C.J. had a dentist appointment this week, which he was not thrilled about.  The only way to get him to cooperate?  Bribes.  Candy.  Toys.  Lunch.  Shots of tequila.  Whatever it takes.  What really works best is the promise of a toy from the treasure chest at the receptionist’s desk.  Don’t ask me why.  It’s usually full of cheap trinkets that break by the time we pull into our driveway.  Not this time.

This time, the treasure chest was loaded with fancy parachuting army men and jeweled tiaras.  Obviously our dentist has begun to compete with the fancy Orange County pediatric dentist down the street who has a Wii in the lobby, the latest G-rated flicks playing on flat screens over the exam chairs and Bose headphones with pre-programmed iPods for the tweens.  Guess which toy C.J. selected?  The tiara.  You know him so well.

He lit up when he slipped on that crown and all the trauma and drama of getting his teeth cleaned faded from memory.  The receptionist who was booking our next appointment started to laugh at C.J.  It was understandable.  She looked back at her computer and tried to focus.  As her eyes returned to C.J., so did her smile. 

“I’m sorry, I just can’t concentrate with him wearing that tiara,” she giggled.

“Good thing you don’t live in our house, you’d get nothing done,” I replied with a smile.