A certain law of physics dictates that only one object can occupy a given space at any given time; and it does so by pushing away all other objects. Now picture in your mind seven little objects, all attempting to occupy the same sink at once, they are our children brushing their teeth… with all the excitement of an undertaker.
I wish I could state that my children rush to the sink in giddy anticipation for the clean feeling of clean teeth. I wish I could tell you how they line up, youngest to oldest and the older ones help their younger siblings with great-big smiles. I also wish I could show you the clean and dry sink after they were through, free of puddles and toothpaste. However, as Wife feels it would be a sin for me to tell my readers complete lies, so I will leave the above as the unfulfilled wish that it is.
Consequently, for the health of my soul, the truth is that our children dislike brushing their teeth, though I am sure by now you gathered as much. I understand that they dislike it because, unlike their father, they hate going to bed; and brushing teeth is the first step toward their dreaded mattresses. Yet since they are obedient children, I get no fight as they slump into the bathroom.
The children gather around the sink like sparrows in a birdbath, splashing around and generally making a mess. And like sparrows, there is always one who simply has to stand in the middle, getting in everyone’s way; that would be #7. Quite often, Wife has walked into the bathroom to find the two year-old standing on top of the sink looking down on his siblings like some kind of Olympian god. He’s been dethroned enough times now that he has given up his elevated position, now he would rather clean his teeth in solitude… at the bathtub. The rest of the children simply fill the void of #7 by squeezing together tighter.
Wife’s second in command, #1 does her utmost to take charge of the bathroom sink, shouting out orders and berating her siblings. I often hear her dealing out to each child their ration of toothpaste (much to the irritation of her sisters) and requesting a sister to help the youngest brother… who was already at the bathtub. While #3 and #4 squabble over the footstool, #2 dawdles about trying to be invisible. Finally #1 ends up helping #7.
In the end, everyone has brushed their teeth and the boys are mostly dry, which is more than can be said for the bathroom floor. I find the oddest part about the nightly ritual is that we have a second bathroom, which is completely ignored.