MOMMARAMA


	The Great Toothpaste Debate If anybody can explain how those tiny flecks of toothpaste make it to the top reaches of the mirror, I'd be eternally grateful. I mean, I have to get a CHAIR to reach way up there. And I've seen my children's spitting ability when applied to the likes of watermelon seeds. I'm telling you, it doesn't add up. But every week I climb up there and scrub. It's worse than tar. I don't even understand why my children spit in the first place. It's not like they use any quantity of paste. Anything over four toothpaste molecules, and I get the "Spicy" refusal. What the heck does "spicy" have to do with toothpaste? Nevertheless.

I've tried almost every brand. It's just that there's so many of them, it's taking me a long time to cycle all the way through. It's a whole AISLE, for Pete's sake.

Usually, this is what happens:

I find a unique, never-before-tried, virgin in every way type/brand/flavor of toothpaste, preferably in neon packaging festooned with cartoon characters, and bring it home.

I vouchsafe it with great ceremony and exaggerated enthusiasm as POSSIBLY the best toothpaste on the planet, or perhaps some greater region, such as the woods behind Grandpa's house.

Whereupon my children eye me suspiciously, wishing their speak-and-spell doubled as a polygraph.

They reluctantly agree to try it, but only after extorting, at a minimum, dessert for the next 3 nights.

They apply to their supersonic, jet-propelled Pokemon toothbrushes a dollop approximately the size of your average medium-sized gnat egg.

Brush. 3 whole strokes.

Pronounce it unpalatable to all but Turkish political prisoners.

And refuse, henceforth, to get anywhere within 10 yards of it.

I'm, of course, glossing over any inappropriate language that may have been uttered in the process. It might reflect poorly on me. As would making the shameful point that holding down a child while force-brushing her teeth works remarkably well, on account of screaming tends to perch the jaws at an advantageous angle.

We do what we have to. You know, since the chemists can't seem to get the formula right (no matter how much sugar they pour into the very stuff that's supposed to get sugar OFF of your teeth.)

I'm thinking that it's those chemists that are to blame for the antigravity feature of said toothpaste, as well. I mean, you're always hearing how Nasa's Top Secret double-dog-dare research gave us all this incredible stuff like plastic, drink coosies, and $1500 toilet seats. Why not antigravity toothpaste, too? It just makes sense, is all I'm saying.

Which ultimately gets me no closer to keeping the mirror clean, but maybe opens an X-File.

I think I'm almost desperate enough to resort to that oft-advertised tooth-polishing GUM. Even though the LAST time gum made an appearance in our house, we had to hire those same Nasa scientists to figure out how to divest it from the hair of two children and a cat.

Yes, I know they're BALD, but look how shiny their teeth are!