Our Daily Battle

Twice, every day, Quin and I engage in a battle. If it weren't for his own good, I might have given up by now. But nope, mommy wins the battle every time. What is this awful event full of screams and sometimes even tears? The brushing of the teeth. After breakfast and dinner I dread walking to the cupboard in the kitchen, digging around for the colorful toothbrush and yummy Elmo toothpaste, and approaching my son for what we both know will be a fight. Why this has turned into something so awful is beyond me.
I am sure you are thinking that he doesn't look so mad, right? Well, he is holding the toothbrush, not me. He is perfectly happy brushing his own teeth; he even does an adequate job. Its too bad I still have to do it.

I have tried everything I can think of to make the experience better. Sometimes he gets to brush his teeth, followed by the torturous event of me doing it. Sometimes I get the torture out of the way first and brush for him, followed by a reward of using the toothbrush himself. Other times, Quin gets to brush my teeth (lips, cheeks, nose, etc) just to see that it really isn't so bad. Nothing seems to ease his anxiety about this dreaded activity. I can't wait until we go to the dentist. That will be oh so much fun. I guess all we can do is continue with the daily battle and hope that it will get better.