When it comes to brushing teeth, our children run the full range of the quality-control spectrum. Bee is old enough to brush fairly well without supervision, although he is known to smirk and goggle his eyes at his brothers in the mirror if a parental unit is not paying attention.
Zee thinks he's done in twenty-five seconds and generally has to be sent back to brush for a second round, with instructions like, "Count to two hundred in your head this time."
Em has the opposite problem: we're readying ourselves for church or the library, and everyone else is standing at the door in boots and coats while he's back in the bathroom, participating in the world's most thorough dental cleaning. Seriously, he sometimes brushes for more than ten minutes.
Then there's Elle, who is happy as long as: 1. it is her turn to brush (versus mine), and 2. she's allowed to admire her brushing form in the mirror.
Sometimes supervising the dental health of this quartet of little people taxes the limits of my mental health, but I suspect I will find the day quiet in an empty sort of way when I have merely my own set of choppers to look after.
The Bethlehem Walk. And Advent.
4 hours ago