Brushing your kid's teeth is very simple. I'll outline it in a few steps.
Prepare them at least 20 minutes in advance that it's coming. Even though you do this every night and every morning.
Put the toothpaste on the toothbrush. "NO, not THAT toothpaste. The other one." "Ok." Step 2 complete.
Figure out who's teeth you're going to brush first. Sean and Elena won't decide for you.
It's possible you've made many bribes by this point. If you bribe them with gummy bears, does that defeat the purpose? Or is it a wash and they get to learn good and poor habits?
Now you can start brushing their teeth.
Wait, Elena's in the living room and Sean's using his feet as a defense mechanism.
Get past the feet of Sean, but now you're faced with the teeth of Sean. Death clench. Don't fight the death clench. It never works.
Retrieve Elena from the living room. Don't get toothpaste on her freshly washed hair.
Give into the Cocomelon toothbrushing song. It's worth it. One kid down.
Sean's fallen asleep. Don't attempt to wake the child to brush his teeth. Try again tomorrow.
There you have it - brushing your kid's teeth in 10 simple steps.
Welcome to "My Least Favorite Part of Parenting" Series. Brushing my kids teeth was the inspiration for the series as a whole so it seems fitting to start here. I'm working off of a couple of theories for this series.
My least favorite parts will reveal deeply held values.
These moments will reveal more about me than my kids.
There's treasure in these moments. If I avoid them, or only seek to survive them, I'll miss out on the treasure.
"If only I didn't need to brush their teeth, I would be a better parent." I have said, or internalized some version of this at least once a week for the past two years. Yet, twice a day (ideally) I attempt to engage in this challenging task. For the record, Seth does a great job with this.
"If I don't brush my teeth, then I'm a bad parent. And my kids teeth will fall out. Don't my kids understand the long term implications of poor dental hygiene?" Nope, they don't care. Also, based on their facial expressions, it's not a satisfying sensory experience.
Yet, the brushing teeth narrative holds strong. On many occasions I've attempted to hold my kids teeth apart to brush them. When Jesus said, "There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth," was that about brushing your kid's teeth? Are there any other options? Or am I relegated to the trash heap?
Power struggles with my kids (over anything) end in lose-lose situations. Making them physically do something never ends well. I often feel like I "must" do it this way, and deep within me I know there's a better option. This tension reveals my longing to be in control and the repulsion to that very same idea.
I want my kids to hold still, open their mouth and give me about a minute with a soft brush and some paste. I want them to remember we do this every night so I can smoothly sail through bedtime. I would even like a thank you for the energy I exert for their well-being. But now I'm getting greedy.
Yet, do I desire kids who only bend to my desires and commands? What do I lose with completely compliant children? How do I miss seeing my children when I don't slow down to learn them? What do they lose without appropriate autonomy and responsibility?
When I pay attention, I learn that Elena does really well with something to distract her. It's a voice memo from Em on Tuesdays when mommy goes out. And yes, it's Cocomelon other nights. Without apology. 175 toothbrushing battles have been been avoided with that song. I strongly dislike that song. I also love that song.
When I pay attention, I learn that Sean's sensitive to touch, taste, texture, and brush speed. Approaching him with gentleness, kindness, and patience is loving him well. Sounds a lot like the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5. What if God, through toothbrushing wanted to refine my character and renew my soul? What if toothbrushing increased my capacity to slow down and see others?
What if brushing my kids teeth isn't a chore to get through, but a moment to love well? Which then raises some more uncomfortable questions.
Where else do I seek control and miss out on love? Where do I seek to sail through when anchoring would bring life? Where else do rigid expectations suffocate the beauty and joy of others?
Sean sometimes falls asleep without brushing his teeth. I can still gently kiss him goodnight, trusting that his mouth will be okay. All his teeth are going to fall out anyways!