humor, motherhood, parenting

My Brush with Danger

As the lone female in our house I get that I am more detailed oriented when it comes to self-care and the minutiae of running a home.  It then lands on me to decide how important I think something is and to the degree I want to pursue it.

Take toothbrushes for example.  I took it upon myself to buy everyone electric brushes because I believe (or at least believe the marketing) that these will improve my boys’ oral hygiene (especially with T.Puzzle newly in braces).  This particular kind sends you replacement heads every three months.

Great.

So the three month mark arrives and it’s time to replace.  Absolutely no one other than myself cares about this.

No one.

Either I replace them all or all three of my guys will use the brush they have indefinitely.

While I did drag my feet on principle I couldn’t take it anymore and set about getting new bristles in place.

The grime I encountered on the boys’ brushes as I did so made my skin crawl.  I’m not sure what it was or how my boys had not yet contracted a flesh-eating bacteria from it, but the muck and guck in and around the toothbrush holder and on the toothbrushes themselves, made me queasy, queasy, queasy.

How they saw that and still used the brushes is a mystery or a remarkable act of courage.

I now have a choice.  I can give them instructions on the ins and outs of daily brush care, or I can let it go.

If I let it go, which is the direction I am leaning, I am praying that I can Amazon Prime myself a hazmat suit for when the next replacement bristles arrive.

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Lucky to be alive

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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