By Nicole Hardy of She Emerges
Expecting a 2-year-old to brush her teeth is like expecting a man to put the toilet seat down. It just doesn’t happen. Ever. Especially when a tiny tyrant sets the house rules and a ZERO tolerance policy. My only defense: limitless bribery. Sure, the technical word is “positive reinforcement,” but don’t be fooled; it’s purely semantics.
I offered her a variety of enticements to seal the tooth brushing deal: glittery stickers on a reward chart, a prize from the treasure chest, an extra thirty minutes on the swings — even a unicorn and a pony (although I couldn’t really deliver.)
Clever, right? Meh. She could care less.
To my horror, a postcard came, reminding us her dental appointment was in two weeks. My daughter was on the verge of severe gum disease, and I was on the brink of a meltdown. So like any normal mother looking for a sure-fire solution, I drove straight to Target.
She begged me for the Mickey Mouse toothbrush on aisle four, and I said, “Um, heck yeah,” then praised my little dumpling for engaging in a “lifetime of healthy habits.” But she played me like a sad country song over and over, pretending to be a good Mouseketeer brushing her teeth. One morning, I caught that little stinker red-handed, swirling her not-so-hot diggity dog toothbrush in the toilet and then squirting bubblegum flavored toothpaste down her throat like a juice box on a hot summer day.
Back to Target.
This time, I spotted a revolutionary oral care device. The game changer. Better than Mickey, Minnie, and the whole damn crew. It was a light-up toothbrush. Somebody pinch me, please! The box said, “Good. Clean. Fun.” (Very catchy. I like that.) It had a one-minute timer with blissful LED lighting indicating when to start, stop, brush the next jaw, then call it a morning or night, or both. (I like that too.) It was 120 total seconds of light flashing goodness giving my daughter healthy gums and cavity-free, pearly whites!
But it didn’t work out that way. At all.
As a matter of fact, my toddler outsmarted the toothbrush company, using the item for which it was originally intended. Stay tuned.
One night, I was juggling baths and the brush-your-teeth battle when my ten-year-old dropped her drawers and put one foot in the tub. Then her little sister took her new light-up toothbrush and shoved it up big sister’s butt. I’m. Not. Kidding.
My oldest daughter yelped like a puppy, shouting, “What the heck did ya do that for?” Then we held our breaths anticipating one hell of an answer, but that little shit didn’t give us one.
Maybe she thought it was a flashlight? Maybe she wanted to see this mysterious tunnel which allows her to do an amazing poopy, the incredible deed that commands cheering, stickers and lollipops. Maybe she wanted to understand the inner workings of her now-functioning pipes that grant her permission to skip prune juice and go back to eating bananas.
Whatever it was, the game just started.
Excited by my terror, she tore through the house giggling and snorting as I tripped over a minefield of Legos, screaming, “DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH!” The louder I screamed, the faster she ran. Then I jumped like an Olympic pole vaulter, stretching my body far and high, victoriously snatching the biohazardous toothbrush from her hand. Defeated, she threw her arms in the air, pleading for her disgusting, germ-covered flashlight for teeth. So I boiled it for 5 minutes, but its body became distorted like Gumby, only in red.
She still wanted it. I wanted to throw up.
I told her it was a flashlight disguised as a toothbrush. She wasn’t buying it. I said she could take it on a morning adventure with her Dora the Explorer Doll. That did the trick.
Soon, she used the light-up toothbrush for everything except brushing her teeth.
She had Friday night dance parties, bouncing on her bed, waving her toothbrush like a glow stick at a toddler rave. She swiped it across Dora’s forehead like a temporal artery thermometer so she could take her ailing lovey’s temperature. She went on stealth missions throughout the house, sneaking around on all fours, holding up her toothbrush like a human submarine (possibly searching for an unsuspecting derriere). And she used it as a reading nightlight to skim one more Curious George book before bed.
She liked her light-up toothbrush—it was good clean fun—just not for brushing teeth.
If I were asked to write a product review of the light-up toothbrush, I would say this: If you’re having a birthday sleepover, I would recommend this gizmo for endless party fun. If you’re looking for objects to stimulate imagination and creative play, this is your go-to gadget. And if you need a flashlight for camping, disco balls for a makeshift dance club, or nightlights for story time, this lovely little knickknack is your all-in-one plaything.
Just don’t use it as a toothbrush; that’s not what it really is.
*********
About the Author
My name is Nicole Hardy and I am a 40ish-year-old mom of two, obsessed with coffee, my children and my hair. After 14 years in Corporate America, I’ve ditched my cubicle for my calling, and launched my blog: She Emerges. I’m finding myself, feeding my soul, and baby I’m emerging! Follow Nicole on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.