I (so, so, so) frequently find myself in the position where I think I am about to congratulate one of my spawn on a job well done, only to find out that their boisterous claims are really about something that’s going to make me go all Linda Blair on them. I try not to make that jump– from smiling, pleasant Stepford mom to head turning, pea puking, demon– too quickly. Don’t want to frighten the little buggers!
This morning The Oldest came into the room, bragging about how he’d just broken his all time world record.
“You did?” I asked, with true enthusiasm, as I imagined some wad of gum that I didn’t know about that had been chewed in secret every night for 62 days, or a some other Guinness-worthy record breaker.
“Yeah,” he responded, so proud and excited. “I broke my teeth brushing record.”
Now, there are a few times, as a seasoned veteran at this whole parenting thing, when you catch whiff of something stinky. Ironically, just last night, that thing I caught whiff of, was The Oldest’s breath. That little puzzle piece paired with this new claim set me onto a path I didn’t really want to get to the end of.
“What teeth brushing record is that, son?” Like I don’t already know where this is headed.
“Umm,” he starts, realizing he may have painted himself into a corner he isn’t equipped to escape from, “the record about how long I (muffled mumble) brushed my teeth.”
“How long you what?” Innocently, but again, like I don’t know what he’s suddenly decided was a bad idea to come bragging to me about.
“About how long I (muffled mumble) brushed my teeth.”
“How long since you have brushed your teeth, or haven’t?”
–cue the jump to pea-puking demon
For the record, because I know some of you really want to know, the record stands at 10 days!!!