A chip off the ol' tooth. A chip off the ol' block.

The saying goes: There are two things certain in life, death and taxes. But, I'd like to add one more: that my kids will injure themselves in highly-creative, atypical ways. It's a gift, really. I've also realized that we should have named Kaila, Lassie.

It's not their fault. Retardation is genetic. And, their mama is the biggest tard re of all. When I was the Doobies' age, I got stitches when I jumped off the top of the couch and nailed my forehead on the coffee table. Then, I reopened my stitches while trying to remove my saddle shoes. I decided to loosen up the laces and then pull the shoes off by the laces. Sheer genius. Needless to say, I took a saddle shoe to the forehead and deservedly so. It might have knocked some sense into me because I don't believe I injured myself again or for a long time at least. Another benefit: I started speaking Mandarin Chinese fluently.

So, the kids were playing in the driveway after school yesterday while I tended to my superbly lame hanging baskets of petunias. As Kaila likes to point out, I'm the only person in the whole neighborhood who can't keep these suckers blossoming.

I honestly don't know how my neighbors do it. The only explanation I can offer is that they probably don't have two little ones to sustain so they have free time to tend to flowers. Maybe if the damn flowers would whine every time they were hungry, I'd do a better job. That's what you get for being passive: A slow death.

I finished deadheading the flowers and revved up the leafblower. I love that machine. It tunes out the world and the kids. Suddenly, Kaila appeared. She was mouthing something that looked like, "MAMA! MAMA! Come quick! Madan gurgle blurb blurb gurgle. TURN IT OFF! Bark. Bark. Bark."

I refused to turn it off and encouraged her to speak louder. I didn't want a rotator cuff injury trying to pull start the damn blower again.

"MADAN HURT HIMSELF WITH THE SCOOTER AND IS NOW CRYING!"

Oh, shiz. I dropped the leafblower and ran to the driveway with Kaila in hot pursuit. I normally don't run, but call it mama's intuition. I found Madan standing on the driveway, visibly perplexed and upset, holding part of his so-called permanent front tooth in his palm.

Crap. I thought for a minute, took the tooth and looked into his mouth. A jagged chicklet greeted me. I loaded the poor kid up with Motrin, made the emergency call to the dentist and within the hour, his tooth was reaffixed and will hopefully hold for a few decades, but most likely will fall out in the worst place or during the worst moment:
-Chuck E. Cheese bathroom
-Halloween party where he's bobbing for apples
-First date
-Loss of virginity
-His wedding
-Olympic Curling finals -- the Gold Medal game
-My funeral

Poor Doobie! He kept bemoaning how he did this on purpose. Finally, I called his bluff. "Dude. It was an accident. You're a smart kid. Why on Earth would you want to knock your tooth out?"

"I was using my scooter to chop up chalk on the driveway and I hit myself in the chin. See? It was on purpose."

"Just because you were using your scooter for an incredibly strange purpose, in this case an axe, doesn't make it done ON purpose. I'm giving you bonus points for creativity, though. By the way, did you know Dad has bonded teeth, too?"

Madan's eyes lit up. Just one more way he was like his Father. And, suddenly, he seemed incredibly content with the afternoon's events. A chip off his tooth further cemented his bond with Dad. He was a real chip off the ol' block.