I got schooled by a dental hygienist

The issue of me not being the most mellow mother in the world came up again just this week. Imagine! I took all four lovely children to the dentist to get their little pearls polished and eagerly sat on the chair in the corner holding myself back from watching each tooth as it was examined. Except for when I jumped up and peered in when invited by the friendly hygienist.

"See this tartar here?" she asked when cleaning Eva's teeth. "She really needs to brush better behind her bottom front teeth," she tsk-ed.

"Well," I said, "I actually brush their teeth most of the time."

A look of astonishment washed over Hygienist Henrietta's face. "You brush ALL of their teeth? Even Pes (Perfect Eldest Son, yes he's 10 years old)?"

"Well," I stammered, "I do let Pes and Zsa Zsa (age 8) brush their own. Sometimes."

"Boy!" she bellowed, "Are you controlling or what?" I looked around, hoping nobody was listening to this nonsense. "Wait until they're teenagers. They are going to seriously rebel!"

Now, I find it very hard to believe that I am the ONLY Jewish mother she has ever encountered who still helps their children brush their teeth. I mean, a bad dental report reflects mostly on whom? Yes, that's right, on ME! She already criticized the way I was brushing Eva's bottom teeth (a job on which I apparently also fell down in Gorby's sweet 5-year-old mouth). What does she think would happen if I (G-d forbid) let them brush their own teeth ALL THE TIME? She is crazy.

Then I got to thinking. Maybe it would be wise to trust them to, say, brush their own teeth more often. Maybe, as they get older, they will be unhappy that I don't trust them to care for their own teeth properly. I, for example, am annoyed when Mother and I have the following conversation every three months:

"So," starts Mother, "I know Dr. So-and-So has been practicing medicine since the 1960's but has he been ordering blood tests for you frequently enough?" (I have a condition that requires me to have blood tests every so often. Mother would like this to be exactly quarterly.)
"Yes, Mother," I say and roll my eyes even though she can't see it over the phone.
"Are you sure? When's the last time you had bloodwork done? I just want to make sure you stay as healthy as you are now keyn ayin hara."
"Mother, it's fine!" I snap. I can see her worried face over the phone but know she will drop it now before I blow a gasket and remind her that I am THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD.

This loving quality of being in control of every movement your child makes is clearly, I believe, a) genetic and b) ethnic. The stereotype is there for a reason, people.

So maybe today when my children arrive home I will ask them if they have homework only five times instead of 25 times. Maybe I should just trust them to do their own homework now. After all, what do I care if they even do their homework in the first place? I mean, it's not MY homework. I'm not the one in the lower math group (see my post "I've become one of THOSE mothers").

Except I am. And I always will be. What Henrietta doesn't know is that I have everything under control at my house at all times. And woe betide anyone who tries to get in the way of that. I think Pes, Zsa Zsa, and Eva have cottoned on to this already. And Gorby is coming right along.

When all four of my beautiful K"H children are teenagers, I will march in to that dental hygienist and say, "See! They are not rebels, they are perfect in every way. They excel in school, do chesed projects without prompting, have a wide circle of friends and are respectful of their elders. And look at their gleaming teeth. Don't I do such a good job of brushing?"