Spitting Cobra

I grew up with the knowledge that Packards had something special in their spit.

Our spit, I was told, can kill anything. "Like a spitting cobra," my mom told me during her last visit.

This apparently accounted for the fact that, although I have poor habits of flossing and visiting the dentist on a regular basis, my teeth are perfect and I have never once had a cavity.

Today Jane and Elliot went to the dentist for the first time.

I had received a sharp reprimand at the pediatrician's office during Jane's 4-year-old visit for my tardiness on getting her to the dentist. I was reminded of my negligence when Elliot went in earlier this week for his 3-year-old exam.

So off we went -- me as nervous as could be on how it would be received and how much I might have to pay for my oversight on their dental care.

Don't get me wrong: We brush twice daily. Just, I give up too easily if they fight me. And I don't give them the toothpaste you have to spit out. Because they don't spit.

I don't know why I was so scared.

Both children have perfect teeth. And perfect spacing, so I'm told (in the 2 hours since we've left I've already issued 3 silent prayers that their teeth will stay this way for future avoidance of orthodontic care).

Showing me their pearly whites and new swag in front of the dentist's.

My little Spitting Cobras.