth

The two older sweetlings and I went to get our teeth cleaned. We have excellent dental insurance which completely covers cleanings, but this was the girls' first time in a dental office. (I'm not implying that it was later than it should be; I first got my teeth cleaned when I was 18, and it was at a local community college, where I was a willing guinea pig for eager, aspiring dental hygienists.)

They loved it. They loved the office, the jolly lady who scrubbed their teeth with a whir and a buzz, the paste of varied hues and flavors, the magic seat that could, if one only knew how to direct it, rise through the window and into the clouds, the counting of teeth (Millie only stopped at 100 when I nudged her into silence), the unnatural gleam of a white floor (how DO they keep it so clean?), and, best of all, Dr. Tony himself, who entered the room with a boom and a chuckle and made them giggle until he stepped out the door.

"I love that man!" Annika proclaimed emphatically as we buckled ourselves into the van, all three of us dazzling pedestrians with our pearlies, "He's a jokester-doctor!" Millie spun her sparkly bit of plastic all the way home, a prize pulled from a pail before we walked from the office, and she can't wait for the next visit.

After we got home, I surprised them with the camera as they lay on the couch together, brushing their teeth with new bristles (princess-emblazoned, no less), though without water or toothpaste.



And then I prodded them to grin like horses up for auction.



And then I left them alone, until I noticed Millie stroking Annie's hair. She's such a sweet little mother.