So, we’ve learned two things this week: genetics can be a bad thing, but a blow to the head may not be.

First up: genetics. I have bad teeth, have since I was a child. My lovely wife has good teeth. One child has my teeth, the other hers. We knew we were going to have problems with C as soon as his teeth came in as a baby. Two were discolored as soon as they came through the gums and one of them had a hole in in it. The holy tooth (holey?) did not last long and cracked within a year. Several trips to the dentist led us to a diagnosis of hyperplastic enamel (a condition where the enamel on your teeth fails to seal itself), the damaged tooth had to be removed and several filings. Turns out, I had the same thing. I don’t know that it had a name when I had it, but I had all four of my lower incisors removed when I was 4. C got off lucky with only needing one out.

Still, we’ve gotten used to him having a gap in his teeth and often forget that it was far too early for it. Recently, though, the process has started naturally. Our first really loose tooth started and we have been wiggling it as often as we can and are annoyed that it won’t fall out already. We’ve discussed the string on the doorknob technique, but apparently we’re not that desperate yet. Enter, however, genetics.

C came home from school one day last week complaining that his lower teeth were getting loose and really hurt when he ate. Sure enough, one of his already damaged teeth had started to loosen and the pain was noticeable on his face. We called the dentist and after some x-rays we had two teeth removed (one was damaged enough to have to come out, the other would be soon enough). So, our obstinate upper tooth is still hanging on, but we were able to coax the tooth fairy out early with a double offering. The gapped tooth smile is in full effect.

With any luck, the hyperplastic enamel will not persist in his adult teeth, but it looks like we have started the process of shedding our baby teeth.

And now, the benefits of a blow to the head.

I am not a short person. Our house, sadly, was built by my rather short great uncle and the top of my head is often reminded of this fact. My darling wife likes to remind me every once in a while too. The most recent reminder came from a cabinet door over the refrigerator being left open. I went to put away the peanut butter and, while focused on the lower cabinet, I walked straight into the corner of the door of the upper cabinet. Stars were seen, groans were groan and bad language was used (the boys had already gone to bed…).

The very next day, the boys and I headed to the store to buy some ice cream (C had his teeth out that afternoon and wasn’t allowed anything hard). We grabbed some groceries and headed to the freezer aisle to pick our poison. C settled on some chocolate marshmallow evil that guaranteed that my diet would remain intact. Then, it happened.

M stepped forward to look at the other choices and C yanked the freezer door open. Boom, contact was made between the door handle and M’s forehead. It was truly an accident, C wasn’t even looking (often our problem) but the recriminations began instantly. He did it on purpose, M claimed, he’s rude (we may not fully understand that word…), he meant it to happen.

And then, I activated the new found powers given to me by my recent blow to the head. I knelt down and showed M that I had a bruise in the same spot where he had just been clocked. I don’t know why I did it, but it worked. Tears stopped, accusations silenced and we were proud to have suffered the same blow to the head as daddy.

C tried to join our club the next morning by bouncing the front door off his head on the way out to school, but we knew he was faking it.