Teeth Files

H. is trying to fix up chapter 5 (more humor, less punishment), and Emily is scurrying to the bathroom every 10 minutes to fetch a new nail-file to chew up. The kind made of sand paper and looks like popsicle sticks.

[Who me?]

I tell her she's filing her teeth down, but nothing doing. She's on her third already. Now she's into the box of waxing strips. Must take that away.

We're off to the vet tonight to see about that tick in her chest that's not the heart.

[No vet! No vet, Mommy!]