Friday, a dentist visited FUMCA and presented to the kids. Rob and Graham came home with brand new tubes of Crest toothpaste, a chart and coloring book about brushing teeth, and a passionate desire about flossing.
In the car, as they are telling me about their day, Rob tells me: "Mama, I have to tell you something. I have [unintelligible word] in my mouth."
"What, Honey?," I asked.
"[Unintelligible word]!" he says with a great bit more vigor, and then he opens his mouth for me to observe the unintelligible words in his mouth.
"He has GERMS, Mommy! He has germs in his mouth, all around his teeth, on his tongue, under his tongue, just everywhere!," Graham, the interpreter, explains. "We all do. We have germs living in our mouth and if we don't brush until we are bright and shiny they will grow. And if they grow, we will DIE!!!!!" (Insert Graham's dramatic head motion to mimic death by not brushing, which includes eyes rolling up to the top of your head, your tongue falling out the side of your mouth, and then you collapse across the seat belt.)
So, germs... we have a brief conversation about germs, and yes, we brush our teeth to get rid of germs and keep healthy and clean. It's a wonderful, great conversation, and a great amount of gratitude to FUMCA for reinforcing the nagging conversation I have every single morning and night. But, in the rear view mirror, I see Rob begin to pout and cry.
"Rob, Honey, what's wrong?"
"We have to pull out my teeth, Mama. You have to do it today. I have [unintelligible word] and I am going to die."
It was so cute, I giggled, which I know wasn't the best response. After assuring him we'd brush and floss the minute we got home so he would have no germs in his mouth, I realize that in order to convince my sons to do anything we have to- literally- scare them to death.
